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Show Car Baseball Butch and Fenn Stories 43 "This'11 do it." I put my hands over his nostrils and smile up at Fenn and Butch, trying not to inhale. A minute passes. "He's got to breathe!" "Wanna bet!" Fenn says. "This is no normal dog. Stop up his ears too." I drop Tiny's head and it falls back hard against the dirt bank. I look to Butch: "You wanna cut it out?" "Get Karen," Butch says. "She knows how he works." Karen won't come because she sees Butch and anticipates being pounded. She stands up from the nest in the bushes where she's been mothering some rocks, and she runs around the house one and three quarter times, well ahead of Butch. "That girl can fly," Fenn says to me as she sprints past us. But finally, she falls flat in the side yard, tripped up in the old tires, and she scrambles up with enough alertness to tie herself with her belt to the sapling-size milkweed. Butch walks around the house and looks at us, mad because we didn't tackle her when she plunged by the first time. His rash of freckles is flashing so we know that he's fairly mad. He grabs the milkweed stalk which Karen has strapped herself to, and he jerks it entirely out of the sandy soil. I admire the way Karen doesn't even whimper during all of this. Butch hangs the hairy head of the beast-weed over her head and shakes it a little so that dirt filters onto her. |