the yard.
Sunshine's unrest wasn't caused by one of the pesky, neighborhood cats. If it were, he would be outside barking, pretending to be brave.
I went into the living room and peeked through the stained glass door panel into the driveway, wavering between wanting to see who was there and wanting to scare them away. I turned on the porch light. The front yard was empty.
The dog sniffed at the door and growled. Odd behavior. Cavaliers don't often growl.
Uneasy, I hurried into the master bedroom and looked outside at the deserted landscape. A rippling crash against the windowpane forced me back several feet. Sunshine yelped and ran from the room, his tail between his legs. I realized someone had thrown a handful of pebbles against the glass. Afraid and shaking, I approached the window from the side, slipped my hand to the latch, and found it secure.
Sunshine, having recovered his bravery, ran from window to door, barking and growling. The hair stood erect along his spine.
Without turning on a light, I checked the windows in the spare room and den. Then not knowing what else to do, I armed myself with a paring knife from the kitchen counter, opened the door into the garage, and turned on the light.
The side door jiggled. Someone was trying to break in. Sunshine rushed at the door—sixteen pounds of jumping, barking fury. The door stopped moving.
Now what? My insides did a flip-flop. I could use a gun but don't own one anymore, and I'd managed to earn a brown belt in karate before taking the slug. All that expertise, coupled with Sunshine the Wonder Dog, left me feeling exposed. I took a deep breath to steady my nerves and hurried to the kitchen in search of a more suitable weapon—the six-inch carving knife.
Then I dialed 9-1-1. "This is Sophia Burgess. Someone is trying to break into my house." I recited my address, forcing myself not to hurry.
A rattling came from the back of the house. The prowler or prowlers were on my patio, close to the French doors. A man yelled, "Hey, Ho. How you like it, Ho?"
"Please tell them to hurry. I can hear voices on the patio." My voice shook. I hung up the phone before the dispatcher could reply.
A second man said, "Bet she likes it. Yeah man, I'd like to give the bitch a little."
Someone banged on the front door.
Sunshine ran yelping into the spare bedroom, leapt onto the bed in one fluid motion, and stuck his head under the blind, informing them he wasn't a ferocious watchdog in the process.
I lived a couple of miles from the police station, and a few moments later sirens pierced the quiet night.
A male voice yelled, "Po-Po's comin'."
There were a couple other voices, but the words blended into the noise created by my pounding heart. I ran to the front door, stared out the window, and glimpsed three retreating youths—tall, baggy clothes, dark skinned. Jamel and his friends? I wondered while waiting for the police cruiser to arrive.
The officer coming to my rescue was a classmate from the academy. He, along with other officers, visited me several times while I recuperated from my wounds. He also knew Ray. It wasn't a surprise when Ray appeared at my door an hour later.
"Sophi," Ray said when I opened the door. Concern etched his face. "I heard you had a problem. You okay?"
"I think."
Sunshine's greeting distracted him for a moment.
It's a rule in my house—Sunshine's rule—you have to say hello to the dog before you're allowed to conduct business, even if you're a stranger. Ray isn't a stranger so the whole process takes longer.
He knelt and rubbed the dog's ears, then picked him up and rubbed him some more.
I took Sunshine out of Ray's arms and hugged him—the dog, not the man.
Ray walked uninvited into the kitchen and pulled out one of the low stools next to the counter. "Tell me what happened."
I told him about the noises and the young men running away.
Sunshine's unrest wasn't caused by one of the pesky, neighborhood cats. If it were, he would be outside barking, pretending to be brave.
I went into the living room and peeked through the stained glass door panel into the driveway, wavering between wanting to see who was there and wanting to scare them away. I turned on the porch light. The front yard was empty.
The dog sniffed at the door and growled. Odd behavior. Cavaliers don't often growl.
Uneasy, I hurried into the master bedroom and looked outside at the deserted landscape. A rippling crash against the windowpane forced me back several feet. Sunshine yelped and ran from the room, his tail between his legs. I realized someone had thrown a handful of pebbles against the glass. Afraid and shaking, I approached the window from the side, slipped my hand to the latch, and found it secure.
Sunshine, having recovered his bravery, ran from window to door, barking and growling. The hair stood erect along his spine.
Without turning on a light, I checked the windows in the spare room and den. Then not knowing what else to do, I armed myself with a paring knife from the kitchen counter, opened the door into the garage, and turned on the light.
The side door jiggled. Someone was trying to break in. Sunshine rushed at the door—sixteen pounds of jumping, barking fury. The door stopped moving.
Now what? My insides did a flip-flop. I could use a gun but don't own one anymore, and I'd managed to earn a brown belt in karate before taking the slug. All that expertise, coupled with Sunshine the Wonder Dog, left me feeling exposed. I took a deep breath to steady my nerves and hurried to the kitchen in search of a more suitable weapon—the six-inch carving knife.
Then I dialed 9-1-1. "This is Sophia Burgess. Someone is trying to break into my house." I recited my address, forcing myself not to hurry.
A rattling came from the back of the house. The prowler or prowlers were on my patio, close to the French doors. A man yelled, "Hey, Ho. How you like it, Ho?"
"Please tell them to hurry. I can hear voices on the patio." My voice shook. I hung up the phone before the dispatcher could reply.
A second man said, "Bet she likes it. Yeah man, I'd like to give the bitch a little."
Someone banged on the front door.
Sunshine ran yelping into the spare bedroom, leapt onto the bed in one fluid motion, and stuck his head under the blind, informing them he wasn't a ferocious watchdog in the process.
I lived a couple of miles from the police station, and a few moments later sirens pierced the quiet night.
A male voice yelled, "Po-Po's comin'."
There were a couple other voices, but the words blended into the noise created by my pounding heart. I ran to the front door, stared out the window, and glimpsed three retreating youths—tall, baggy clothes, dark skinned. Jamel and his friends? I wondered while waiting for the police cruiser to arrive.
The officer coming to my rescue was a classmate from the academy. He, along with other officers, visited me several times while I recuperated from my wounds. He also knew Ray. It wasn't a surprise when Ray appeared at my door an hour later.
"Sophi," Ray said when I opened the door. Concern etched his face. "I heard you had a problem. You okay?"
"I think."
Sunshine's greeting distracted him for a moment.
It's a rule in my house—Sunshine's rule—you have to say hello to the dog before you're allowed to conduct business, even if you're a stranger. Ray isn't a stranger so the whole process takes longer.
He knelt and rubbed the dog's ears, then picked him up and rubbed him some more.
I took Sunshine out of Ray's arms and hugged him—the dog, not the man.
Ray walked uninvited into the kitchen and pulled out one of the low stools next to the counter. "Tell me what happened."
I told him about the noises and the young men running away.
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