Bad Dog!

Apparently even when undead, dogs still have the instinct to protect their owner’s homes. Last night I made sure the dog that bit Joel wouldn’t hurt or infect anyone else. First I called over to their house (for about the 10th time since Joel got bit--the first 9 times were to tell them to keep their damn dog in their yard) to see if they were home, but no one answered. I decided that if they weren’t home, then they wouldn’t see or hear me when I solved the neighbourhood problem.

I think I must have been half out of my mind with revenge when I stomped over there at almost midnight. I went down the back alley to their house, which is about three blocks north of where we (I?) live. I prayed that the neighbours were sleeping and wouldn’t look out their windows and see me lurking. It was pretty dark, but some backyards had their own little lights and in some places the street lights shone in between the houses. Thankfully our early-October snow was all melted, and that made the ground darker and therefore easier for me to hide, plus the Martins didn’t have a light in their backyard. I didn’t bother with a flashlight because I didn’t want to attract attention. Instead, I used a pair of Joel’s night-vision goggles that he used for night paintballing in the summer. I put them on right as I walked up to the back fence.

It wasn’t long after I opened the gate, when I heard the little dog growling. He stood up from where he’d been sleeping on the back doorstep and staggered toward me, his little body emaciated and his once-fluffy white hair clotted with what appeared to be blood. It was hard to tell with the goggles on what exactly it was. I choked back a sob of pity and just stood there, frozen and confused. This couldn’t possibly be the dog that bit Joel. The poor thing’s probably just starving because his family abandoned him, I thought. If it was this tiny mutt that bit him, is it possible his wound got infected afterward from a different source—water, air, soil?

My thoughts were cut short when the dog got closer and I could see him clearly. The left side of his head was dented in (where Joel punched him?) and the eyeball was ruptured and leaking. He smelled horrifically rotten and his saliva was thick and slimy, dripping from his mouth in globs.

It only took one quick blow with my bat to finish his pathetic life. In a very sanitary manner, I double-bagged him in heavy duty yard bags and hurried home. I really shouldn’t have taken his body home with me, but instead thrown it into the nearest garbage barrel.

I just had to see him in the light. I needed to see if his eyes looked like Joel’s and Mr. Mennings’. Until I examined his body, I could not be certain that he was actually infected or just some pathetic, deserted dog.