Free Me & Jack by Danette Haworth

the tables. “You don’t bring a dog like that around children.”
    â€œJoshua,” murmured Ray. I couldn’t respond. “Come on, Josh, we have to do something.”
    â€œLet’s get out of here,” Prater said. He’d finished his cone and was now mounting his bike.
    Jack remained at my feet, his offering before him.
    Some of the little kids had gathered on the other side of the picnic area and shouted their version of what happened. “He growled like a lion.” “He’s got rabies!” “He tried to eat me but I ran too fast.”
    I crouched and held Jack’s leash. Blood pooled under the rabbit’s neck. I felt sick and hollow. I looked into Jack’s face, but I saw no meanness—he was still Jack.
    One of the ladies marched over to us, her eyes narrow as slits and her hands clenched. “Get that vicious dog out of here before I call the police,” she said. “What are your names?” She sounded like a teacher.
    â€œIt’s his dog,” Prater said and pointed at me. He put one foot on the pedal, ready to make his escape. “He’s your crazy dog—no wonder he was at the pound.” I looked at him, speechless.
    â€œShut up,” Ray said.
    I was still crouching beside Jack. Would she really call the police? Could they take Jack away?
    Ray glanced at his house and then at me. “We could bury the rabbit in my yard. I’ll go get a shovel.”
    I stood up and nodded. Ray crossed the side street to his house. Prater pressed down on his pedals, standing as he rode. “Later, gator,” he called out.
    The angry lady stepped forward. She looked down and her lips pulled back in disgust. “Keep that dog in a pen, or I will call the police next time.” She spun around and joined the other mothers ushering their kids into their cars.
    I was alone. I tied Jack up to a nearby table, pulling the knots hard and checking them. Bending down, I touched the rabbit’s back. It was soft and still warm. It should have been out playing, not lying dead here on the concrete. My first time touching a rabbit. I wished I could be petting him alive.
    Ray came back with a shovel and a piece of cardboard. I held the cardboard down while Ray used the shovel to push the rabbit over. Its body rumpled, like an old doll that had lost some of its stuffing. The ice cream I’d just eaten turned sour in my stomach. Ray laid down the shovel and picked up the cardboard, and I untied Jack, wrapped the leash around my fist, and grabbed the shovel with the other hand. We walked in silence the short distance to his house.
    â€œLet’s go around up here,” Ray said, motioning with his chin to the far corner of his house, the side that shared a space with that old lady’s house. “Easier to get to the shed.”
    As we passed, the old lady watched us with disapproving eyes. “Hi, Mrs. Brenner,” Ray said. She tilted forward on the rocker, taking in the scene while clutching the black-and-white cat in her arms.
    She shook her knobby finger at me. My heart beat double time and I quickly looked away from her, but that didn’t stop what she said next. “He’s a devil dog. Yella eyes, ears like horns—I saw what he did.” She leaned back, puckered her face, and spoke from her chair like a judge giving a sentence. “ Devil dog .”
    I swallowed and bent my head. “Did you hear what she said?” I whispered to Ray as we walked into the shady area behind his shed.
    â€œDon’t worry about her,” Ray said. “She sits all day with that cat, just watching what everyone does. No one pays any attention to her.”
    I tried not to pay attention either, but I couldn’t help it.
    Ray got another shovel while I cinched Jack’s leash around a tree. As we dug, thoughts tumbled around in my head—Jack, a devil dog; bloody rabbit fur; all those people yelling at me.