BAD DOG, NO BISCUIT by C.V. Puerro

Eli Joe had been lying in wait all day. He knew Vin was around — he could smell him — and he was itching for this confrontation to be over.

Suddenly, a gust of afternoon wind blew the window curtains slightly apart and that's when he caught his first sight of Vin.

Eli took his time. He'd been patient too long to mess things up now by jumping the gun. No, he'd have Vin, all in good time. Slowly, he crept closer, inching his way nearer.

Then he made his move, leaping high off the ground toward the ledge where Vin was perched. He caught hold of the wooden sill, but suddenly Chris Larabee was there and Eli Joe fell, hitting the ground with a sickening thud.

Vin and Chris now sat side by side on the windowsill, cooling. The edges of their crusts were just touching — Chris's crisp beneath the beaten-egg custard, Vin's flaky beneath the wild berries. Both were secure in their own pie tins, but at least for the moment, they just needed to be close.

Chris knew Vin wasn't afraid of meeting his maker; he just didn't want any mangy dog like Eli Joe to be responsible for it. Still, neither of them wanted the dog dead, despite the harm he'd done others, but Chris had been powerless to stop Eli Joe from falling; his only consolation now was in knowing that Vin was safe.



THE END





April 2002

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