dianne salerni author
dianne salerni author

Got Raw MeatDING DONG.

BARK, BARK, BARK, BARK!

Sorcia rushes the door like a guided missile, throwing herself up on her hind legs and planting her front paws on the glass window. She bares her huge, sharp teeth and snarls. Saliva drips from her canines.

By the time I get to the door, the bell ringer is standing halfway down the walk. He is obviously poised to run for his life, but he still manages to give me a cheerful wave.

I crack open the door. Sorcia pushes past me and gets her head outside before I manage to pin her body against the door with my leg. She is barking and snarling and snapping. “Yeah, hello?” I say to the man.

“Hello, ma’am. That is a beautiful dog!”

Note: Sorcia is a beautiful dog, but every single one of ’em says this, so I assume it must be part of their door-to-door salesman training.

“What do you want?” Sorcia and I are having a battle in the doorway. She slips out a little more.

The man takes a step back, swallows hard, and says, “I’d like to talk to you about windows/siding/driveway sealant/the kingdom of heaven.”

“Uh, no,” I say bluntly, grabbing Sorcia by the collar and heaving backward with all my strength.

“Okay!” He doesn’t argue. He bolts.

I close the door and turn around.

Sorcia has stopped barking. She sits and watches me with big brown eyes. Her wagging tail makes a swishing sound against the floor.

I give her a biscuit.