Buster never wants
to go out in bad weather. Buster is a Jack
Russel terrier, my best friend and pain in the butt. Wind stirring out of the west
means that Buster would just as soon hold his bladder until morning as to go
out into a storm that hasn’t even hit yet. This was such a night.
“C’mon, Buster. We
won’t be long. Just a short walk and then we’ll both sleep better.” I made a
big show of putting a few of his favorite treats in my jacket pocket. Buster
was not falling for it. In desperation I pried him from his usual hiding place
behind the sofa and carried him outdoors. Something stirred in the shrubbery at
the far end of the back yard and he was off like a shot.
“Hey, Buster!” I
shouted. “Wait for me.” I raced around to the gate at the end of the hedge and
followed the barking into the adjacent city park. When I caught up, Buster had
assumed his pre-attack stance and growling from his throat. His tail was
straight out signaling trouble.
“There you are boy,”
I said. “What have you found.”
A young man with
his pants down around his ankles had hold of a little girl, a five year old I
think, and was trying to molest her. Everything happened so fast. Buster is
sensitive to shrill noises, so the little girl’s cries and screams set him off.
He charged forward. The dog grabbed and pulled first at the man’s jeans before
chomping into one of his exposed calves. I grabbed the man by the shoulders to
pull him off the little girl. He swung around, slammed into a large tree and
knocked himself unconscious. Buster stood guard over him while I tried to calm
the girl.
“You’re safe now,
sweetheart. That man won’t hurt you anymore.”
“I want my mommy,”
she cried.
“I’m calling the
police. Someone will come to get you and take you home. What’s you name so I
can tell the police to tell your parents you’re safe now.”
I had my cellphone
in hand and the dispatcher had just answered when I was hit from behind. The
attacker had come to and struck me across the back of the head, propelling me
forward. As I hit the ground, I heard the man shrieking in pain. Buster sank his
teeth into the man’s most vulnerable parts. I rose to my feet and backhanded
the man into the same tree. This time I heard something crack. The way the man
slumped to the ground I knew he wouldn’t get back up. Buster punctuated the
situation by lifting his hind leg over the slack face on the ground and then scratching
up some grass.
The little girl had
stopped crying and sat wide-eyed as she watched Buster and me in action. The
dispatcher heard the commotion and used my phone’s GPS to send a patrol car to
our aid.
While one of the
officers attended the victim, the other one checked on the dead man lying against
the tree. He called an ambulance. Next he asked me my name, address and what
had happened. I told him everything he wanted to know. All the while Buster sat
up at his feet waiting for his turn to speak. When Buster figured he had waited
long enough, he softly barked twice.
“Who’s this guy?”
the office inquired as he squatted to pat Buster’s head.
“This is my pal,
Buster,” I replied. “He caught this guy trying to raped the girl.”
“Well, Buster, you’re
quite the hero.”
Buster barked in
agreement.
The officer said
Buster and I were free to go home adding, “If we have any other questions, we’ll
call you tomorrow.”
That’s how the
scene plays out in the dream. I wouldn’t exactly say this is a recurring dream.
There is always a different victim. Oftentimes the pedophile is different, too.
However, lately, the pedophile has been the same man. He’s somehow familiar to
me. Maybe from the dreams, but I feel like he is someone I know. Funny the
things and people we dream about. Right?
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