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Early this morning she’d come to the back door and asked Mom if he could come over after school and take Harold outside. Just in the fenced backyard, Sara had said. Only for a few minutes.
But the day was so nice, and Harold had wagged his tail and looked so excited about going out that Josh didn’t take him into the yard after all. What would it hurt to go around the block? Or maybe two blocks?
There sure weren’t any dogs like this one around town. Harold was sort of old, but he’d been a police dog long ago. How cool was that? No one would dare give Josh any grief today.
Harold jogged beside him as Josh ran up Birch. When they reached Main, Josh hesitated. He started to turn back toward home...
And came face-to-face with the Weatherfields.
“Where’d you get the mutt?” Ricky sneered. “At the landfill?”
“Yeah—he’s exactly the color of a big rat,” said Thad. “I’ll bet that’s where he came from.”
Harold growled, and the hair stood up along his back. “Easy, boy,” Josh whispered. “It’s okay.”
“It’s okay?” Ricky hooted. “There must be a law about bringing a big rat downtown.”
Josh tensed his hold on the leash. A deeper growl rumbled through the dog’s body and vibrated against Josh’s leg. “Just leave me alone, okay? This dog doesn’t like you much.”
“Like we should care?” Thad scoffed. “Both you and that dog are probably gonna catch that disease your mom has. I can see it now, a kid and a big rat with matching purple spots.”
Josh’s fists tensed, and forgetting about Harold, passersby, and everything else, he shot forward.
The dog was faster. Lunging to the end of his leash, he erupted into a gray blur of furious barking and snapping jaws.
The Weatherfield brothers screamed and took off at a dead run down Main and disappeared around the next corner. Harold strained at the leash and dragged Josh behind him in pursuit.
Around them, shoppers scattered. A woman shrieked. Everyone within two blocks stopped to stare in horror.
“No! No, Harold!” Josh cried. “Easy, boy. It’s okay. Sit! Sit!”
The dog slowed, then quieted, and dropped obediently to the cement. His eyes were still fastened on the point where the Weatherfields had disappeared.
Josh’s heart sank as he scrambled to his feet and looked down at the torn knee of his jeans. Dust covered the front of his denim jacket. The scrapes on both palms stung, and one was even bleeding a little.
“That dog doesn’t belong in town,” shouted a woman still cowering in the entryway of Mitchell’s Hardware. “Someone’s going to get killed!”
Mr. Mitchell himself came out of the store. “I’m going to report this to the deputy, son. That dog is a menace. Are you okay, Mrs. Lund?” He shepherded her inside, then gave Josh a stern look. “You get that animal home and keep him there, do you hear?”
Nodding, a sick feeling welling up in his stomach, Josh said, “Heel!” and turned back toward home feeling the eyes of everyone in town staring at him.
What if Sara found out? If someone called the deputy, would he take Harold away and shoot him? Tears burned behind Josh’s eyelids and he furiously blinked them away. A lump the size of a softball filled his throat.
Even Harold seemed to feel bad. His tail and head hung low, he looked just about as forlorn as any dog could get.
When they neared home Josh stared glumly at his front yard. By now, the house phone had rung off the wall. At least five people would have told Mom about the killer dog and about how Josh had screwed up big time by bringing the animal near Main Street.
Mrs. Weatherfield had probably called, too, threatening some big lawsuit.
Josh sighed and kept walking. Maybe...if he waited long enough, Mom might even be worried about him and not be quite so mad when he did show up safe and sound.
At the bottom of the hill, he debated about where to go. The woods behind the Sanderson plant or the park by the trailer court?
At his side, Harold sat with his nose lifted to the soft fall breeze. He whined softly and looked up at Josh, then looked toward the far end of the park and whined even louder.
Uh-oh. After what happened in town, Josh already knew there’d be no holding the dog back if he started after a rabbit or something. “Easy, boy—let’s go home, okay?”
He tugged on the leash, but Harold ignored him.
