Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 27182 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 136(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27182 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 136(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
We became friends. I stayed and talked to him after giving him his snack. After a month, I put my fingers through the fence and he licked them. I saw his name engraved on the tag hanging from his dirty brown color—Cutter.
I no longer dreaded walking by the fence. I actually looked forward to it. He looked so happy every time he saw me—happier than anyone else was.
I’d sit outside on my breaks and he’d lay down beside me, staring up at me with those loving brown eyes. Sometimes, I’d read. Sometimes, I’d play him some music. Sometimes, I’d tell him my problems. He always seemed to be listening and was always happy to have my company.
Fall came and so did the cold rain. During a hard downpour, I watched through my window all brokenhearted as Cutter tried to shelter under a smashed car door for hours. I knew the owners left him out there all the time, day and night, no matter what the weather was like. He had a dog house in the corner of the lot, but the wood was all rotten and I never saw him in it. He preferred to lie under that smashed yellow door in the cold mud for some reason I never understood.
By three o’clock, I couldn’t take it anymore. Cutter’s head perked up and his eyes followed me as I marched into that chop shop to speak with the owner.
I didn’t get far.
The sleazy guy with the slicked-back hair, thin goatee, and scorpion tattoo on his neck laughed in my face when I suggested that he let his dog inside while it rained.
“He’s a guard dog, lady,” Angelo said, shaking his head at me. “He’s supposed to be mean and mad. You think he’s going to be any good to me if he gets used to curling up on a couch with a bellyful of cookies?”
I’m not a confrontational person by any means. If I get the wrong order at a restaurant, I usually let it slide, and I don’t think I’ve ever made a scene in public.
But the image of my friend looking so pathetic in that rain stirred something inside of me.
I hated how he was treated. I hated how he wasn’t fed all weekend while the chop shop was closed. I hated how he was never pet, never kissed, never hugged, never called a good boy. All that frustration and anger bubbled over and exploded out.
“You’re abusing him,” I shouted. “He doesn’t deserve this!”
He rolled his eyes. “You gonna buy some rims or what?”
“Stolen rims?” I said, glaring at him.
He glared back at me.
I knew I was in over my head. There were all sorts of sketchy guys coming in and out of here and the closest thing I came to a fight was when my volleyball team in high school started a shouting match with the other team. Luckily, I was serving so I was in the back.
“How about you go back to your water pumps and I’ll forget this conversation ever happened?” he warned. “Otherwise, we’re going to have bigger problems than a wet dog. You understand me?”
I bit my tongue, turned, and stormed out of there.
“And quit feeding my guard dog!” he shouted at my back.
Even though it was pouring, Cutter jumped up and ran over, wagging his wet tail as he followed me along the fence.
“I’m sorry, buddy,” I whispered to him. “There’s not much I can do.”
He didn’t seem upset with me at all. He was just happy to see a friendly face.
Two weeks later, on a Wednesday afternoon, I stepped out of my office and someone popped out of the shadows, clutching a knife.
“Give me your purse, jewelry, and phone,” the man hissed.
I froze, staring at him in horror. He had these hollow sunken eyes with nothing good behind them. At first, I thought Angelo must have sent him since I had kept feeding Cutter even after his warning, but I quickly realized by his shaking hands that he was a junkie looking for money for his next fix.
“Let’s go, bitch,” he hissed, slashing the knife between us. I gasped as it came dangerously close to my face.
I couldn’t move, but luckily, I didn’t have to. My furry savior came charging through the junkyard, barking and snarling like I hadn’t heard him do in months. Cutter saw me in trouble and leaped so high that he made it to the top of the fence. I don’t know how that crazy dog made it to the top, but he did and managed to scramble over.
“Fuck!” the guy screamed, turning and fleeing in panic as Cutter leaped off and landed on the ground six feet below.
I don’t know how far Cutter chased him or what he did when he caught him, but I never saw that guy again. Cutter came running back to me a few minutes later, looking pretty darned pleased with himself. His ears dropped back as he smelled me all over, making sure I was okay.