Chapter 21
Keanna
Would it be terrible if I just quit my job and started selling homemade wreaths?
Probably. But as I sit on the floor of the living room, surrounded by cut ribbons, dollar store ornaments, and the hot glue gun, I am so proud of this wreath I just made that I start to think I should make a million more of them.
On second thought, I’d probably get tired of making wreaths after a while.
I’m just extremely proud of myself for finding a crafty tutorial and making something that actually looks just like the pictures online. It’s made of pearly white, red, and green deco mesh with some gold accent ribbon and cute little ornament decorations scattered around it.
I snap a picture of the wreath, then check the time. It’s just after nine, so Jett will probably be home in half an hour or so. It’s really not that bad with him teaching late classes. We spend the day together and then I get a few hours alone to work on things that make me happy, like this wreath.
I think that might be what’s been getting me down lately--that all I had was work and my family. Obviously I love those two things, especially my family, but it seems like everyone else has something extra that gives their life more meaning. Something special. I need something special, too.
It took a while to break out of my funk, but moving into this house awakened something in me.
I spent so much time looking online for house remodeling ideas and decorating tips that I realized I kind of like being crafty.
It’s so rewarding to take an old, dated space and make it fresh and new again with your own hands.
Sure, Jett helped me with the heavy stuff, but I did a ton of work on my own. Now I’m inspired to keep finding fun ways I can improve the things around me.
Arko lifts his head off the floor, staring off into the distance. A deep rumble fills the air. At first I don’t realize it’s a growl. I’ve never heard him growl before. He growls again. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
“Arko?”
He doesn’t look at me. He’s looking at nothing. Just straight ahead…well, I guess he’s looking toward the living room window.
“Is there a squirrel out there?” I ask him as I stand up, moving aside the pile of my ribbons and deco mesh.
He absolutely loves chasing the squirrels in the back yard.
They get on top of the fence line and just run back and forth, almost like they’re purposely taunting him.
He’ll chase them over and over again, never getting tired.
I have to bribe him with treats to get him to come back inside.
I’ve heard him bark at them before, but never growl.
“Is one on the porch?” I say in my doggie voice. (My doggie voice is a lot like a baby voice. Pretty much identical.)
He’s looking toward the front window, so maybe he’s excited at the idea of catching a squirrel without the back yard fence getting in his way.
Unfortunately for him, I’m not going to let him eat a squirrel.
That would be gross and sad for the squirrel.
As long as they’re safely on the top of the fence, I don’t mind if he chases them because it gives him energy, and the squirrels seem to like teasing him.
“Ooh, is there a squirrel on the porch?” I ask him. Still, he growls. It’s like he doesn’t hear me talking to him at all. The hair on the scruff of his neck lifts up like a lion’s mane. He bears his teeth and slowly walks toward the front window like a wild animal stalking its prey.
To be honest, it’s a little scary.
“Arko, it’s okay,” I say, softening my voice. “Let’s go investigate and see what that silly squirrel is doing.”
He dives in front of me, knocking into my leg with his huge body. It actually hurts a little when this big dog knocks into you. We walk to the window together, and I pull back the light linen curtain.
It’s not a squirrel.
It’s a man.
He’s dressed in all black, with a hammer in his hand. He’s literally standing at my front door, hammer poised to shove into the door frame. He hasn’t seen me yet.
Cold panic slices through me in one instant. In the next, fear.
Arko’s growl becomes a bark that’s so menacing, it only triples the fear that courses through my veins. He sounds straight up diabolical. Like a monster straight out of a terrifying nightmare.
The man jumps, turning. We make eye contact. He grimaces and lunges toward the window. Toward me. I scream. Arko reacts.
Glass shatters.
My eyes squeeze shut and the next thing I realize is that Arko isn’t barking anymore.
He’s chasing the man off the porch. He’s also holding back, because the dog I know runs faster than that when he’s chasing squirrels.
This is a warning, an action to deescalate the problem.
Arko chases the man all the way back to his truck.
Finally, my common sense kicks in, shoving aside a tiny bit of the fear that’s overwhelming me.
I’ve got a clear view of the guy’s license plate.
I recite it out loud over and over as I run back to the living room and get my phone to call 911.
I tell them the truck’s make and model and the license plate number.
They say they’re sending an officer over. Arko walks back into the house—through the front door that I open for him—looking quite pleased with himself.
I collapse to the floor and squeeze him in a hug while we wait for the police. I feel all over his body but the glass window this crazy dog literally jumped through did not hurt him one bit.
“You’re my hero,” I tell him.
Then I call Jett.