Tuesday, May 26, 2009


I was unloading the back of the Jeep when I heard it. My heart pounding audibly, I ran through the garage and threw the door open to the house, making the sound of the screams more intense. The taste of fear was bitter and overwhelming.

The screams. The snarls. The shrieks.

The fight.

The length of time to get to the back yard was excruciating. As I stumbled across Legos and Barbie parts, my mind was racing. Did the kids get caught in the middle of it this time? After all, wasn’t it only a matter of luck that they hadn’t been too close to one yet?

Another dog fight.

Two dogs that go at it and don’t hold back. Each one wanting to be dominant, they rival for top dog. Skidding into the back yard, I scanned frantically for the kids, looking past the blur of teeth and flying fur. Relieved, I see one child hovered in a corner, shaking and screaming, but safe. The other, having found refuge in my bedroom, was screaming from under the safety of my bed’s covers.




  1. I would love to give you advice. But I know nothing about this subject. I can't even pretend I know anything about this subject.

    I do know you need wine. STAT!

  2. I would love to leave helpful comment, but I don't know what I could offer. If you aren't going to finish reading Ceasar's Way, can I have it back please? [don't hurt me!]