branches for at least ten feet. If I somehow had superhuman arm strength, I could wrap my arms around it and climb up, but even with my adrenaline pumping it's too difficult.
About fifty yards ahead is a house with a high fence. I'm not sure if I can climb it but I have no other choice. I look back at the dog, "Oh shit!" he's only a few hundred yards away. I only took my eyes off of him for a second, how is he this close already? His barks get louder and louder, and I've never seen a dog that looks this angry. I might as well call him Cujo.
Immediately, I sprint toward the fence. I have no clue how I'm going to climb it other than to jump, put my foot out, and hope for the best. Halfway to the fence, I look back and wish I hadn't. Cujo is right behind me, no more than a few seconds away. That precious second, I know, is going to cost me dearly. If he gets a hold of me he'll rip me to shreds in no time.
The fence is moments away. With its wooden edges at the top, it was probably designed this way so intruders like me don't try to climb over.
I take one final step and jump with both feet, reaching for the top of the fence and pulling my arms over. I wince as I feel my upper arm being gashed by one of the wooden spikes. With no time to waste, I pull my right leg over the fence. As I do, my left leg is exposed and Cujo jumps to attack. He makes one big chomp but misses. I can feel the hair and slobber from his mouth graze my ankle. I pull my left leg up over the fence and roll over the top landing hard on the other side. Cujo is screaming his fury only a couple feet from me, but there's nothing he can do now. The fence is too high for him to climb and it would take hours of scratching and digging to get through. It was clearly designed for dog owners. This realization makes me dart my head around searching for a dog in the backyard but there's none; I am safe. The fence surrounds the entire backyard and there's a door to get out, but considering I'm only a few feet from Cujo I don't see myself opening it any time soon.
"Shut up!" I shout at Cujo, who is still in a constant stream of barking. I feel like pulling myself up to the top of the fence to mock him at my escape, but I don't want to upset him any more than he already is. He might actually be capable of jumping over this fence as angry as he is.
I look down at my right arm, which is dripping with blood. It goes very well with my leg, which is also starting to bleed again. I press my shirt down over the wound to stop the bleeding. Once that's in place I investigate the surrounding area. The backyard is pretty typical compared to the other backyards I've seen in the area, very small with not much in them. This particular backyard has a small patio and shed where they most likely keep their lawn mower. I make my way over to the shed and much to my surprise it is unlocked. I open the door and, just as expected, see a small riding lawn mower. There's also a gas tank. I lift it up, "Sweet!" It's full! I look down to see how much gas this particular tank has. It's hard to read, but it appears to say five gallons, which is enough to fill up a little less than half of my empty Cavalier. I can only hope the gas is unleaded. If not, I'll get to blow myself up later.
Besides the mower and gas tank, all that's left in the shed is a shovel, an edge trimmer, and a retractable ladder. None of these are useful to me except for maybe the shovel. I suppose I should feel guilty taking the gas tank, after all, it is stealing. I should also be concerned my fingerprints are all over this place but I know first-hand from having stuff stolen from me that police officers don't act like they do on TV - they don't give a shit. Of the three times my car was broken into, they ran fingerprints exactly zero times. In fact, only once did a police officer even come to inspect the damages. The other two times they told me to fill out an online form stating what was stolen so that they could send it to
About fifty yards ahead is a house with a high fence. I'm not sure if I can climb it but I have no other choice. I look back at the dog, "Oh shit!" he's only a few hundred yards away. I only took my eyes off of him for a second, how is he this close already? His barks get louder and louder, and I've never seen a dog that looks this angry. I might as well call him Cujo.
Immediately, I sprint toward the fence. I have no clue how I'm going to climb it other than to jump, put my foot out, and hope for the best. Halfway to the fence, I look back and wish I hadn't. Cujo is right behind me, no more than a few seconds away. That precious second, I know, is going to cost me dearly. If he gets a hold of me he'll rip me to shreds in no time.
The fence is moments away. With its wooden edges at the top, it was probably designed this way so intruders like me don't try to climb over.
I take one final step and jump with both feet, reaching for the top of the fence and pulling my arms over. I wince as I feel my upper arm being gashed by one of the wooden spikes. With no time to waste, I pull my right leg over the fence. As I do, my left leg is exposed and Cujo jumps to attack. He makes one big chomp but misses. I can feel the hair and slobber from his mouth graze my ankle. I pull my left leg up over the fence and roll over the top landing hard on the other side. Cujo is screaming his fury only a couple feet from me, but there's nothing he can do now. The fence is too high for him to climb and it would take hours of scratching and digging to get through. It was clearly designed for dog owners. This realization makes me dart my head around searching for a dog in the backyard but there's none; I am safe. The fence surrounds the entire backyard and there's a door to get out, but considering I'm only a few feet from Cujo I don't see myself opening it any time soon.
"Shut up!" I shout at Cujo, who is still in a constant stream of barking. I feel like pulling myself up to the top of the fence to mock him at my escape, but I don't want to upset him any more than he already is. He might actually be capable of jumping over this fence as angry as he is.
I look down at my right arm, which is dripping with blood. It goes very well with my leg, which is also starting to bleed again. I press my shirt down over the wound to stop the bleeding. Once that's in place I investigate the surrounding area. The backyard is pretty typical compared to the other backyards I've seen in the area, very small with not much in them. This particular backyard has a small patio and shed where they most likely keep their lawn mower. I make my way over to the shed and much to my surprise it is unlocked. I open the door and, just as expected, see a small riding lawn mower. There's also a gas tank. I lift it up, "Sweet!" It's full! I look down to see how much gas this particular tank has. It's hard to read, but it appears to say five gallons, which is enough to fill up a little less than half of my empty Cavalier. I can only hope the gas is unleaded. If not, I'll get to blow myself up later.
Besides the mower and gas tank, all that's left in the shed is a shovel, an edge trimmer, and a retractable ladder. None of these are useful to me except for maybe the shovel. I suppose I should feel guilty taking the gas tank, after all, it is stealing. I should also be concerned my fingerprints are all over this place but I know first-hand from having stuff stolen from me that police officers don't act like they do on TV - they don't give a shit. Of the three times my car was broken into, they ran fingerprints exactly zero times. In fact, only once did a police officer even come to inspect the damages. The other two times they told me to fill out an online form stating what was stolen so that they could send it to
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