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Writer's pictureMark Sanders

Chapter Three: Ethereal

Blogtober 2023

“Is that Iron Mike?” Murphy asked.


“Looks like him,” Clarkton said, “but he’s not trying to bite our hands off.”


Iron Mike was Tippen’s Rottweiler, perhaps Tippen’s only friend, renowned among local officials as the meanest dog they’d ever encountered. Tippen had named him after the boxer Mike Tyson, also known for biting people.


The Rottweiler, 120 pounds of muscle and bad temper, was crouched in the back seat, shaking and whimpering like a puppy left outside on a cold night.


“Open the back door and step aside,” Clarkton said. “Let’s see if he’ll come out.”


Murphy did as ordered, but the dog stayed put. “Jimmy, go up to my truck and bring me that bag of beef jerky from my glove box.”


“Don’t walk through the tire tracks,” Clarkton warned.


The younger deputy returned with the bag, and Murphy removed a handful of the snack and extended it to Iron Mike. He lowered his head and sniffed, then walked out like his paws were on ice.


He nibbled on the treat, and then sat down and threw his head back to let out an ethereal howl, like the cry of a prehistoric bird, and collapsed onto his side.


Murphy, who had kept dogs all his life, checked Iron Mike’s pulse and respiration and declared him alive, though unconscious.


“Boys, help Murph get Ol’ Mikey into the back of his truck,” Clarkton said. “Then call Animal Control, the wrecker, and the meat wagon. We’re going to be here all day.”


Photo licensed through Adobe Stock #301597419

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