Yesterday afternoon, Leo took Barnaby for a walk around our subdivision. It’s their daily ritual. Leo feels so big holding that leash.
But yesterday, a squirrel darted across the sidewalk. Barnaby, being Barnaby, lunged. He didn’t hurt anyone, but in his clumsiness, he knocked over a trash can belonging to a neighbor down the street.
The neighbor, a man we’ve never really spoken to, came storming out. He didn’t see a boy and his goofy dog. He saw a nuisance.
He screamed at Leo. He told my trembling eight-year-old that Barnaby was a “vicious beast.” And then, he dropped the sentence that shattered my son’s world:
“I’m calling the police to take that mongrel to the pound! And once he goes there, kid, he isn’t coming back.”
Leo ran home. He didn’t just run; he fled.
