Not much grew out there—only a few fat clumps of prickly cactus. I was extra-careful not to get too close to the neighbor lady’s yard.
At first I used my soccer ball as a pillow and lay in the dirt. The backyard may have been drab and dreary, but the sky was beautiful. It was as blue as the feathers on a blue jay’s back. Huge, puffy white picture-clouds floated through the air. One minute a cloud was the spitting image of an elephant, and then it morphed into a three-layer cake with whipped cream frosting. I even spied an angel with lacy white wings. Maybe it was a sign from my mom that she was watching over me.
When I finally got up to dribble my soccer ball around the yard, I caught the lady next door staring right at me from her back window. My heart tightened, and I pretended not to notice. Turning on my heels, I kicked the ball to the opposite end of the yard. The next time I peeked, she was gone. Creepy.
But if the lady next door was a weirdo, it’s possible that the neighbor who lived behind Florida was even weirder. The whole yard was littered with rusty car parts and cast-off computers.
“Move, you stupid dog!”
A skinny man with greasy hair dragged the ugliest, mangiest dog I’d ever seen to the edge of his property, closest to my grandmother’s yard.
The dog whined and howled. It was the same howl I’d heard the night before.
“Shut up, you idiot mutt!” The man spat in the dirt.
He chained the dog to an enormous old cracked computer monitor and then sped off in his rickety van, kicking up dust.
At first the dog snorted and growled. Then he got busy scratching his fleas. A few flies buzzed around his head. He lunged and snapped, but they zipped away.
Poor dog.
I dribbled my soccer ball closer so I could get a better look. The man sure was right about one thing. This dog was definitely a mutt. Maybe a little bit pit bull, a little bit bulldog, with a sprinkling of something that gave him wiry wisps of sticking-up fur. He was short and round with big, buggy eyes. Patches of his dirty white coat were missing. His crooked bottom teeth stuck out. The poor guy was badly in need of braces. Soon he got bored with fly-catching and went to work gnawing his front paw, drenching it with pools of gooey slobber.
I decided to prove to the dog that all humans weren’t so mean. I squatted down in front of him. “Hi there, little buddy!” I made my voice sound as cheerful as possible.
The dog gave a friendly bark. Then he crawled toward me, dragging the heavy computer monitor behind him inch by inch.
I set my soccer ball down and let him sniff my hand.
“Here, boy. It’s okay, I’ll be your friend. I won’t hurt you.”
He thumped his tail. He almost seemed to be grinning. As I reached over to pat his head, he lunged at my soccer ball and popped it.
He popped my lucky soccer ball! I grabbed for it, thinking maybe I could patch it up, but the dog growled and snatched it back. Rip! Then that mangy mutt leaped to his feet and flung my flattened ball around like a dead squirrel.
“You’re a bad, bad dog!”
The dog wasn’t paying the slightest bit of attention to me. He was too busy digging a hole and burying his new trophy.
I fought back tears and ran into the house, slamming the door behind me. I wanted to get as far away from that nasty soccer-ball murderer as possible.
The minutes ticked by like hours. I sat on the sofa with my sketchbook and drew the dog’s prison mug shot. Prison is just where he belonged.
Then to cheer myself up, I sketched a picture of Violet and me feeding the Canada geese at Waterfront Park, back on Bainbridge Island.
When I grow up I want to be a famous artist. When I draw, my whole world becomes a magical kingdom of dots, lines, curves, and pictures. Then the rest of the world goes away.
Just as I was starting in on a drawing of the beautiful cloud angel, a horrible howl echoed in the backyard.
I peered out the sliding glass door. The mangy soccer ball assassin was tangled up in his chain, struggling to yank himself free. But the more he pulled, the harder the chain choked his neck.
I crept outside to get a closer look. The second he saw me, his howl changed to a pitiful whimper.
Would the crazy lady next door come out and save him? I glanced over there, but her curtains were now pulled shut. It looked like no one was home. Where did she go?
Even though that nasty dog had massacred my soccer ball, I couldn’t let him die.
The chain cinched tighter around his neck and he gasped for breath.
It was time to face my fears. Being afraid of the dog wasn’t that big a deal considering he was being choked to death by a chain.
“I’ll help you, boy.”
I kneeled beside him. The chain pulled tighter, and his whimpers turned to heavy panting.
“Calm down, boy. Everything’s going to be okay.”
I moved my hands toward his collar, praying he wouldn’t bite. He looked up at me with sad, buggy eyes and panted harder. I slid my fingers under the chain, and he yelped with pain. It was way too tight. The only thing to do was to unhook it from the TV monitor and set him free.
The second I unclipped him he bolted like a shot across the yard, past the neighbor lady’s house, and then he was out of sight.
Great. I’d saved the dog, and then I’d lost him.
“Here, boy! Here, boy!” I called for the longest time, but I couldn’t even make out the jangling of the chain dragging behind him.
I gave up and went back into the house.
Should I call 911? Just as I picked up the phone, there was a crash at the back door.
The dog was leaping at the glass!
I threw open the sliding door and he practically knocked me flat onto the living room floor. He licked me all over as if I were a steak-flavored Popsicle. Okay, maybe the soccer ball murderer wasn’t entirely bad.
It was then that I noticed the tag jingling on his collar. On it was stamped the name Leroy.
“You’re a bad boy, Leroy,” I told him as I scrambled to my feet. “You popped my soccer ball and ran away.”
The dog hung his head and whimpered.
“Okay, I forgive you. This time.”
He panted with happiness and licked my leg with wet doggy kisses of thanks.
“Want me to take off your chain?”
Leroy thumped his tail.
I led him back outside to the patio, slid the door closed behind us, and unclipped the rusty chain from his collar. Immediately he charged to the middle of the yard and began to turn in circles so fast he looked like a spinning top.
“Come here, Leroy! Here, boy!”
Leroy trotted right to me. Wow. He may have been goofy-looking but he sure was smart.
“Sit, Leroy. Sit, boy.” He stared at me blankly. Okay, maybe he still had things to learn. I pushed down his butt and he sat.
Violet and I had once trained her dog Oscar