Nothing happened.
No alarms, no flashing lights, no net made out of industrial strength toilet paper dropping on top of him.
Jackson lowered himself into the chair, breathing a sigh of relief. He was accepted.
But as he breathed that sigh of relief he heard another sound. A deep rumbling—like thunder. It made the hairs on Jackson’s neck stand up. He stood up and turned around.
There, twenty feet away, half-hidden in the pink rose bushes, was Muffy.
The dog’s lips were pulled back into a snarl, showing off his white pointy teeth. A long string of drool swung in the breeze from his lower lip. His ears lay flat against his head. His neck fur was bristling like a thick mane of prickling quills. Muffy lunged.