The crunch of the leaves under her feet made her feel a little ill, remaindering her of the egg he father had opened that morning that had some solid matter floating in the yolk. She had stared, feeling dread and nausea push through her body; thinking that it was the start of a new little baby chicken. Her father had quickly scraped the bowl empty into the bin and offered her cereal.
She always hated walking her dog through this part. Last night, she’d watched three episodes of CSI something and she was convinced that she would let Fido off the leash and he’d come back with a hand or an ear or something.
Of course, he never had. She wondered what she would do. Call the police, or course. Would she scream first? Throw up? Make a wise crack? She wasn’t that clever. Plus no one would hear.
The clasp stuck as she tried to let him off his lead, and when she got it free, it snapped onto her finger bringing up a blood blister. She waved her hand and cursed her dog. The dog looked at her with sad eyes.
She pulled a ball out of her coat pocket and threw it for the dog. She sat on a log and checked her phone for messages. Nothing. Guess the movies were off for tonight – shame, she’d been looking forward to getting out of the house. She needed something to break the tedium.
The dog came running back and she took the ball from its mouth. Only, it wasn’t a ball.