P. T. bounded ahead, leaping fishlike from one brown sea to the next, then turning back to herd the two of them forward,
nipping at their heels and further splashing their already sopping jeans. When they got to the bank of the creek, they stopped.
It was an awesome sight. Like in The Ten Commandments on TV when the water came rushing into the dry path Moses had made
and swept all the Egyptians away, the long dry bed of the creek was a roaring eight-foot-wide sea,
sweeping before it great branches of trees, logs, and trash, swirling them about like so many Egyptian chariots,
the hungry waters licking and sometimes leaping the banks, daring them to try to confine it.
“Wow.” Leslie's voice was respectful. “Yeah.” Jess looked up at the rope. It was still twisted around the branch of the crab apple tree.
His stomach felt cold. “Maybe we ought to forget it today.” “Come on, Jess. We can make it.”
The hood of Leslie's raincoat had fallen back, and her hair lay plastered to her forehead.
She wiped her cheeks and eyes with her hand and then untwisted the rope. She unsnapped the top of her coat with her left hand.
“Here,” she said. “Stick P. T. in here for me.” “I'll carry him, Leslie.” “With that raincoat, he'll slip right out the bottom.”
She was impatient to be gone, so Jess scooped up the sodden dog and shoved him rear-first into the cave of Leslie's raincoat.
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