Good. I promise

“Go ahead, let him loose,” Killer’s owner said.

“A dog ain’t meant to spend his life on the end of a

rope.”

“Oh, what the hell,” I said, and unsnapped the

leash. Marley dashed for the water, kicking sand

all over us as he blasted off. He crashed into the

surf just as a breaker rolled in, tossing him under

the water. A second later his head reappeared, and

the instant he regained his footing he threw a

cross-body block at Killer the Pig-Slaying Pit

Bull, knocking both of them off their feet. To-

gether they rolled beneath a wave, and I held my

Marley & Me

breath, wondering if Marley had just crossed the

line that would throw Killer into a homicidal,

Lab-butchering fury. But when they popped back

up again, their tails were wagging, their mouths

grinning. Killer jumped on Marley’s back and

Marley on Killer’s, their jaws clamping playfully

around each other’s throats. They chased each

other up the waterline and back again, sending

plumes of spray flying on either side of them.

They pranced, they danced, they wrestled, they

dove. I don’t think I had ever before, or have ever

since, witnessed such unadulterated joy.

The other dog owners took our cue, and pretty

soon all the dogs, about a dozen in total, were run-

ning free. The dogs all got along splendidly; the

owners all followed the rules. It was Dog Beach as

it was meant to be. This was the real Florida, un-

blemished and unchecked, the Florida of a forgot-

ten, simpler time and place, immune to the march

of progress.

There was only one small problem. As the

morning progressed, Marley kept lapping up salt

water. I followed behind him with the bowl of

fresh water, but he was too distracted to drink.

Several times I led him right up to the bowl and

stuck his nose into it, but he spurned the fresh wa-

ter as if it were vinegar, wanting only to return to

his new best friend, Killer, and the other dogs.

John Grogan

Out in the shallows, he paused from his play to

lap up even more salt water. “Stop that, you

dummy!” I yelled at him. “You’re going to make

yourself...” Before I could finish my thought, it

happened. A strange glaze settled over his eyes

and a horrible churning sound began to erupt

from his gut. He arched his back high and opened

and shut his mouth several times, as if trying to

clear something from his craw. His shoulders

heaved; his abdomen contorted. I hurried to finish

my sentence: “... sick.”

The instant the word left my lips, Marley ful-

filled the prophecy, committing the ultimate Dog

Beach heresy. GAAAAAAAAACK!

I raced to pull him out of the water, but it was

too late. Everything was coming up.

GAAAAAAAAACK! I could see last night’s dog

chow floating on the water’s surface, looking sur-

prisingly like it had before it went in. Bobbing

among the nuggets were undigested corn kernels

he had swiped off the kids’ plates, a milk-jug cap,

and the severed head of a tiny plastic soldier. The

entire evacuation took no more than three sec-

onds, and the instant his stomach was emptied he

looked up brightly, apparently fully recovered

with no lingering aftereffects, as if to say, Now

Дата добавления: 2014-12-24