Read Online Bobby D. Lux - Dog Duty by Bobby D. Lux - Free Book Online
Authors: Bobby D. Lux
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that’s fine. Whatever. I’m Ernie, by the way. If we’re going to live together, we might as well know our names.”
“Fritz.”
“See you when you get out, Fritz.”
“Fritz?” Nipper said, galloping over, but keeping his distance from my side of the chain link. “Is that his name?”
“Leave him alone, Nipper.”
“What kind of name is Fritz anyway? Sounds like Spritzer.”
“Oh yeah, and nothing funny rhymes with Nipper , right?” Ernie said.
“ Funny name or not,” Nipper said, “you’re a dog like the rest of us.”
“I’m not just a dog.”
“Could have fooled me.”
“I’m a cop and I’m a dog. There’s no ‘used to be’ anywhere in that sentence.”
“A nd look who’s locked up?” Nipper said. “Not me. Not Ernie. This is our yard and I’m the sheriff.”
Satisfied with himself, Nippe r walked away and Ernie went with him.
Then finally, finally, finally, finally, finally, I was finally left alone. Finally.
CHAPTER 7 - The Hunt
The imagery was not lost on me. On one side you had neatly arranged trash bins that were scuffed up on the corners. A smidgen of lettering peeled here and there, but enough were visible to determine where the glass and plastic went versus where they dumped the rest of the trash. Then there was me. Three feet away next to the recyclables trying to sleep.
I don’t know for sure if that’s a metaphor. Regardless, the symbolism was spre ad awfully thick. Or was I just depressed? Maybe I would’ve thought that a bird flying in the air was something more than just a gliding rat looking for another power line to plop down on. Good thing there wasn’t a breeze because I would’ve attributed that to a higher power nudging me against the wall. But garbage and me? I got it. I flattened my chin on the ground and had a direct view into the garage through a mesh vent near the clothes dryer.
The little clean dog from inside, Missy, shot into the garage like a bowling ball of fluff. She disappeared out of my sight under a pile of camping supplies and behind some paint cans . Strange , I thought. That’s something you’d expect a cat to do, running and hiding from nothing.
“I will exterminate the alien race,” a high-pitched metallic voice said, from outside the garage. A four-foot robot covered head-to-toe in hard, toy plastic slammed the garage door open and stomped inside. The plastic covering did little to contain the same smell of wet feet that gagged me in The Intimidator.
Simon had shiny shell leggings slipped on over his pants. Down the side of the shell leggings it read “The Mini-Destroyer!!!” A Sam Browne gun belt hung loose around his waist and his shoulder. His chest plate was designed to look like a warped bodybuilder. No curves on these muscles; just hard right turns.
He carried a futuristic rifle that was connected to the Sam Browne by one of those squiggly cords you see hooked up to a CB radio. Futuristic human weapons are not among my areas of expertise, but I doubt as time goes on that handheld weapons get bigger. Small, sleek, and fast does it for me anytime.
Simon’s face was shielded by a mask that was decorative, but functionally laughable. A huge cut out in the front of it offered his nose and mouth plenty of room, and thus, no protection at all. Above the nose were two giant fluorescent bug eyes. The mask itself was held to his head only by a thick elastic band that wrapped taut around the back of his skull, leaving a horizontal part in his matted hair. It too was connected to a sagging battery pack on the Sam Browne next to a tiny speaker.
“You can’t hide from The Destroyer,” Simon shouted , from the mask and popping the speaker. “If you show yourself, I’ll make it painless.”
He toppled over a stack of boxes near the dryer, spilling Christmas ornaments all over the floor, several of them snapping on impact.
“What was that?” Mrs. Hart said, from inside the
“Fritz.”
“See you when you get out, Fritz.”
“Fritz?” Nipper said, galloping over, but keeping his distance from my side of the chain link. “Is that his name?”
“Leave him alone, Nipper.”
“What kind of name is Fritz anyway? Sounds like Spritzer.”
“Oh yeah, and nothing funny rhymes with Nipper , right?” Ernie said.
“ Funny name or not,” Nipper said, “you’re a dog like the rest of us.”
“I’m not just a dog.”
“Could have fooled me.”
“I’m a cop and I’m a dog. There’s no ‘used to be’ anywhere in that sentence.”
“A nd look who’s locked up?” Nipper said. “Not me. Not Ernie. This is our yard and I’m the sheriff.”
Satisfied with himself, Nippe r walked away and Ernie went with him.
Then finally, finally, finally, finally, finally, I was finally left alone. Finally.
CHAPTER 7 - The Hunt
The imagery was not lost on me. On one side you had neatly arranged trash bins that were scuffed up on the corners. A smidgen of lettering peeled here and there, but enough were visible to determine where the glass and plastic went versus where they dumped the rest of the trash. Then there was me. Three feet away next to the recyclables trying to sleep.
I don’t know for sure if that’s a metaphor. Regardless, the symbolism was spre ad awfully thick. Or was I just depressed? Maybe I would’ve thought that a bird flying in the air was something more than just a gliding rat looking for another power line to plop down on. Good thing there wasn’t a breeze because I would’ve attributed that to a higher power nudging me against the wall. But garbage and me? I got it. I flattened my chin on the ground and had a direct view into the garage through a mesh vent near the clothes dryer.
The little clean dog from inside, Missy, shot into the garage like a bowling ball of fluff. She disappeared out of my sight under a pile of camping supplies and behind some paint cans . Strange , I thought. That’s something you’d expect a cat to do, running and hiding from nothing.
“I will exterminate the alien race,” a high-pitched metallic voice said, from outside the garage. A four-foot robot covered head-to-toe in hard, toy plastic slammed the garage door open and stomped inside. The plastic covering did little to contain the same smell of wet feet that gagged me in The Intimidator.
Simon had shiny shell leggings slipped on over his pants. Down the side of the shell leggings it read “The Mini-Destroyer!!!” A Sam Browne gun belt hung loose around his waist and his shoulder. His chest plate was designed to look like a warped bodybuilder. No curves on these muscles; just hard right turns.
He carried a futuristic rifle that was connected to the Sam Browne by one of those squiggly cords you see hooked up to a CB radio. Futuristic human weapons are not among my areas of expertise, but I doubt as time goes on that handheld weapons get bigger. Small, sleek, and fast does it for me anytime.
Simon’s face was shielded by a mask that was decorative, but functionally laughable. A huge cut out in the front of it offered his nose and mouth plenty of room, and thus, no protection at all. Above the nose were two giant fluorescent bug eyes. The mask itself was held to his head only by a thick elastic band that wrapped taut around the back of his skull, leaving a horizontal part in his matted hair. It too was connected to a sagging battery pack on the Sam Browne next to a tiny speaker.
“You can’t hide from The Destroyer,” Simon shouted , from the mask and popping the speaker. “If you show yourself, I’ll make it painless.”
He toppled over a stack of boxes near the dryer, spilling Christmas ornaments all over the floor, several of them snapping on impact.
“What was that?” Mrs. Hart said, from inside the
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