Read Online The Last Dog on Earth by Daniel Ehrenhaft - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Daniel Ehrenhaft
Ads: Link
but instead saw something else—a leather chew toy, the head of her worst enemy, a magical being that could spring to life at any time and kill everybody in the house when they least expected it … well, who was Logan to take that away from her just because of what people said a baseball mitt was
supposed
to be?
“You know what, girl?” Logan whispered. “I'm sorry. Here you go.”
He handed the mitt back to Jack.
She snatched it in her jaws and started swinging it again—even more crazily than before. It flew across the room and smacked against the door. She barked at the sound.
Uh-oh.
Logan swallowed.
“Logan?” Robert called from downstairs. “What's going on in there? That dog isn't breaking anything, is she?”
“Uh, no,” Logan said. “She's just playing.”
Jack pounced on the mitt and started banging it against the wall:
thump-thump-thump.
“Stop it, Jack,” Logan begged, even though he was laughing. He grabbed the mitt again and tossed it on his bed. She scrambled after it.
“Logan!” Robert called.
“Uh … um … don't worry,” Logan shouted back. He ran to the door and locked it, then hurried over to the bed and flicked on the clock radio on his nightstand. The tinny, static-blurred voice of a female news reporter filled the room.
Good
, Logan thought. That should drown out Jack's shenanigans.
“… and still, nobody can seem to determine the cause of the disease,” the reporter was saying. “So far, over thirty dogs in Redmont have died.”
Logan's ears perked up.
“We're fortunate to have with us here today Mr. Rudy Stagg, a part-time dog trainer based in Redmont, who's had lots of firsthand experience with the disease,” the woman continued. “Thanks for joining us, Mr. Stagg.”
“My pleasure,” a gruff-sounding man answered.
“So what's your take on all this?” the woman asked.
“What advice would you give the dog owners of southern Oregon?”
Logan stared at the radio. He'd heard this reporter before. He couldn't remember her name. But usually she sounded ditzy and lighthearted. Not today. Today she sounded downright depressed. Either that or angry.
“I would tell them to keep an eye on their pets,” Mr. Stagg said. “And if they start acting funny—shaking, foaming at the mouth,that kind of thing—don't get near them. Call me immediately. My number is—”
“Don't you think it would be a better idea for people to call the CDC?” the woman interrupted.
“The what, now?”
“The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention,” the woman said. “They're sending a team of specialists here to investigate the problem.”
“Well, if you ask me, that's about the worst idea I've heard all year,” Stagg drawled. “Once the government gets involved, you lose all control. They come in here with their fancy thugs and their black helicopters and the next thing you know, you're living in a police state. Call me or do it yourself, but—”
Logan flipped the dial to a heavy metal station.
He hated listening to angry-sounding people. He heard enough of that just walking around his own house every day. But still, he couldn't help feeling nervous.
The CDC is coming to investigate the problem.
That sounded pretty serious.
Forget it.
Logan shook his head. He shouldn't worry about it. Whatever the “problem” was, it wasn't
his
problem. Jack was fine. The shelter guys had promised Logan that she was perfectly healthy.
He glanced at her.
She'd gotten back into his closet. Now she was chewing contentedly on one of the loafers that Mom and Robert had bought him for formal occasions.
Logan smiled.
Good girl
, he thought. He'd always hated those shoes.
Rudy Stagg's full-page advertisement in
The Redmont Daily Standard , June 26
AN OPEN LETTER TO THE DOG
OWNERS OF REDMONT:
PROTECT YOURSELF
AND YOUR PETS!
DON'T BE BULLIED BY THE CDC!
Dear Dog Owners,
My name is Rudy Stagg. Many of you already know me. I have been a home security consultant and dog trainer in
supposed
to be?
“You know what, girl?” Logan whispered. “I'm sorry. Here you go.”
He handed the mitt back to Jack.
She snatched it in her jaws and started swinging it again—even more crazily than before. It flew across the room and smacked against the door. She barked at the sound.
Uh-oh.
Logan swallowed.
“Logan?” Robert called from downstairs. “What's going on in there? That dog isn't breaking anything, is she?”
“Uh, no,” Logan said. “She's just playing.”
Jack pounced on the mitt and started banging it against the wall:
thump-thump-thump.
“Stop it, Jack,” Logan begged, even though he was laughing. He grabbed the mitt again and tossed it on his bed. She scrambled after it.
“Logan!” Robert called.
“Uh … um … don't worry,” Logan shouted back. He ran to the door and locked it, then hurried over to the bed and flicked on the clock radio on his nightstand. The tinny, static-blurred voice of a female news reporter filled the room.
Good
, Logan thought. That should drown out Jack's shenanigans.
“… and still, nobody can seem to determine the cause of the disease,” the reporter was saying. “So far, over thirty dogs in Redmont have died.”
Logan's ears perked up.
“We're fortunate to have with us here today Mr. Rudy Stagg, a part-time dog trainer based in Redmont, who's had lots of firsthand experience with the disease,” the woman continued. “Thanks for joining us, Mr. Stagg.”
“My pleasure,” a gruff-sounding man answered.
“So what's your take on all this?” the woman asked.
“What advice would you give the dog owners of southern Oregon?”
Logan stared at the radio. He'd heard this reporter before. He couldn't remember her name. But usually she sounded ditzy and lighthearted. Not today. Today she sounded downright depressed. Either that or angry.
“I would tell them to keep an eye on their pets,” Mr. Stagg said. “And if they start acting funny—shaking, foaming at the mouth,that kind of thing—don't get near them. Call me immediately. My number is—”
“Don't you think it would be a better idea for people to call the CDC?” the woman interrupted.
“The what, now?”
“The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention,” the woman said. “They're sending a team of specialists here to investigate the problem.”
“Well, if you ask me, that's about the worst idea I've heard all year,” Stagg drawled. “Once the government gets involved, you lose all control. They come in here with their fancy thugs and their black helicopters and the next thing you know, you're living in a police state. Call me or do it yourself, but—”
Logan flipped the dial to a heavy metal station.
He hated listening to angry-sounding people. He heard enough of that just walking around his own house every day. But still, he couldn't help feeling nervous.
The CDC is coming to investigate the problem.
That sounded pretty serious.
Forget it.
Logan shook his head. He shouldn't worry about it. Whatever the “problem” was, it wasn't
his
problem. Jack was fine. The shelter guys had promised Logan that she was perfectly healthy.
He glanced at her.
She'd gotten back into his closet. Now she was chewing contentedly on one of the loafers that Mom and Robert had bought him for formal occasions.
Logan smiled.
Good girl
, he thought. He'd always hated those shoes.
Rudy Stagg's full-page advertisement in
The Redmont Daily Standard , June 26
AN OPEN LETTER TO THE DOG
OWNERS OF REDMONT:
PROTECT YOURSELF
AND YOUR PETS!
DON'T BE BULLIED BY THE CDC!
Dear Dog Owners,
My name is Rudy Stagg. Many of you already know me. I have been a home security consultant and dog trainer in
Similar Books
