I don’t know where they came from, but like chickens coming home to roost, they flocked around me.
Most of them were about my age. Some were a little bigger, some smaller. They ganged around me, screaming and yelling.
They started clapping their hands and chanting, “The dog boy has come to town. The dog boy has come to town.”
My heart burst. Tears came rolling. The day I had waited for so long had turned black and ugly.
The leader of the gang was about my size. He had a dirty freckled face and his two front teeth were missing.
I suppose he had lost them in a back alley fight.
His shock of yellow sunburnt hair bobbed up and down as he skipped and jumped to the rhythm of the “dog boy” song.
He wore a pair of cowboy boots. They were two sizes too big for him, no doubt handed down by an older brother.
He stomped on my right foot. I looked down and saw a drop of blood ooze out from under the broken nail.
It hurt like the dickens but I gritted my teeth and walked on.
Freckle-face pulled the ear of my little girl pup. I heard her painful cry. That was too much.
I hadn’t worked two long hard years for my pups to have some freckle-face punk pull their ears.
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