The Norphlet Mafia, Chapter 6, post 8

Chapter 6 The Dognapper Okay, I’ll admit it. Everything I’d tried do just caused more of a problem. Now, I had another criminal charge against me, and what I was gonna do tomorrow would either let me dodge the bullet, or get me sent off to reform school. I had decided to pull off a dognapping. Yeah, that’s right. Real early tomorrow morning, I am gonna grab one of Mrs. Graves' little, white-spotted Chihuahuas and take off with it. Yeah, but I’m not going very far with a dognapped dog—just as far as Homer Ray'’ fenced-in back yard. Hah! And then, after Mrs. Graves goes just a little off her rocker, I’d have John Clayton tell the Marshal that he saw the dog in Homer Ray’s back yard. And if that that doesn’t get that kid arrested, I didn’t know what will. Well, since Mrs. Graves has 10 Chihuahuas, they have a big doghouse in her back yard that even has an electric fan in it, and in front of the doghouse there is a special little food and water dish. Shoot, that doghouse is really big, and each dog has its own little bed. Real early tomorrow morning I was going to sneak up, crawl in the doghouse, and snatch one of the sleeping dogs. Then I’d put it in a toe sack, and take off to Homer Ray’s fenced-in back yard. Heck, I figured the whole thing wouldn’t take 30 minutes. The next morning I set my alarm clock for 4 o’clock instead of 5, and about 10 minutes after 4, I was slipping along the street in front of Mrs. Graves’ house. I eased open the front gate, and slipped real quietly around to the side of the house. There was the big doghouse, and I’ll admit it, I started to wonder if dognapping was a good idea. But I figured I was too far along to quit, so I eased up to the door of the little house, got down on my knees, and started crawling in. Gosh, it was pitch black inside the doghouse, and it was so quiet I could hear little dogs breathing and kinda whimpering real softly. I started feeling along one side until I touched a sleeping dog. Okay, little dog, you’re coming with me, I thought. Everything went perfectly until I grabbed the sleeping dog and stuffed it into the tow sack. Then things started going crazy. First off, the dog I’d stuffed in the sack started barking, howling, and going nuts trying to get out of my sack. Shoot, that woke up the other nine Chihuahuas, and now it was me on my knees, dragging a sack with a going crazy dog in it while being attacked by a doghouse full of wild, nipping little dogs. Well, it wouldn’t have been so bad, but since it was midsummer all I had on were cut- off shorts—no shoes or shirt—and as I tried to crawl out of that doghouse nine of them danged dogs latched onto me like I figured dogs from hell might do. And if you don't think nine little dogs with only God knows now many teeth can really get after you, you’re crazy. Yeah, I tried not to yell real loud through my gritted teeth. I didn't want to wake up Mrs. Graves, and have her run out of the house and see that I just hauled off one of her dogs in a tow sack, but I couldn’t hold everything back, so I yelled muffled through gritted teeth. “Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaa, Uh, Uh, Uh, Uh, Oh, oh, Ahaaaa, oh, Uh un Ahaaaa, my ear!” My gosh it seemed like it took an hour to crawl out of that doghouse, ‘cause about every foot I crawled, I’d have to stop and knock off dogs. It was something else, and I knew right then, if I died and went to hell, it would be full of the same dogs, but it would be really hot. I almost shouted when I got out and could stand up, but I was still hanging on to the toe sack with the dog in it. Now, I had to fight my way out of the back yard, which was jump, kick, and run… but I made it. Yeah, it had gone really bad, but I had managed to get the gate open and, boy, did I turn on the gas as I ran down the street chased by nine Chihuahuas. ’Course, they gave up after about 50 yards, so I limped along headed for Homer Ray’s house. Shoot, I was really glad to let that dog loose in his back yard, and head to the newsstand to pick up my papers. I was just about on time for my paper route, and for the first time since I rolled out of bed, I felt like taking a deep breath. Doc had just cut the strap on the bundle of Shreveport Times papers when I walked into the newsstand. He looked up, and then took a long look at me. “My God, Richard what happened to you?” “Huh?” “You have little red spots all over you. They look like bites of some kind.” I looked at my arms and legs, and, yeah, the dang, sorry dog’s teeth had left little red marks. None of the bites were deep enough to bleed, but it looked like I had really been in a dog and boy fight---and lost. Heck my mind was just whirling ’cause the last thing I was gonna tell Doc was that I had been crawling around in a doghouse full of nipping Chihuahuas. “Uh, well let’s see...” Then I thought of something. “Oh, yeah, Doc, me and John Clayton went fishing yesterday down at Flat Creek and the mosquitoes were terrible. Just gray swarms, and I have nearly scratched myself to death.” Well, I’m not sure Doc really believed me, but it was enough of an excuse to make it out of the newsstand. You bet I was upset, and as I walked along throwing papers, thoughts just kept flashing through. Why, did I do something so stupid? I should have confessed... now I have John Clayton all messed up, and when it’s all over we’re a cinch to be hauled off to reform school... what can I do? What? What?