A Shot in the Dark

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“F ire in the hole!” I grabbed the kid by the front of his shirt and dragged him into the water, falling on top of him to protect him further. Problem being, there was room for one man at the bottom of the pool, but not two. Half submerged as I was, the explosion was enough to deafen me, the sound wave skipping across the top of the water to smack me upside my very thick skull.

As I felt things pelting down on me, splattering my shoulders and the one arm I couldn’t get under the water, I was forced to admit that this had not been one of my better ideas. I pressed my forehead against the kid’s, trapping him under the water, and held my breath until spots danced before my eyes. Pondering just how I’d gotten to this point, I was pretty sure that somehow, it was the poodle’s fault.

Now, I hate poodles. They’re not even real dogs. They’re more like rats in sheep’s clothing. The constant “yip yip yip” should be blared over loudspeakers to end police standoffs. And no cute fluffy animal should be pink. It’s just wrong on so many levels.

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