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THE BIG CAR SLID FROM side to side like a tug toy. Shadow barked and danced forward and away, excited by the motion as much as the notion of a game. It traveled on all fours but didn’t act surefooted like a dog. He wondered if it would fall over in the snow the way Steven did.
The car beeped like his bear-toy when he bit it. Then it slid sideways but stayed on the car path.
Shadow held his ground. He would make it stop. He was good at this game. He played dare-you-tag with dogs at the park and they always turned away first. Besides, the car had to stop so Steven could get inside the warm place.
It slid faster. And it beep-beeped and flashed eyes at him, though he didn’t see them blink. Maybe it didn’t understand? How else to tell it to stop? The twin yellow eye beams caught him full in their glare.
He didn’t like the stare. Shadow’s hackles rose. His alarm barks turned to snarled warnings to keep away.
It didn’t slow. It would hit him—and then who would help his boy? At the last moment he leaped away and yelped when the car clipped his tail.
It didn’t stop. It chased Shadow off the car-path.
He tucked his bruised tail and hop-scotched through the snow to stand guard over Steven. He bared his teeth, howled and barked. Spittle flew from his jaws.
The beep-beep hurt a good-dog’s ears, like a hurting scream that wouldn’t stop. The giant car shoved snow before its flat face, bumped up against the hidden curb, and shivered to a stop.
The door wheezed open and a short bundled figure clambered down the steps. Shadow lowered his head and growled at the stranger.
The woman stepped closer, and called to someone on the bus. “That dog nearly killed himself to get me to stop. In my book, that earns him a ride.”
