Exactly twenty-nine days later, I pulled into the parking lot of the sheriff’s office in downtown Abbeyville. Extracting the ticket and a money order from my purse, I stepped out of the car. The loose gravel of the parking lot crunched under my sandals as I strode toward the door. Anger boiled in me at the whole situation—anger at myself, anger at every member of law enforcement in the whole world, anger at Mr. Norton. I tried not to think of the things that three hundred dollars could buy, to focus instead on something else, but nothing worked. About halfway from my car to the sheriff’s office, I saw a white blur tearing around the corner of the building. Before I could react at all, a snarling, slavering white English bulldog had me frozen not six inches from his massive jaws. His feet were planted several inches apart, and a low steady growl rose from that massive chest. A drooling mouth revealed sharp teeth. The car appeared to be miles away and besides that, I had locked the door. Before I could unlock the door, the dog would have me—even if I could beat him there, which was unlikely. And the office was as far away as the car. I stood very still, trying to think.
“He senses your fear,” I thought. “Calm down. You’re not scared of dogs. Just calm down and talk to him.”
The dog growled louder and moved an inch closer, shaking his head. Couldn’t someone inside the building hear him? In answer to my question, the old air conditioning unit rattled beneath the window, shaking the metal window frames above it. I eased my left foot three inches toward the door and stopped. Eyes red and angry, the dog snarled and prepared to lunge, still barking and growling. So much for talking to him. I had to do something. I inched toward the door, one foot then the other. Stop. Repeat. Slowly, slowly. The process seemed to take hours. I kept my eyes locked on the dog’s eyes. Two feet from the door, I ran. I slid through the heavy glass doors as the dog hit the glass. Inside my feet refused to support me any longer, and I folded to the cool tile floor. A man in a blue uniform came down the hall.
“Ma’am, is something wrong?” he asked.
“Nothing other than your dog tried to eat me alive. That’s all.” I glared up at the uniform. “You have no idea how close that dog came to ripping me into shreds.”
Looking out the door, the officer grinned. “You mean Old Fred? Ma’am, you’re just scared. He wouldn’t hurt a soul. Plays with all the children in this neighborhood. My own love him. Let me show you.”
Old Fred sat outside looking in at me as the man reached for the door.
“Don’t you dare open it,” I screamed. “Let me pay my fine and get out of this town.”
“Now, calm down, lady,” he said. “He really is a gentle dog. You just don’t know him.” He took my money and gave me a receipt. I wasn’t even worried about the money anymore
“Have a good day, ma’am,” he said, sitting down behind the desk.
“Oh, no, you don’t,” I retorted. “I’m not leaving without police protection.”
“Lady, I’m telling you, you’re misjudging Old Fred.”
“Don’t tell me anything. Just hold Old Fred.”
As he opened the door, gentle Old Fred lunged for me again, almost toppling his blue-clad master to the floor, but the man managed to grab his collar. “I’ll be darned,” he said. “What on earth did you do to him? I’ve never seen him behave like that with anybody before in my life.”
I didn’t answer, just dashed for my car and real safety far, far from that place. As I drove away, I thought, “Done to him? Why, not a thing. Not yet. But if Old Fred should happen to be in the edge of the road one of these early mornings when I pass through, very carefully observing the speed limit, there might be a terrible accident. Somebody might have to get another nice doggie for the children of Abbeyville to play with.”
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