I crept a bit closer.
The growling got even louder.
I crept back a bit.
The growling didn’t get quieter.
“You know, Tyler, we’re alike in more ways than just our name,” I said to the dog, not quite sure where I was going with this yet. I thought about it for a second. Nope, nowhere to go with that line of logic, so I switched gears. “If you give me back the doll, I will find you the biggest, juiciest strip of bacon that has ever been gouged out of a pig, and we’ll—”
“What do you think you’re doing?” asked a gruff voice behind me.
What was I doing exactly? Having an English-language conversation with a dog in an effort to persuade him to give me back a doll. It’s probably good that I was interrupted.
I glanced over my shoulder. It was an old man in a brown jumpsuit with lots of grease spots on it. He wasn’t pointing a shotgun at me, but from the looks of him, I suspected that he had shotguns hidden all over this place for easy access.
“Your dog has my doll,” I said.
“That’s not what I asked.”
“That’s kind of what you asked, isn’t it?”
“No.”
“Okay, maybe not. Your dog has my doll, so I’m trying to get it back.”
“You need to move along. You’re not welcome here, you thieving bastard.”
“I’m not thieving anything! I’m trying to get back what your dog thieved. Stole. What your dog stole.”
“If you don’t want to lose a hand, you’d best be going.”
I stood up.
“Please, sir, I’m not trying to cause any problems. All I want is my doll back.”
“You punks are always throwing stuff at my dog. He’s a good dog. Never hurts nobody who’s pure of heart.”
“I didn’t throw anything at him. He knocked me over and took it!”
“Well, that’s your side of the story.”
I stood up as straight as I could, which was kind of difficult because my foot was really starting to hurt again. I hadn’t quite noticed that it had gone numb. Maybe I couldn’t negotiate with a canine, but I was not leaving this junkyard until I got my doll back.
“Sir, you have stolen property. You can give me back the doll, or I can come back here with my dad’s lawyer. Do you really want that?”
The old man spat out a small brown blob of something nasty. “I ain’t scared of lawyers. My nephew’s a lawyer. I think he’ll give your poppa’s lawyer a run for his money.”
“Are you kidding me? It’s just a stupid doll! What are you going to do? Play make-believe with it?”
The old man whistled, and Tyler (the dog version) bounded over to him, the doll still in its mouth. The old man took the doll from him and wiped off some slobber.
“Grandpa?”
“Now I told you to wait inside,” said the old man to the little girl who’d also come out of the structure. She looked about six years old, and she had golden curls and big eyes and wore a simple pink dress.
“I know, Grandpa,” said the little girl. “I just got scared.” She lowered her eyes. “I get scared a lot now that Mom and Dad passed on.”
“I know, Gertie, I know,” said the old man, “It’s hard. Is there any way I can make you feel better?”
She wiped a tear from her eye and then looked up. “I sure would like that new doll you’ve got.”
The old man nodded. “Well, Gertie, I don’t know anybody who would be coldhearted enough to refuse a doll to a precious little girl.”
“Right here,” I said, waving a hand in the air. “You don’t want that doll. That doll is garbage. It’s gross.”
“It’s the most beautiful doll I’ve ever seen,” said Gertie.
“That doll is crap,” I said. Was six years old too young to hear the word crap? “I mean crud,” I corrected. “And it’s not mine. It belongs to a little girl on a farm who looks a lot like you.”
“I’d give anything to live on a farm,” said Gertie. “She’s so lucky. I bet she has hundreds of dolls.”
I looked over to Kelley for assistance. She was staring through the fence at the unfolding events as if unable to believe what she was witnessing.
The little girl’s eyes widened. “Oh! Your foot is bleeding! Grandpa, we need to call a doctor!”
“We’re not calling anybody but the cleanup crew to gather his scattered remains if he doesn’t get out of here,” said the old man.
As if on cue, Tyler the Dog let out a threatening bark and then growled some more, keeping his mouth open enough to reveal what looked like about six thousand sharp teeth.
“I’m not leaving without the doll,” I said.
“You don’t have a choice in this matter,” the old man told me. “You are trespassing on private property, and the doll now belongs to my granddaughter. I don’t know what’s so special about this doll that you would deprive a dying little girl of the joy she would receive from it, but it’s time to let it go. Walk on out of here.”
He handed the doll to the little girl, who beamed and hugged it to her chest.
What was I supposed to do? Tackle the little girl? Let out a battle cry and wrestle her to the ground? I guessed that the doll was about as safe as it had been since the car had gotten stolen, but still, to be this close to getting it back...
What would happen if I did tackle her?
Tackling a terminally ill six-year-old girl with deceased parents, angelic features, and golden curls was probably not good for one’s karma, but I didn’t believe in karma, so.
No.
No, no, no.
No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no.
No.
Of course, I didn’t have to tackle her. I could just grab it out of her hand. Yeah, she might cry, but I’d cry if I lost any more toes, and which would be more pathetic?
I tensed up, ready to do what needed to be done.
“Ew, it’s covered in dog spit!” said Gertie, tossing the doll back to the Rottweiler. It caught the doll in the air and shook it, and as the world began to spin again, I flopped back onto the ground.
I realize this chapter is running a little long, but I don’t want to use that as the cliffhanger. It’s too close to what’s already happened, and I don’t quite trust that it will keep you reading to the next chapter, not with so many other entertainment options available to you.
As the blur became shapes and then objects with color and then something that passed for the real world that wasn’t being very nice to me lately, I realized that I was moving. Not gracefully, but I was on my feet, doing sort of a zombie-like stagger as Kelley held my hand and tried to keep me upright. We were no longer in the junkyard, but we were, unfortunately, still in the dangerous part of town that contained the junkyard.
“Watch your feet,” said Kelley. “Uneven sidewalk.”
I looked down at my feet and wished I hadn’t. I really needed some shoes. All of this blood was truly horrific and unfair to the people around me who had to look at it.
But hey, I was still conscious. Still fighting to stay alive. I’m not saying that I’m a Greek god or anything, but you’ve got to admit that my bravery was pretty impressive. I mean, sure, James Franco cut off his own arm in 127 Hours, but that was a movie, and this is real life. And I mean, sure, the movie was based on a true story, and I’m not trying to say that losing a couple of toes is as traumatic as cutting off your arm to free yourself from being pinned underneath a boulder, but.. .give me my moment, okay?