Page 7 of Heidi Lucy Loses Her Mind
Noodles, the bad egg that she is, does not listen. She just zooms away, down the hill she dragged me up, ears flapping in the wind.
And look. Running through a fancy neighborhood, screaming the wordNoodlesat the top of your lungs? I don’t recommend it.
I go down the hill significantly faster than I went up it, my steps thundering along as the dogs strain against their leads. I fly past a woman who’s tucking her briefcase into the passenger seat of her car, just as I’m halfway through a shouted tirade that involves the wordsPoodle stewandminced meat, so that’s unfortunate. I wish I could stop to explain, but I don’t have time. I don’t stop for the scandalized-looking man taking his trash to the curb, either, or the guy with slick hair and a slick suit heading to his car. I am a sweaty, out-of-breath mess, sprinting through the most affluent neighborhood in town, screaming food-related threats at Noodles the Poodle. So I accept this moment for what it is: rock bottom.
Except rock bottom gets a little rockier when I trip over one of the Labradors.
The world tilts on its axis as I go skidding forward in slow motion, breaking my fall with my elbows, my palms, and pretty much everything in between. The scrape of pain is hot and jagged and sharp, and tears prick my eyes as I push myself into sitting position.
“No—wait—wait!” I say as the rest of the dogs scatter.
It’s no good, of course. They abandon me there, every one of them, and my last, desperate hope is that they’ll at least go back to their homes so that I don’t get in trouble for losing anyone’s precious pooch.
Crap. Can you get sued for that kind of thing?
No time to ponder. I stumble to my feet, pushing a few strands of hair out of my face. Then I do a slow scan of my surroundings, looking for any of the dogs. I need to round up whoever I can.
But there’s only one dog left near me: a large, black she-demon standing stock-still across the road in the front yard of a townhome I know for a fact does not belong to her.
“Noodles,” I say as I begin to cross the street toward her. I’m holding my arms out at weird angles, as though that will somehow help the pain. It’s only when I realize I’m limping that I look down and discover my knees are scraped up too. I shake my head, turning my gaze back to the Poodle.
Noodles looks at me. Cocks her head. Looks at me some more.
It’s nuts, but I swear—Iswear—this dog is daring me to come get her. She is taunting me right now.
“Noodles,” I mutter, my eyes narrowing on her as I move closer.
And then I pick up my pace, because there’s something about the curve of her tail and the arch of her back that I don’t like.
And it happens slowly at first.
She doesn’t break eye contact.
She doesn’t turn away, either.
Nope. Noodles the Poodle looks me dead in the eye, pops a squat, and does her business—herbusinessbusiness—right there on the front lawn of the townhome that does not belong to her.
She drops those Poodle turds, and she stares at methe whole time.
I throw my hands up in exasperation. “Noodles!” I scream as I force myself into a stilted run. I can’t imagine how deranged I must look, but honestly, I don’t even care. I just want this to be over.
And then I might need to look into Witness Protection.
I run toward Noodles as fast as I can, and she shoots off across the lawn, her business completed. For a minute we play a bizarre game of tag in which I shout at her and she dodges my clumsy advances. I breathe a sigh of relief, though, when she darts up the path that leads to the porch.
This is it. I’ve finally got her cornered.
Except…
I frown. That can’t be right.
The front door to this townhome isopen. It’s not gaping wide or anything, but it’s definitely cracked.
Why is it open? Who leaves their door like that? Did someone break in?
The Poodle shares none of my concerns.
“No,” I shout, my eyes widening. “No—don’t you dare, Noodles—don’t you—”
