"As usual, it's been entertaining, but I have to get home. Mrs. Angleton will call my house any minute now. It's better if I'm in the back yard sleeping. One more thing before I go. The cat said the snake said the owl said 'tell Meat Head not to go over to Rover’s house. Tell him not to make friends with a zombie and not to talk to ghosts or he's going to get Einstein killed'. Well, see you Meat Head." Molly loped away.
The owl was right. Molly was an instigator. She knew I couldn't resist making trouble for Rover, so she always told me when he was alone. Our enmity—dogs will know that enmity means ill will—had begun eternities beyond measure, or four years ago.
I was the new pup on the block, recently weaned from my mother. The dog across the street offered a friendly shoulder to whimper on. Rover instantly became my favorite dog, so when he invited me to chase some chicken a week later, I bounced with enthusiasm.
"Yes! Yes! Yes!"
The next morning we left before first light, covering most of the six miles at a slow lope. Being just a pup, I was exhausted and flopped panting to the grass. After letting me rest for a few minutes, Rover showed me how to shimmy under the fence. Once inside the pen, I suddenly had all the energy in the world. I flew after dozens and dozens of chickens, barking furiously. I was having so much fun that I didn't notice Rover sneaking away.
Suddenly, the farmhouse door burst open a whack! A very angry farmer rushed off the porch with a loaded shotgun. Boom! The rifle cracked. I skittered to the left. Boom! Something hard struck me in the hip. I yelped and scrambled under the fence, scooting into the tall grass. After forever, I came to the main road and paused to lick my wound, which turned out to be a bruise. The gun had been filled with salt. As I was licking my hip, the dog catcher slipped a rope over my head. I was loaded into a truck and then taken to the animal shelter where I spent ten days before Einstein found me. One more day and I would have been put to sleep. Also, the only thing I had to eat was dog food. Can you imagine?
Anyway, when the Dovers think Rover is bad, they call the dog trainer. She's about the scariest human I know. She wears all black, has shoulders like a moose and a face like a camel. She is fond of shouting orders like "sit" and "stay." Rover hates getting trained and tries desperately to tell the Dovers that I'm the bad dog. That sounds like "woof".
Meat Head the Worst Dog in the World will be posted here in easy to read increments. Read for oldest to newest if you haven't been following along.
Can't Wait to find out what happens next?