***
Rebecca named the dog Poison. Not because he was deadly, or smelly, or even useful. Poison was her second favourite word. First place belonged to "exsanguination", but it wasn't dog-worthy.
She stood on the front porch, and yelled, "Poison! Here boy!" The neighbours had learned to tolerate her, though she suspected they were secretly trying to oust her from their midst. From her position, she could see that Mrs. Midarkin and Old Man Frudler held their front curtains open, scoping out the dangerous doggy, counting how many places he's sprayed or dumped a load. Rebecca planned a scout-and-clean mission after breakfast.
Poison hurried up to her, his stubby tail wagging. He wasn't one of those cropped dogs like a Doberman or a Rottweiler. His tail had been severed in the door of a car, long before Rebecca had claimed ownership and named him after a chemical compound causing discomfort and possible death. She leaned down and scratched him behind the ear. "Good doggie."
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