ground she circled again, yelping, wagging her tail, once flopping onto her side to lick at her swollen belly. Then she roused herself with a single sharp bark and took the wall at a single leap.
The grass was cool, the raccoon scent overpowering, and she raced with her tail whipping like an antenna in the wind.
She had run just thirty feet when she saw the dark brown rock half buried in the ground. A puzzled snort as she approached it cautiously; it looked like no ‘coon she had ever seen, yet there was no question that here is where the scent originated. Another bark, this one high and querulous, and she considered the possibility that her prey was underneath.
She approached it, jumped back yelping to warn it she was there and knew its hiding game, approached it again, and made a tentative start at digging.
The rock moved.
Her ears pricked high, her soft brown eyes went wide; she was so startled that she backpedaled and ended up on her haunches. With her head cocked to one side she studied the rock, her tail slapping softly at the grass.
A rippling
A series of barks then to prove she hadn’t been fooled at all, that she knew where the quarry was, and she lunged forward with both forepaws digging furiously.
rippling
Salivating now at the prospect of at last feeding herself and her unborn young, Dumpling ignored the way the rock elongated and grew taller, ignored the way her claws seemed to dig through the earth without touching it. She was too busy now, sending hasty gouts of dirt and grass between her legs, snarling, growling happily, determined to finish before Piper found her and she was punished.
The hole widened; the scent grew stronger.
She eased back and circled, sniffed the ground as her tail pointed skyward. Then she attacked the rock again, knowing there was food, determined to find it and feed herself and her pups.
Barking angrily when she discovered that her left leg was caught somewhere down in the hole.
Barking fearfully when she tried to dig it out and had her right leg snared as well.
rippled
Whimpering at the pain that climbed into her chest. Howling her distress when she felt her bowels go. Tugging, snarling, realizing she wasn’t going to escape, finally gnawing and biting frenziedly at her own flesh, tasting her own blood, digging in her back claws as she was dragged slowly forward.
Her head slipped into the hole and the barking was muffled, was stopped; her chest followed, and her tail slapped feebly at the grass; the swollen veined pouch for her pups split darkly, redly, yet her hind legs kept clawing, kept scrabbling, until there was nothing left on the lawn but a large brown rock, and a spattering of blood that shimmered in the heat.
2
Dinner was over by seven, the kitchen cleaned, and Maggie fed and watered and brought to her stall. Doug stood restlessly in the living room, trying to decide how to relax before beginning the new design. It hadn’t been easy returning to work, but over the past three years he had been picking up a house here, an addition there, and it was almost to the point where he could, with luck, stop living off his savings.
The telephone on the sofa’s near end table rang. He blinked at the intrusion, and told himself immediately it was that wind which had made his nerves so sensitive.
“Doug,” a woman’s voice said before he had a chance to give a greeting, “I’ve got a problem.”
Slumping onto the couch, legs stretched toward the hearth, he tried not to sound too effusive. “Ah, the elusive Miss Lockhart! So good to hear from you, my dear. I was given to understand from your week’s silence that you had gone on a trip around the world.”
“Knock it off, Doug, okay? This is serious. Casey’s at it again.”
He allowed himself a half smile and burrowed deeper into the corner. “I thought your brother was on the wagon.”
“There isn’t a wagon built in the universe he can’t fall off of, and you know it. Please? Do you think you could
The grass was cool, the raccoon scent overpowering, and she raced with her tail whipping like an antenna in the wind.
She had run just thirty feet when she saw the dark brown rock half buried in the ground. A puzzled snort as she approached it cautiously; it looked like no ‘coon she had ever seen, yet there was no question that here is where the scent originated. Another bark, this one high and querulous, and she considered the possibility that her prey was underneath.
She approached it, jumped back yelping to warn it she was there and knew its hiding game, approached it again, and made a tentative start at digging.
The rock moved.
Her ears pricked high, her soft brown eyes went wide; she was so startled that she backpedaled and ended up on her haunches. With her head cocked to one side she studied the rock, her tail slapping softly at the grass.
A rippling
A series of barks then to prove she hadn’t been fooled at all, that she knew where the quarry was, and she lunged forward with both forepaws digging furiously.
rippling
Salivating now at the prospect of at last feeding herself and her unborn young, Dumpling ignored the way the rock elongated and grew taller, ignored the way her claws seemed to dig through the earth without touching it. She was too busy now, sending hasty gouts of dirt and grass between her legs, snarling, growling happily, determined to finish before Piper found her and she was punished.
The hole widened; the scent grew stronger.
She eased back and circled, sniffed the ground as her tail pointed skyward. Then she attacked the rock again, knowing there was food, determined to find it and feed herself and her pups.
Barking angrily when she discovered that her left leg was caught somewhere down in the hole.
Barking fearfully when she tried to dig it out and had her right leg snared as well.
rippled
Whimpering at the pain that climbed into her chest. Howling her distress when she felt her bowels go. Tugging, snarling, realizing she wasn’t going to escape, finally gnawing and biting frenziedly at her own flesh, tasting her own blood, digging in her back claws as she was dragged slowly forward.
Her head slipped into the hole and the barking was muffled, was stopped; her chest followed, and her tail slapped feebly at the grass; the swollen veined pouch for her pups split darkly, redly, yet her hind legs kept clawing, kept scrabbling, until there was nothing left on the lawn but a large brown rock, and a spattering of blood that shimmered in the heat.
2
Dinner was over by seven, the kitchen cleaned, and Maggie fed and watered and brought to her stall. Doug stood restlessly in the living room, trying to decide how to relax before beginning the new design. It hadn’t been easy returning to work, but over the past three years he had been picking up a house here, an addition there, and it was almost to the point where he could, with luck, stop living off his savings.
The telephone on the sofa’s near end table rang. He blinked at the intrusion, and told himself immediately it was that wind which had made his nerves so sensitive.
“Doug,” a woman’s voice said before he had a chance to give a greeting, “I’ve got a problem.”
Slumping onto the couch, legs stretched toward the hearth, he tried not to sound too effusive. “Ah, the elusive Miss Lockhart! So good to hear from you, my dear. I was given to understand from your week’s silence that you had gone on a trip around the world.”
“Knock it off, Doug, okay? This is serious. Casey’s at it again.”
He allowed himself a half smile and burrowed deeper into the corner. “I thought your brother was on the wagon.”
“There isn’t a wagon built in the universe he can’t fall off of, and you know it. Please? Do you think you could
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