Ian
This is why I should never volunteer for anything.
I do not enjoy chaos.
My three brothers always give me shit about it, but I like rules and structure. Always have, and there’s no changing that now.
Which is why I have no choice but to go after Barrel the dog before he causes more confusion than Winnie, his adorable but kind of frustrating owner.
There is no fucking way she didn’t see that roadblock. I’m just sayin’.
In a full sprint now, I realize I’m losing ground. I consider myself in good shape. Hell, I know I’m in good shape. I have nothing else to do besides work at the distillery and workout.
But that doesn’t mean I can keep up with a dog who has tasted both freedom and a corn dog.
Barrel isbarrelingthrough the crowd.
There are startled exclamations and stunned surprise from the festival attendees as the dog races his way from one end ofthe town square to the other. Fred Callahan, who runs the local funeral home, makes a valiant effort to grab Barrel by the collar, but he narrowly misses.
Fred looks poised to make chase, but I tell him, “I’ve got him,” as I dash by.
“Did you get a dog?” he asks me but I don’t have time to answer.
“Whose dog is that?” I hear another woman ask.
I don’t have time to respond to that either.
I’ve figured out Barrel’s intended destination—Wanted’s only bakery, Sweet Thang. The owner, Miss Bettie, has designed a booth made to look like a Candyland board, where you can stroll through it while surrounded by towering displays of cupcakes, macarons, sticky buns, and cookies. She has a cotton candy machine spinning sugar, pumping a fruity scent up into the air.
It took her and her staff two days to set this little bit of magic all up and judging it along with my other committee was part of my volunteer duties. Sweet Thang's booth has already earned the coveted Spring Fling Festival blue ribbon for Best Display.
And the new girl in town’s dog is heading straight for it.
Folks in Wanted are generally friendly to newcomers, but the mass destruction of a town treasure might be a strike against Winnie she won’t be able to recover from.
Just running after Barrel isn’t going to work. He has the speed to beat me to the Sweet Thang booth in about another ninety seconds.
I need to be smarter than him and cut him off where the sweet tea stand creates a jog in the path. If I cut behind the lamp post and go through the middle of the Wanted Middle School’s athletics booth, I can get there first.
Running past the corn dog stand, I grab one off of the counter and yell to the teen manning the register, “I’ll be right back to pay!”
As I round the corner and head for the front of Miss Bettie’s booth, I hear alarmed voices rising.
“What the—” someone exclaims.
I go full speed now.
It’s a blind maneuver, because I can’t see Barrel since I’m coming from the side, but the reactions in the booth tell me he’s almost there. I dash out, waving the corn dog like a matador.
Barrel wants the corn dog. I want a hand on his collar.
We’re both successful.
Sort of.
The dog enthusiastically jumps on my leg and I get a nice grip on his collar.
As the corn dog falls to the grass, Barrel drops down next to it and starts chomping on the end.
