Excerpt: DoR (Redux)

“Hello,” he finally called out, as he approached the door. The door looked like it was about to fall off; it was rotten around the hinges, and clearly unkempt and cracked. He was about to knock—he’d even lifted his hand and held it in motion—when it swung open.

The man took one look at him; Robin was lowering his hand to be more polite when the man reached for a shotgun.

He held it up to Robin’s face, and said directly, “Get away from here.”

“Excuse me, sir…” Robin never failed to be polite, even in the face of such an insult.

“I said get out of here,” the more he spoke, the angrier he’d get, and he began to point the gun towards Robin’s face.

We were collectively on edge, but we knew better than to be scared; Robin could defend himself against a gun, and we knew it. We just hoped it wouldn’t come to that, or this situation would get very messy. And we’d end up stealing these dogs from a dead man.

That kind of thing didn’t sit right with my moral conscience.