Storm over the Caribbean

15. Man's Best Friend! Woman's? Not So much...

I stared at the glowing yellow dots.

They're just fireflies, I told myself. Fireflies. The soft approaching sounds are definitely not the footsteps of a predator.

That was when the canine decided to step out of the shadows into the moonlight, fangs bared.

"Grrrrrwwl!"

I swallowed.

"Um...good doggie? Nice doggie?"

"Rrrawrrrrrrrrr!"

Slowly, the beast started to advance on me. And it was a beast, no doubt about that! Shaggy, bristly, with evilly glowing eyes staring straight at me.

Or...no.

Not at me. At the ground in front of me. I glanced down—and my eyes landed on the two sticks I had tried to use to light a fire.

I blinked.

Then I looked up at the wild dog again. The dog whose tongue was lolling out, and who was still staring at the sticks expectantly.

You're frigging kidding me, right?

"You..." I picked up one of the sticks. "You want this?"

"Woof!"

The horrible, terrifying beast wagged its tail. Slowly, carefully, I raised my hand—then threw the stick.

"Um...fetch?"

"Woof!"

And, yipping happily, the dog rushed off after his new toy.

Had that really just happened?

That question was answered ten seconds later with a resounding "yes" when the stray dog came rushing back, stick in his mouth and tail wagging enthusiastically.

"Um...good boy! Excellent job of stick-fetching. And not biting my hand off."

"Woof! Woof!"

"Good boy! Good boy!"

I was saying that a bit too often, wasn't I?

"I, um...I think I'll call you Fence."

"Woof?"

"You'll understand when you meet your adopted cousins Barb and Wire."

"Woof!"

Cautiously, I reached out.

All right. Deep breaths, Lilly. Deep breaths. Just do it!

I patted his head.

Hand still attached! Arm unbitten! Yay!

Tentatively, I reached out and took hold of the stick again. Fence yipped expectantly. Drawing back my arm with what little power I had still left, I hurled the thing as hard as I could. The dog raced after it as if the hounds of hell were on his heels and also wanted to play with the stick. Hopefully, he'd spend all night out there looking for it.

Two minutes later...

"Woof! Woof!"

"Back again?"

"Woof!"

"I'm trying to bloody sleep! I need my strength for tomorrow if I want to survive! I don't have time for you!"

"Woof?"

His big ears drooped, He looked up at me with bit, innocent, literal puppy-dog eyes.

Dang it!