Diluted vs. Full Strength

Warning: if you didn’t read my last post, then you’re reading the ending before the beginning. Go back a post for the full story, or move forward for the conclusion only.

He licked his fangs… continued.

Cornered, my knocking knees dug into a waist-high snow bank transformed into ice beneath the winter sun. There was no possible escape route. Killer pressed his snout against my tender, juicy backside and growled. Slowly, cautiously, hoping to cause no alarm, I pulled my cell phone from my pocket. I had no animal control or police phone number, and couldn’t jog the half mile to the police station, so I pushed 9-1-1. Each chime angered Killer. He pushed harder and growled deeper in his throat—the area a meaty chunk of my behind would soon encounter if help didn’t arrive.

Dispatch: “What is your emergency?” The very sound of the operator’s voice sent Killer into a rage, filling the neighborhood with deafening barks.

Me: (whispered): “Help. A huge dog has me cornered.” The dog is now nearly crazy with rage at the sound of my voice.

Dispatch: “Where are you?”

Me: “River Meadow Drive.” (Glad I knew!)

Dispatch: “Where?” (She couldn’t hear over barking and growls.)

Dispatch's final decision: Call in the closest officer, realizing I’d die a vicious death soon, and staying on the line, she’d be monitoring my demise. I endured torture until a black and white cruiser showed up.

An officer pulled up and Killer relinquished two feet of breathing space. Officer Buff—a big man dressed in black, boxy boots and weighted down with numerous weapons—grinned. Poor lady freezing to death with a dog glued to her buns, he thought. Better not laugh at her—I’ll have plenty of time later. He climbed from his car—tough and to the rescue. (Cushy job—this noble knight bit.)

I witnessed a dancing cop as Killer charged him. Office Buff bolted, bucked, hopped and skipped. His arms swung, snatching for his gun, his tazer, his car door handle—the handle was the only thing he pulled because that brought immediate escape. He revved his engine. Killer threatened to shred his tires. He hollered at me to circle the car and get in the back seat. Killer staked his claim on me, pinning me to the snow bank, each growl vibrating through my dog-chow behind.

Office Buff, seeing my danger and knowing his, bravely ventured from his metal and glass protection, yelling at me to race around the car as he occupied Killer’s attention. He danced before a snapping audience and I ran! Officer Buff escaped unscathed, smugness and humor wiped from his expression. And thus, I have lived to run again.

And what became of Killer, you ask? I assume an officer hunted down his address and offered an ultimatum, as promised. He hasn’t prowled the streets alone since, and only recently have I dared pass through River Meadow Drive.