minnesota writing project
center for writing
mwp.umn.edu

Charles Ellenbogen

An excerpt from “A Boy’s Best Friend”

Hunter explained, “We take turns. There are all sorts of things that live in there.” He waved at the largest junk pile.

“You get three points for a direct hit,” Stew continued, “and one if you just scare it into the open, so we have to take turns. To know who did what.”

Matt took over. “And if you score, you get to move. One large step for each point.”

Brandon finished, “And it’s ten points if you kill it.”

Larry flinched and then scratched his nose to try to cover it.

The boys took turns aiming into the pile. Sometimes aiming at what they thought were shadows and sometimes trying to hit something that would make the most satisfying sound. Once in a while, there were noises from the pile. Larry thought it must be rats. Whenever it was his turn, Larry did not really aim his throws. He was sitting next to Hunter, so he just threw his rock around the same area Hunter threw his. Just about when they were running short of ammunition, a mongrel came limping and whimpering out from underneath a piece of farm machinery, its fur pressed down by dirt.

“That’s three for me,” Hunter shouted.

“No way!” Matt argued. “We didn’t see the hit.”

“It is limping,” Brandon countered.

“How ‘bout two?” Stew offered.

“Two is fair. I’ll take two.” Hunter leapt from his perch and advanced two large steps. “Your toss, Tore.”

The dog’s whining sounds were giving Larry a headache. He turned and looked at what remained in his pile. He selected a small slab of cinder block. For the first time since they’d moved, he was feeling great. The best he had felt since they had moved to this town. Then he thought about his mom and how probably in another three or four months they’d be moving again, no matter what she said about it working this time, because she’d said it before. Fuck his mom. Fuck this dog.

He raised his arm and thought his dad must’ve done stuff like this. One time, he used a magnifying glass to burn some bug and his mom had made him spend a Saturday morning at the Humane Society screaming at him the whole way there that if he wasn’t careful, he was going to end up just like his dad.

The dog moved a little to its left. Besides, it was ugly. It was a mutt, slobbering and whimpering. If not for the noise it was making, it could have been some stuffed animal some kid had left behind.

This time, Larry aimed his throw. He threw the block at the dog’s head and the dog fell over. Its eyes flickered but it looked at no one and saw nothing. Larry wondered why there wasn’t any blood. Its annoying whimpers were quieter now.

The others cheered. He collected his rocks and took three large steps. He looked to his right to watch Brandon’s throw.

“Let Tory do it. It’s his first time,” Hunter said.

He started the chant and the others quickly took it up. “Tore-ree, Tore-ree, Tore-ree.” Larry balanced his remaining rocks in his right hand and dropped all of them one at a time except the heaviest. It was a short toss, like from short to second, but it had to have more power than that. He set himself and threw. It was the best throw in the world.An excerpt from “A Boy’s Best Friend”