To Hiss or to Kiss Read Online Free

pulling away. No dog has responded yet. I only sense their anger and fear. Then one female voice comes through. “Help us.” It’s a plea.
    I get a fleeting image of a patchy-haired black dog in a cage. Then the van has carried me too far away to connect.
    The pain and desperation of the dog’s entreaty plagues me as we drive back.
    After a few minutes, Maximilian whines and pulls me back to the present. “Can I help you?” He presses his muzzle against the cage as if he wants to get to me and comfort me.
    “It’s OK, Maximilian.” I look at him, sending my thoughts. “I’m OK, and we will help those dogs.”
    “Good. I don’t like it when people are sad.”
    “I know. You’re a good boy.”
    At that his butt starts to wiggle again in excitement. “I am. I try so hard.”
    “Well, you’re doing very well.”
    “Will we get to the place where they’ll get the flies off me soon?”
    “Yes. Not too much longer now.”
    I think he might shake out of his skin with excitement, and he never really calms down until he’s been delivered to the veterinary staff and they start the process of bathing and shaving to clean him off and dress and treat his wounds. I’m not sure you could describe his calmer state as actually calm, but at least he’s not bouncing off the walls.
    I leave him in their capable hands and thank Mike and Maria before heading home, the plea for help still echoing in my head.
     

Chapter Three
     
     
    I ask myself for the millionth time what the hell I am doing as I drive with my lights off past the old farmhouse. But the dog’s plaintive plea is still echoing in my brain as it has been all evening, so I keep creeping along.
    Now I try to find a place not too far past the house where I can pull off. It’s harder than it seems since my Civic is far from an off-road vehicle. As is often the case around farmland, there are fairly wide ditches along the road, and I can’t see well enough to gauge their depth through the thickly growing weeds and grasses, and the shadows made by stubby trees and bushes bathed in moonlight. Thank God it’s a clear night with a nearly full moon or I wouldn’t be able to see a thing. And thank God I’ve effectively squelched that rational part of my brain that is screaming I’m a lunatic for being out here. With people, I’m a cool customer, but animals get to my heart every time.
    About a quarter mile away I see a pull-off that must be used by tractors to enter a field of corn, which looks ready to harvest any day now. Knuckles white on the steering wheel, I turn slowly and park, shutting the car off, my hand lingering on the keys. I feel light-headed and queasy. Help us, help us, help us echoes in my head and steels my nerves.
    I get out, barely shutting the door because I’m afraid to make too much noise, and begin the walk down the gravel road. Crickets play a cacophony of sound amid the rustling grassy weeds in the ditch. I pick my steps carefully.
    I try to keep my mind blank by counting my steps and attempting not to trip. At 2,683 I reach the edge of the property and survey the grounds. The front-porch light is on, but otherwise the large, rundown farmhouse is dark, as is the peeling red-painted barn. I feel the same evil vibe wash over me that I felt when the humane society van was here. The barn is off to my right, the house directly in front. Between me and the barn are several large oak trees. I make my way to the first so I can get closest to the house without going into the open yard by coming around the far side of the barn.
    I dart quickly from trunk to trunk of the towering oaks, then slide behind the barn. Leaning against the wall, I catch my breath and try to calm my nerves. Even though it’s not very hot out, sweat trickles down my back and gathers on my brow. My heart is pounding and I struggle to extend the length of my breath.
    The barn wall is my support as I make my way around the back of the building. I crouch in a shadow, the