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The War in the Garden Part 6

Posted 05-24-2010 at 06:19 AM by BigwigRabbit

“Oh.” Plimpy was astounded by the mess. He could hardly remember throwing any of it over, though it must be his. Sam didn’t have a dog. “Why didn’t you say something?”
“Say something?! Say something?! What, in the name of all that is Godly, do you think you are doing, throwing all your filthy garbage over my fence? Nobody in their right mind would do such a thing!”
“Oh. Wow. Sorry.” <!--break-->
Plimpy stood there for a minute thinking stiffly. Sam was looking around for something to bash him with. Plimpy suddenly turned and walked toward the gate. “I’ll be right back.” He returned a very short time later with a large, heavy-duty wheelbarrow, some gloves and a flat-bladed shovel. It took most of the day for him to remove the entire mess. Sam set up a chair on his patio and watched with great satisfaction while Plimpy struggled to schlep away cinderblocks that had landed on the dog’s droppings that had recently preceded them over the fence.
The job was done too fast for Sam’s liking. He wanted to watch the slob suffer. Plimpy even cultivated the ground where the mess had been and planted four small fruit trees. Sam didn’t care about the trees. He didn’t think about the fact that they would give bounty and beauty for many years to come. All Sam could see was that they would cut off his view of Plimpy’s yard, keeping him from his regular survey of Plimpy’s business, thus feeding the hatred Sam felt, that he loved to feel.
When the job was done, Plimpy went home exhausted, but satisfied that he’d made everything right. Sam went in unsatisfied, longing for pain with a bloodlust that reached new heights, even for him. His next move struck him like an unholy epiphany. He waited until midnight. He went out and plucked the four newly planted fruit trees out of the ground. He’d take them next door and plant them branches down, right where those stupid tomato plants now stood. He shivered with gratification as he congratulated himself on his scheme that would now even things up quite nicely, maybe.
No noise came from the gate as it swung silently open. The guy was a slob, thought Sam to himself, but he kept everything that was mechanical in top working condition. The gate made not a sound, but Sam’s footsteps still awoke Pooh-Bear, Plimpy’s dog. Sam made his way out to the back and Pooh-Bear padded soundlessly behind. Sam dropped his load of young fruit trees. He walked over to the tomato plants and was about to reach in and rip the first one out when he heard a low, but very frightening growl. Sam slowly turned to see the most enormous dog that probably ever existed. It was jet-black, jowly, muscular beyond belief, and humongous. Slowly the name, Neapolitan Mastiff , passed through his mind, followed by the few facts that he knew: working dog that must never be trained as an attack animal, fiercely loyal, incredibly strong.
Sweat began to pour from his every gland. Sam’s knees turned to jelly as he tried to stare down the ferocious dog. “How could I have never seen this beast before?” he muttered aloud. The dog took a step forward. The fact was that Sam was so fixated on hating Plimpy and his oddities, that he had been blinded to the dog. He had simply overlooked it time after time after time. Sam now put his hand out and futilely began to talk to the horror that stood before him. “OK, doggy, nice doggy, I’m just going to walk slowly out of here, OK?” The fence was about 20 long paces away. Perhaps 3 sideward steps around the dog were all Sam could manage before he began to run for his sweet life.
Pooh-Bear gave him a head start. It took two bounds to catch up. He could have simply turned his head and ripped out the trespasser’s throat, but he was not a stupid dog. A dead neighbor would be bad for him and his beloved owner. A damaged neighbor would solve many problems. Pooh-Bear’s teeth sunk deep into the thick Gluteus Maximus muscle that Sam used to sit on (he’d not do that again for quite some time). He shook lightly, just enough for Sam to slam to the ground from halfway up the fence, then let go. Pooh-Bear growled a parting warning, turned, and sauntered back contemptuously and unconcernedly into the house through his gigantic doggy door.
Sam had adrenaline squirting into his stomach so, though he had a nasty wound, he was able to scramble over the fence and into his house. A quick look at the wound was all he could manage. The ride to the emergency room was pure torture. Every time he moved, white pain shot up to that place below the eyes where sharp pains in the butt end up. Luckily, the E.R. was empty, so he did not have to describe his injuries in front of an audience. The back of his jeans were covered in blood and they were quite shredded on the one side. It never occurred to him to make up a cover story. He’d had other things of which to think.
The nurse in the reception area asked offhandedly how he had gotten bitten. The police were already on their way, of course. Anyone coming into the E.R. at 2:00 in the morning with a severe dog bite was going to be suspect. Sam came up with the lame excuse that he had been playing catch with his son and the ball had gone over the neighbor’s fence and he’d gone to get it and the neighbor’s dog had bitten him.
“You were playing catch at 2:00 A.M.?” the nurse asked, indulging the fool.
“Well, yeah. He’s just home from college.”
The nurse snorted derisively and told Sam that they’d call him in shortly and to have a seat. Of course Sam could not sit down. In fact he couldn’t really stand either. The pain on that side back there was growing steadily. He found that if he stood on the other leg and leaned on the wall, the pain stopped growing. Soon, his leg got tired. Finally, they called him back to an examination room. Twelve sutures, six shots, and half a roll of industrial-stick hospital tape later (that would take weeks and additional torture to remove), Sam was ready to go. Unfortunately, he was told by the sarcastic admitting nurse, two police officers needed to speak to him first.
Fortunately for Sam, Plimpy had slept through the whole thing and Pooh-Bear wouldn’t say anything. A case was never opened and Sam eventually could sit normally. He now noticed the dog every time he accidentally glanced next door. It always seemed to be staring at him. Though it only took three months, Sam thought it took forever to sell his house. A small boy named Nick moved in and immediately fell in love with Pooh-Bear. The two would frolic in Plimpy’s yard while Nick’s father got advice from Plimpy on gardening and Plimpy got advice from Nick’s dad on personal hygiene.
Ed and his father, Kurt, soon warmed to the new and clean Plimpy. He was still quite odd but they (especially Kurt) were delighted and fascinated by Plimpy’s mechanical abilities. Kurt helped Plimpy market a few of his inventions and they both made small fortunes. The gun still sits, loaded, under the stairs.

The end, finally.
[IMG]http://images.champdogs.co.uk/images/neapolitan-mastiff.jpg[/IMG]
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  1. Old Comment
    starfish92's Avatar
    Loved the short story...will you write more??
    Posted 05-30-2010 at 03:35 PM by starfish92 starfish92 is offline
  2. Old Comment
    BigwigRabbit's Avatar
    Thank you.

    Well, I've got about 9 more written. I'll post them in due time. I don't really want to overwhelm the Blog Board with my stuff.
    Posted 05-31-2010 at 04:57 AM by BigwigRabbit BigwigRabbit is offline
    Updated 05-31-2010 at 05:49 AM by BigwigRabbit (Forgot to say "Thank you." What a clod I am.)
 


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