Thursday, October 10, 2013

The Lone Wolf

Kiddo wrote a story about Adrian (again, lol) for his charter school writing assignment. The assignment needs some editing but I am posting it anyway. :) Please feel free to give him some constructive criticism if you can! He hopes to expand the story some day and maybe publish it on his blog.

The Lone Wolf

The Lone Wolf stalked the streets of Bellyrub. His silver, six-pointed badge, dirty and tarnished, hung loosely on his gray sheriff’s vest, which was riddled with bullet holes. His taupe Stetson hat was five sizes too large for his head, but he still looked formidable (at least from his point of view). His leather gun holster lay far outside of his arm reach, but that was no problem. He could just lift his hind leg and scratch and the gun would fall right out. Of course, he might get a little carried away with the scratching, but still...

Anyway, he was stalking the streets, when a pair of Rottweilers came up to him.
“Howdy there, Sheeerif,” one of them sneered.
“Howdy,” said the Lone Wolf unconcernedly, sniffing at a tree. “What’s up?”
“Wee’ve got some unfinished business with yoou,” snarled the other.
“Well, I don’t care,” said the Lone Wolf, marking the tree. “I ain’t afraid of you two Rotties. You’re all teeth and no brain.”
“Well, we ain’t afraid of yoou, yoou little Doxie-Pin, you. You--You --,” they panted, evidently at a loss for a proper insult.
He gave them a long, steady look and they quailed. “Don’t make me hurt you, you two,” he said in a softer voice.
The Rottweilers gave a nervous laugh. “Come on, let’s go,” one of them said. We’ve had our fun.” And they trotted off, and at a higher rate than normal, he noted with pleasure.

He continued his stroll, occasionally sniffing at a few trees.  He took a turn and came to the courtkennel, with its rough mahogany exterior, still rife with bullet holes from the Dogbone shootout, and its windows, broken through by that Whippet wanted for murder in 12 states.
“Howdy, young man,” woofed Aunt Tailbeef.
“Howdy, Aunt Tailbeef! How’s the garden?” he barked back.
 “Fine!” she woofed.  He went in through the dog door. His deputy, a ginger Jack Russell by the name of Liverchicken, was waiting inside.
“Where have you been? Those two St. Bernards violated the Littering Act in Section of the Bellyrub Keep Our City Clean Act, and your friend Aunt Tailbeef has been loitering for a good hour above the limit clearly stated in Section 17.8.—“ was his deputy’s greeting.
 “Good morning to you too, Liver,” said the Lone Wolf, chuckling. “Any mail?”
  “A little,” said Liverchicken, obviously put out by the abrupt ending of his rant. "Some wanted posters, and that sort of stuff.”
 “Good, I think I’ll just take a quick look,” said the Lone Wolf.

The Lone Wolf nosed through the mail calmly, but suddenly froze, and started scratching furiously. Thankfully for Liverchicken, the Lone Wolf had taken out his gun before this happened.  However, Liverchicken only felt concern for his friend, instead of anger. The gesture of scratching was universally recognized by all dogs as a symbol of stress.
“What’s wrong, Wolf?” he asked.
“My brother’s on a wanted poster here for theft and murder!” Lone Wolf said. “And what’s more, I invited him to Bellyrub!”
Liverchicken started. “Is he coming by Whippet Express?”
“Yes!” Lone Wolf responded.
“The next one comes in 5 minutes!” Liverchicken said.

When The Lone Wolf’s brother arrived in Bellyrub, he found that all the windows had been boarded up . There was nobody on the streets. In fact, the only signs of life were a few tumbleweeds, a small mouse—and his brother with a dog he didn’t know. Both had their guns.  He must have figured out who I am, he thought.
Out aloud, he said: “Howdy, Wolfy. Warm greeting.”
“I know you’re a criminal, Snuffles,” his brother replied. “And I am going to collect the reward for your head.”
            The unknown dog gave him a strange look, but said nothing. 
“What? You would do the same,” said his brother, temporarily distracted.
While he said this, Wolf’s brother scratched out his gun and picked it up in his mouth.
 “Goodbye, Wolfy,” he said. He pressed the trigger.

             Adrian awoke with a start. For a moment he thought he was still in Bellyrub, hit by a bullet and dying in the dust. He got up. His brother was next to him, doing something or other. He always was. That’s the problem with these humans, Adrian thought. They are always doing something instead of petting me and feeding me. If they just did that, they would be very happy.  The Lone Wolf stretched, and went back to his interrupted nap.



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