The Whole Business with Kiffo and the Pitbull by Barry Jonsberg Page B
Authors: Barry Jonsberg
Tags: JUV000000
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itâll blow the back of your head off. I have to confess that when it arrived, it did so with maximum decibels. I donât know who was most surprised: me, Kiffo, the spider or the trio inside the hall. At least I had about one tenth of a second warning. For Kiffo, it must have been like a shotgun going off in his ear. He leaped about three metres in the air, his face twisted into an expression that, under other circumstances, would have been quite comical, and the whole flimsy structure we were standing on collapsed in a crash of cascading plastic.
âSorry,â I said, after we had landed in a tangle on the ground. Kiffo turned a disbelieving face in my direction.
âBetter out than in,â I added.
Maybe he would have hit me. I wouldnât have blamed him. There wasnât a chance, though. We heard a startled gasp, the unmistakable sound of a door being opened hurriedly, a large dog tearing at the ground with its claws and the rattle of a chain clasp being released. Slasher had been building up a fair bit of momentum while on the leash. Like one of those old wind-up cars. Youâd rev the wheels against the floor and when you released it, the car would zoom off at about two hundred kilometres an hour and smash your mumâs prize vase in the corner of the living room. Well, old Slash was clearly a bit like that. We could hear the thud of giant paws crashing against the ground. It sounded like a Sherman tank was coming towards us.
âRun!â yelled Kiffo, a little unnecessarily. I already had a twenty metre head start on him.
Have you ever seen those films where they use a hand-held camera during action sequences? Everything jumps around and all you can hear is the sound of heavy breathing? Think of that and you will get some idea of the next few minutes. I had never run so fast. The only thing that crossed my mind was whether it was possible to get whiplash in the mammaries. Head up, arms and legs pumping. Iâd have amazed my Phys. Ed. teacher. If an athletics scout had been around, Iâd probably have made the national squad for the one hundred metres. But whatever I did, I couldnât shake the dog. I could hear it pounding along behind me, the sound of its harsh breathing getting closer by the second. I had no idea what had happened to Kiffo. Under the circumstances, I could only worry about myself.
Just when I felt that the damn thing was about to clasp its yellowing teeth around my ankle I did a sort of sideways leap over a low fence bordering someoneâs property. The dog attempted to change direction too, and I heard it smash into the metal chain link. I had an image of its face being squeezed into about six separate diamond shapes â you know, like in those cartoons where the cat gets sliced up into segments. It gave me a few precious seconds though. I ran straight across the yard, dodging the odd palm tree that suddenly loomed up at me in the dark. It wasnât enough. Old Slasher had obviously had lessons in fence hurdling because all too soon I could hear the sound of his breathing closing in again. He sounded pissed off as well. Trust me, you can tell these things when you are being pursued by a creature whose sole raison dâêtre is to supplement its normal diet with human rump steak.
Even a massive burst of adrenaline wears off pretty quickly. I was tiring and I knew it. Just when I felt that it was all over, that, frankly, I couldnât be bothered anymore, a sort of miracle happened. One moment I was running over grass and the next a dark mass appeared at my feet. Before I had time to even think about it, I jumped and cleared an in-ground spa by about two metres. Slasher wasnât quite so lucky, though. I could hear a huge splash as he dived straight in. Must have been quite a surprise. One moment heâs got the scent of blood in his nostrils and the next heâs doing the breaststroke. Mind you, the size and sheer bulk of the hound might
âSorry,â I said, after we had landed in a tangle on the ground. Kiffo turned a disbelieving face in my direction.
âBetter out than in,â I added.
Maybe he would have hit me. I wouldnât have blamed him. There wasnât a chance, though. We heard a startled gasp, the unmistakable sound of a door being opened hurriedly, a large dog tearing at the ground with its claws and the rattle of a chain clasp being released. Slasher had been building up a fair bit of momentum while on the leash. Like one of those old wind-up cars. Youâd rev the wheels against the floor and when you released it, the car would zoom off at about two hundred kilometres an hour and smash your mumâs prize vase in the corner of the living room. Well, old Slash was clearly a bit like that. We could hear the thud of giant paws crashing against the ground. It sounded like a Sherman tank was coming towards us.
âRun!â yelled Kiffo, a little unnecessarily. I already had a twenty metre head start on him.
Have you ever seen those films where they use a hand-held camera during action sequences? Everything jumps around and all you can hear is the sound of heavy breathing? Think of that and you will get some idea of the next few minutes. I had never run so fast. The only thing that crossed my mind was whether it was possible to get whiplash in the mammaries. Head up, arms and legs pumping. Iâd have amazed my Phys. Ed. teacher. If an athletics scout had been around, Iâd probably have made the national squad for the one hundred metres. But whatever I did, I couldnât shake the dog. I could hear it pounding along behind me, the sound of its harsh breathing getting closer by the second. I had no idea what had happened to Kiffo. Under the circumstances, I could only worry about myself.
Just when I felt that the damn thing was about to clasp its yellowing teeth around my ankle I did a sort of sideways leap over a low fence bordering someoneâs property. The dog attempted to change direction too, and I heard it smash into the metal chain link. I had an image of its face being squeezed into about six separate diamond shapes â you know, like in those cartoons where the cat gets sliced up into segments. It gave me a few precious seconds though. I ran straight across the yard, dodging the odd palm tree that suddenly loomed up at me in the dark. It wasnât enough. Old Slasher had obviously had lessons in fence hurdling because all too soon I could hear the sound of his breathing closing in again. He sounded pissed off as well. Trust me, you can tell these things when you are being pursued by a creature whose sole raison dâêtre is to supplement its normal diet with human rump steak.
Even a massive burst of adrenaline wears off pretty quickly. I was tiring and I knew it. Just when I felt that it was all over, that, frankly, I couldnât be bothered anymore, a sort of miracle happened. One moment I was running over grass and the next a dark mass appeared at my feet. Before I had time to even think about it, I jumped and cleared an in-ground spa by about two metres. Slasher wasnât quite so lucky, though. I could hear a huge splash as he dived straight in. Must have been quite a surprise. One moment heâs got the scent of blood in his nostrils and the next heâs doing the breaststroke. Mind you, the size and sheer bulk of the hound might
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