Worth Saving by G.L. Snodgrass Page B

soul. The big dog turned and locked eyes with me, as if memorizing every detail of his mortal enemy.  I stared back, refusing to break the moment as my spine shivered with trepidation.  This was now a battle to the death. Some time, somewhere, the shepherd would try to kill his mate’s murderer.  And what they had done to that deer in the park would be merciful compared to what the pack would do to me if they caught me outside the wire.   
    Raising the bow to take another shot, I watched as the dogs bolted and fled back around the corner. My eyes drifted to the dead dog. She looked so alone laying there in the middle of the street like a pile of carpet. My heart broke a little. I’d always dreamt about having a dog, a friend full of unconditional love. Someone to hike the forest trails with, to know my deepest secrets and love me anyway. I knew we could have been the best of friends in another world and another time.
    Gathering myself, I tore my gaze away from the dog and looked at the young boy, bent at the waist with his hands on his knees trying to grab enough air. Ellen was rubbing his back like Claire did to her, telling him he was safe now, they were all safe now.
    I stuck out my hand, “Hi, I’m Kris Robertson.” The strange sound of my last name shocked me a little. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d used it.
    Slowly standing up, the boy appeared to be about fourteen or fifteen, average height with bronze skin and short black hair that looked like he’d cut it himself with a sharp rock.  He was wearing an unbuttoned flannel shirt over an AC/DC T-shirt, jeans and tennis shoes. Those shoes may have saved his life, I thought. Heavy boots would have slowed him down just enough.
    The boy eyed the hand skeptically, and looked at me with trepidation.  I continued to hold it out watching him evaluate his options before he reached out and shook the offered hand. “Hector Wolowitz, your average Jewish Mexican, and thank you, nice shot. Who said you could put up a fence?” He asked, rattling the chain links to see how strong they were.  
    “We’re making a sanctuary,” Ellen volunteered, having problems with the last word.
    “Hmm, lot of work, but it could be a good idea, definite potential here,” he said to himself, obviously forgetting everyone around him.  He looked at the three observable intersections, then back to the dead dog lying in the street.  “Yes it should work.”
    “Ignore Hector, he talks to himself,” Claire said, walking up to join the small group. “Hi Hector, how’re you doing?” Claire added stretching out and giving him a quick hug.
    “Chiquita, I am muy beuno, mucho muy beuno,” Hector answered, reaching out and returning the hug.
    “You guys know each other I take it.” I said, watching them closely. Why hadn’t she said anything about him before? Was she keeping other secrets, I wondered.
    “Sure, out territories sort of over lapped,” Claire said.
    “Chiquita here is my favorite shiksa,” Hector added.
    Gently holding his arm, Claire began to steer him towards the library. “Are you hungry?” She asked Hector, “It’s almost dinner time.”
    “I could eat.” Hector said, sounding like a New York Yiddish diamond merchant.
    Shaking my head, I followed the group into the library. Another day in the big city, I thought. Wondering how a fourteen year old boy on his own in a mid-western town came to have a Spanish/Yiddish accent. 
    Hectors eyes lit up when he saw all of the library books. “I didn’t know this was here,” he said, stopping to gaze lovingly at the treasure.  He only agreed to move on when Claire pulled him towards the stairs and promised he could explore to hearts contents after dinner.
    I watched his face closely when we entered the fourth floor former office space. We had removed all of the cubicles and turned the outer office area into a formal dining room, with a huge oak table and eight winged back chairs. Beautiful landscape