I sprint like I’m goin’ for gold and internally scream at my legs that if they like bein’ attached to my body, they better pick up the damn pace. I clear the yard faster than I thought I could, and I leap for the top edge of the dumpster just as the beast leaps for me.
There’s no snarlin’ or warnin’ growls. The thing just comes for me like a bullet. Silent but deadly will never mean the same thing to me for as long as I live. I can feel hot, evil dog breath on the skin of my legs as I pull myself up, my arms strainin’ as I hold on for dear life and hike up my knees to my chest, hopin’ I don’t get a chunk taken out of me.
Shit, why did I wear the uniform shorts today? Oh, right, because it’s hotter than hell’s sauna out here.
Miraculously, teeth don’t sink into my calf, but they do catch on the heel of my sneaker, and my shoe is yanked off painfully hard, wrenchin’ me back.
Oh hell no. Medley Bell’s not goin’ down like this!
I hold onto the top lip of the dumpster for all that I’m worth and just get my legs up and over as the beast spits my shoe from its mouth and tries to leap for me again. He can jump way damn higher than I thought. My plan quickly goes from hangin’ on the side of the dumpster to droppin’ my ass right into it in order to avoid this fucker snappin’ on my limb like it’s low hangin’ fruit.
The pile inside of the dumpster is pretty high, so I land in it with an oomph that steals the breath out of my lungs as my ass comes down hard on the pile of construction trash. Lookin’ around, it seems that whoever rented this thing is doin’ a bathroom remodel, because there’s a nasty ass brown-ringed toilet in here, pieces of moldy sheetrock, and a whole pile of who the fuck knows under all that.
Shit. I’ll have to ask my mama if I’m up on my tetanus shot and if bathin’ in bleach is bad for the skin.
“Baby won’t hurt you!” Ms. Jonay shouts at me as she hobbles her old ass my way.
This is the damn baby?
“Are you bat shit crazy?” I shout up, inwardly cringin’ as I get to my feet, my now shoeless foot steppin’ on somethin’ tepid and soggy.
The mute evil dog continues to show off its Olympic high jumpin’ skills like the damn thing has a trampoline under it that rockets him higher and higher with each attempt. I can see the top of his head every time he jumps, like a crazy-ass kangaroo ready to fight me.
“Mind your language,” Ms. Jonay snaps at me with more vigor than she’s shown to the fact that her rabid animal is doin’ all it can to rip me to shreds.
“Mind your damn dog,” I snap back as I peer over the top of the dumpster, and she narrows her eyes at me with her hands on her hips.
“If you hadn’t run, you’d be fine. You triggered Baby’s prey drive,” she defends, and I stare at the fragile lookin’ old lady, completely gobsmacked.
Is this woman serious?
When I press my arm over the top to hoist myself up, Dwayne “The Dog” Johnson lunges for me again, and spittle dots my arms as he snaps for me, just to remind me of how close he’s gettin’.
“Can you just get Baby away from me?” I shout frantically.
We can discuss the merits of victim blamin’ when this fucker’s been caged, but if it can somehow get in here with me, I’m a goner. I can see that truth plain as day in its murderous hackles.
Ms. Jonay, who clearly has several screws loose, starts cooin’ at the dog. I have no idea what she’s even sayin’ because I’m too busy tryin’ to come up with a plan B since this dumpster may not remain a safe haven for too much longer.
“I’ll have you know that I’m gonna call and complain. You hit my Baby, and if the porcelain doll in that package is broken, I’m demandin’ that it comes out of your paycheck,” Ms. Jonay yells at me as she finally gets a hold of the beast’s collar and tries to tug him back toward the front door.
Her arms look like they’re gonna pop out of their sockets as she tries to wrestle with the dog. Anger builds inside of me at her callous words, and I momentarily find myself daydreamin’ about the four-legged steroid turnin’ on her and showin’ her how unfittin’ a name like Baby really is.
I glare at her and try to calm the black that creeps into the edges of my vision as she struggles to pull Baby back into her house. Adrenaline and outrage pump through my veins, and as soon as she and her psycho dog are back in the house, I flip them both off.
“I saw that!” she yells from the other side of the door.
“Good, you damn loon!” I shout back, and I can practically hear her dialin’ numbers on her phone already so she can do her best to get me fired for this.
What sucks worst of all is that my bitch of a boss just might do it. She’s a damn sadist, and it really depends on how short-handed she is when corporate reaches out to her with the complaint. I’m doin’ doubles now because she just ran off six other drivers, so maybe that will work in my favor.
Maybe not, though.
I shoot scathin’ looks at the
