Free Gun Shy by Donna Ball

afternoon.”
    I took the toy elephant from Cisco’s mouth and placed it on the desk. He returned to the basket.
    Maude said, “It looks as though someone would have mentioned finding a wheelchair in the cabin. And where was the dog’s harness?”
    “Not to mention her car,” I added. “Uncle Roe thinks she may have come up here with her husband.” Briefly, while extracting yet another toy from Cisco’s mouth, I explained the conversation with Jeff at the Feed and Seed.
    “I can well imagine that this husband, if that’s who he turns out to be, is a person of great interest to the police at this moment.”
    I nodded. “But what doesn’t make sense to me—”
    My words were cut off by a concussion of gunfire— Pow! Pow! —that was loud enough to cause Cisco to drop his latest treasure and almost made me tip over backward in my chair.
    “I swear to—”
    Again, gunshots cut off my words. Cisco ran to the window and jumped up with his paws on the sill, barking frantically. From behind the concrete walls that separated the office from the kennel area, more than a dozen canine voices joined in.
    Maude said matter-of-factly, “I meant to tell you, I think I spotted the culprits as I came in. Their vehicle is parked at the bottom of the old logging trail across the road. I suspect they’ve got a deer stand in Granny’s Meadow somewhere.”
    Granny’s Meadow was a creek-side glade about five hundred feet up the mountain—and less than a rifle shot away from my back door. I said, “Cisco, quiet!”
    When he didn’t even glance over his shoulder at me, I got to my feet and marched over to him, taking him firmly by the collar. I gasped when I saw what he was barking at. “Oh, my God!”
    It was Hero. Somehow he had escaped the house and was making a mad dash around the yard. How had he gotten out? What had happened?
    I flew out the door and into the yard, slipping on the colorful carpet of dried leaves as I raced across the expanseof ground between the kennel and the house. The yellow Lab was lunging in a frenetic zigzag pattern between the front porch of the house and the chain-link fences that enclosed both the backyard and the side kennel area. His tongue was lolling, his eyes were wild and his muzzle was flecked with foam. There were dark streaks on both his forelegs and he was clearly in the grip of a panic attack. Right now he was running because he was trapped and running was all he knew how to do, but it was only a matter of time before he discovered, by accident or intent, that the fences did not meet. All he had to do was turn the other way, and he would be racing toward the highway.
    A golden blur of barking frenzy sailed past me, heading toward the terrified Lab. All I needed was a dogfight—or, worse, for the two of them to take off together to parts unknown. I skidded on a pile of leaves as I grabbed for Cisco’s collar and ended up on my hands and knees. But before I hit the ground, years of dog training instinct took over and I bellowed, “Down!”
    “Come” is a good command to know in an emergency, as long as it is absolutely, one hundred percent reliable. “Down” is a better one. A dog who is moving— even if he’s moving toward you—can still get hit by a car, bitten by a snake, or attacked by another dog. A dog who responds to the command “down” well enough to drop to the ground in midstride and remain motionless until told otherwise will very likely one day save his own life.
    Fortunately, Cisco was as well trained as I was. We had practiced this a hundred thousand times for fun and food, and as far as he was concerned, this was just another game. He dropped to the ground a few yards ahead of me, grinning delightedly and panting with exertion and excitement.
    And so, to my amazement, did the Labrador retriever.
    Maude was beside me before I could even release a breath of relief. A quick glance told her I was okay, so she barely broke stride as she continued toward the Lab. I