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Blood, Guns and Whores -- Chapter 10. Boots and Stitches

Blood, Guns and Whores -- Chapter 10. Boots and Stitches

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Published by W. Ross Ayers
Chapter 10 --- "Blood, Guns and Whores - An All American Tale of a Boy and His Dog“, is a coffee table novel made of micro chapters and illustrations about a boy growing up in the small farming community of Blissfield, Michigan and on to adulthood in San Francisco. W. Ross Ayers

Goto http://www.BloodGunsAndWhores.com to read all the posted chapters, check out how this is cool and different. Or just buy the book to get the full rich experience of the illustrations, artwork, and story in the way it was meant to be experienced.
Chapter 10 --- "Blood, Guns and Whores - An All American Tale of a Boy and His Dog“, is a coffee table novel made of micro chapters and illustrations about a boy growing up in the small farming community of Blissfield, Michigan and on to adulthood in San Francisco. W. Ross Ayers

Goto http://www.BloodGunsAndWhores.com to read all the posted chapters, check out how this is cool and different. Or just buy the book to get the full rich experience of the illustrations, artwork, and story in the way it was meant to be experienced.

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Published by: W. Ross Ayers on Oct 05, 2009
Copyright:Attribution Non-commercial

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06/09/2011

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Blood,
 
Gunsand Whores
 
~
An All American Tale
 
of a Boy and His Dog 
Writtenand Illustrated by W.Ross Ayers
 An SFWC Co-Publishing Studio Production © 2011 by LND, inc. All rights reserved 
 
 
, is a coffee table novel made of micro chapters and illustrations about a boy growing up in the small farming community of Blissfield, Michigan and on to adulthood in San Francisco.W. Ross Ayers
10. Boots And Stitches
“Rich, close the gate to Boots’ pen!”
I yelled for the fourth time that evening.Rich once again looked at me, and walked away.It was Friday evening, early fall. The sun was starting to get low in the sky and the air waswarm and filled with mosquitoes buzzing and diving. The fields that wrapped around ourproperty were full of tall brown corn and bushy soybeans.Earlier in the summer Boots turned four. He stood twelve inches tall at the shoulder and wasabout eighteen inches nose to the base of his tail.I made him a strawberry birthday cupcake with white frosting.
Mom wouldn’t let me make him a whole cake.
When I unwrapped his birthday cupcake and gave it to him he swallowed it in one gulp. He
didn’t even chew it.
It was his birthday, he could do whatever he wanted.The week before I had stood outside of his new pen with Rich and Dad. We had spent allSaturday and most of Sunday after church building it.The pen was connected to the small rundown barn behind our house.As Rich, Dad and I stood there, Boots bounced on his six-foot chain like a hooked marlin.
 
We had to chain him to the barn even though his pen was made of six foot tall linked fence.When Rich, Dad and I made the pen we had lined the bottom of the fence with wood planks
so he couldn’t dig out.
He never even tried.As soon as we put him in the pen and shut the gate he began yelping and running circlesaround the edge of the square pen. He built up speed turning into a small black blur. I beganto almost get dizzy watching him.My stomach twisted with guilt for locking him in. I could feel his terror. But I knew that wasthe only way to keep him safe from Toby.Toby was allowed to roam free. He had already attacked Boots once. I had to protect him.
Boots didn’t have a chance against Toby. Toby would kill him if allowed, ripping his neck out.
 Just as Boots built up to maximum speed and I really began to get dizzy, he veered straight upthe fence, running up it like a ladder. When he reached the top he paused, looking out andover.Rich, Dad and I stood like statues, silent in place, looking up at boots perched six feet from theground.In a split second Boots jumped, launching himself with his stubby legs. His short black furrybody froze in the air tense with his head tilted down and his front legs stiff in front of him. Hisrear legs stiff and perpendicular from his body.Time slowed.All that I could move were my eyes following him floating to the ground.He hit the ground and time sped up to normal speed.Without even missing a step, Boots shot towards us, then bolted to the side, circling us.He wanted us to chase him. For him it was always time to play.
“Mom, Rich won’t close the gate to Boots’ pen!”
I pleaded.
“Rich, go close the gate.”
 

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