The Garage Dog - Part 1
Written by John Abram
The Steadmans were a normal, happy, upright American family. They had a dog and a house in a rural wooded single-family-home community. They often walked their dog together on refreshing Summer evenings, comfortably in shorts, their sweatshirts and tennis shoes on. The Steadman family was made up of Lisa and John—a couple who watched The Pack Leader together in bed on Saturday mornings—and their daughter Sarah, a bright-eyed ten-year old girl with braces and blond hair.
Sarah had been bitten by the neighbors’ dog recently. She’d been riding her bike down the gravel road of the subdivision under the dancing canopy of deciduous trees past their neighbors’ house, when suddenly, the Nelsons’ dog ran out from somewhere inside their dark garage, charged down the driveway and nipped her. Got her in the calf muscle too. Left a pretty bad bite mark, though she didn’t need any stitches and no blood had been drawn. After the incident, she had raced home and laid her bike down in the yard, its wheels still turning, and had ran inside and told her mom. Lisa, visibly upset, ran to Sarah to check the bite and comfort her only daughter. They were both shaken up—both were upset.
“It was the Nelsons’ dog, Mom,” Sarah explained when she regained her composure. “It’s never on a leash. He ran all the way up to the road from inside their garage to get me as soon as he heard me coming.”
“God damn that mean old dog, those goddamn Nelsons,” responded her mom. “I should give them a piece of my mind.”
The Nelsons, besides having an unfriendly dog, had the worst-kept house and yard in the neighborhood. They had an old Chevrolet up on cinder blocks in front of their house, although that was prohibited by the Homeowners’ Association. Their boys smoked cigarettes and shot pellet guns in the woods. Ed Nelson—the father—was an electrician for the county. He had tattoos and a rebel flag, and long gray hair in a ponytail. You might know the type of neighbors yourself: the type you never ask anything of and that you try to avoid. The type you bad-talk behind their backs because of the sloths that they are.
Lisa grabbed her phone and scrolled to ‘The Nelsons.’ Sarah watched on, stupefied.
“Hello, Barbara? This is your neighbor Lisa—Lisa Steadman? Listen, my daughter has just been bitten by your dog. Are you aware that it’s running wild and attacking people?”
“Oh Lord, I’m sorry Mrs. Steadman. I’ll get the dog in now,” answered a gruff, flat, smoky voice, no sign of concern on the line, no sincere apology offered.
“Please do, and KEEP him in while you’re at it. We have already talked about this. I have already told you about your dog chasing Sarah when she rides past on her bike.”
“I know, I know, and I tried to tell them boys to keep him in, but they just go off and forget. And then he’s loose, and I don’t know what’s done gone on ‘till I get a call from you.”
Lisa paced her kitchen, Sarah watching her in hiding. She didn’t feel like she was getting through to her neighbor. “That mangy piece of shit needs to be caged!” she let slip.
“Well tell your daughter not to ride past and provoke him.”
“EXCUSE me? You think my daughter deserved to be bitten? This is outrageous! I should take you to court!”
“I don’t need no court to tell me what I can and cannot do with my own animals,” Barbara replied, sitting up on her couch and turning down the volume of her flat-screen TV.
“Well if it happens again, we’re going to the police. Please control your dog. Goodbye.”
Irked, Lisa hung up the phone and went over to her daughter. “Sarah, if you see that their dog is out loose, try not to ride past their house, okay sweetheart?”
“Okay mom,” Sarah said, wanting to just forget the whole thing. She didn’t remind her mom that she hadn’t seen nor heard the dog, that it had darted silently and deliberately out from the darkness of the back of the garage.
Later that day, when John Steadman came home, Lisa told him about Sarah’s misfortune. John became pretty upset and threatened to “shoot that damn mutt” if it ever bit Sarah again. “I’ll teach that trash a lesson,” he muttered under his breath.
The Garage Dog
Part 1
The Steadmans were a normal, happy, upright American family. They had a dog and a house in a rural wooded single-family-home community. They often walked their dog together on refreshing Summer evenings, comfortably in shorts, their sweatshirts and tennis shoes on. The Steadman family was made up of Lisa and John—a couple who watched The Pack Leader together in bed on Saturday mornings—and their daughter Sarah, a bright-eyed ten-year old girl with braces and blond hair.
Sarah had been bitten by the neighbors’ dog recently. She’d been riding her bike down the gravel road of the subdivision under the dancing canopy of deciduous trees past their neighbors’ house, when suddenly, the Nelsons’ dog ran out from somewhere inside their dark garage, charged down the driveway and nipped her. Got her in the calf muscle too. Left a pretty bad bite mark, though she didn’t need any stitches and no blood had been drawn. After the incident, she had raced home and laid her bike down in the yard, its wheels still turning, and had ran inside and told her mom. Lisa, visibly upset, ran to Sarah to check the bite and comfort her only daughter. They were both shaken up—both were upset.
“It was the Nelsons’ dog, Mom,” Sarah explained when she regained her composure. “It’s never on a leash. He ran all the way up to the road from inside their garage to get me as soon as he heard me coming.”
“God damn that mean old dog, those goddamn Nelsons,” responded her mom. “I should give them a piece of my mind.”
The Nelsons, besides having an unfriendly dog, had the worst-kept house and yard in the neighborhood. They had an old Chevrolet up on cinder blocks in front of their house, although that was prohibited by the Homeowners’ Association. Their boys smoked cigarettes and shot pellet guns in the woods. Ed Nelson—the father—was an electrician for the county. He had tattoos and a rebel flag, and long gray hair in a ponytail. You might know the type of neighbors yourself: the type you never ask anything of and that you try to avoid. The type you bad-talk behind their backs because of the sloths that they are.
Lisa grabbed her phone and scrolled to ‘The Nelsons.’ Sarah watched on, stupefied.
“Hello, Barbara? This is your neighbor Lisa—Lisa Steadman? Listen, my daughter has just been bitten by your dog. Are you aware that it’s running wild and attacking people?”
“Oh Lord, I’m sorry Mrs. Steadman. I’ll get the dog in now,” answered a gruff, flat, smoky voice, no sign of concern on the line, no sincere apology offered.
“Please do, and KEEP him in while you’re at it. We have already talked about this. I have already told you about your dog chasing Sarah when she rides past on her bike.”
“I know, I know, and I tried to tell them boys to keep him in, but they just go off and forget. And then he’s loose, and I don’t know what’s done gone on ‘till I get a call from you.”
Lisa paced her kitchen, Sarah watching her in hiding. She didn’t feel like she was getting through to her neighbor. “That mangy piece of shit needs to be caged!” she let slip.
“Well tell your daughter not to ride past and provoke him.”
“EXCUSE me? You think my daughter deserved to be bitten? This is outrageous! I should take you to court!”
“I don’t need no court to tell me what I can and cannot do with my own animals,” Barbara replied, sitting up on her couch and turning down the volume of her flat-screen TV.
“Well if it happens again, we’re going to the police. Please control your dog. Goodbye.”
Irked, Lisa hung up the phone and went over to her daughter. “Sarah, if you see that their dog is out loose, try not to ride past their house, okay sweetheart?”
“Okay mom,” Sarah said, wanting to just forget the whole thing. She didn’t remind her mom that she hadn’t seen nor heard the dog, that it had darted silently and deliberately out from the darkness of the back of the garage.
Later that day, when John Steadman came home, Lisa told him about Sarah’s misfortune. John became pretty upset and threatened to “shoot that damn mutt” if it ever bit Sarah again. “I’ll teach that trash a lesson,” he muttered under his breath.
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