Excerpt: Our Neighbor The Dog

It was a summer day like any other: the air was humid; the temperature was off the charts and the dog... the dog was there again. It annoyed me, really, if you wanted to know the truth. It didn't leave droppings in our backyard, though everyday he would just pass by our cabin and would never bother to say "hi." Well, it wasn't really possible considering he was a dog but I still found it rude, not to bark and all. Even just a single squeaky bark would be appreciated and he refuses to do it. Stubborn mutt! He was just like his owner, old man Jeffresen.

I was watching the dog while lying and swinging on our rainbow-colored hammock, which My sister Helen and me painted when we were still little. It was awfully old that if it was a bed, it’d be swarming with giant mites.

Someone grabbed the other tied end of the hammock and caused it to wobble. I almost fell off. “Stop swinging for a second,” Helen said.

I took a hold of the railing and gave her a stern gaze. “Do you ever think before you act? I almost fell off.”

"Here,” She showed me a glass of yellow water, which I reckon, might be lemonade, “I made it.”

I just stared at it. “What’s it made of, your water?”

She shoved the glass toward me with both of her hands. I didn’t feel anything except my chest getting cold and damp.

“Hey!” I looked at her, my eyes raging with fury. I sat up, took off my shirt and chucked it to the Molave chair next to the back door.

Then I closed my eyes to count one to ten because that was what the guidance councilors in my old school advised me to do whenever something gets on my nerves. When I opened them, Helen wasn’t at my side anymore. She was watching past the clearing and at old man Jeffresen’s dog, which was doing its usual business.

“Oh, there’s Barky again!” she exclaimed.

I tittered and looked at her. "Barky?" I said.

"I named him. So what?"

"It's stupid. Bark-y? It sounds like Barf-y.”

She blushed, stomped her foot, and turned away. "Then I'll just change it. You know-- to something better." she said. My sister wasn't really good at giving names. If you called her "Pukey" she would throw a party just because it ended with "-y."

She turned to look at the dog again. "Where does he get all those bones he carries from Mr. Jeffresen's house?" Helen said, looking at me as if she was expecting an answer. "From a meat shop?"

"No, from the graveyard.  It's grandma's bones," I retorted. Helen was stupid, as usual.