Rushing Dog, Dead Snake

July 1999

For the second time, I realized that my parents' commands would not explode me if disobeyed.

I crossed the tree line with my dog: Enheuser-Busch. Buddy. Two years old and fatter than my principal.

We ran across the neighbors' yard.

At the opposite tree line, half covered in soggy leaves, we found a dead snake, writhing with maggots.

We stared at our treasure: an offering from the forbidden side of things.

We stumbled into an orchard. I grabbed apples off the ground and snaggled a tooth.

No good. We left, promising to return for revenge, once wounds were tended to.