A Killer Retreat by Tracy Weber Read Free Book Online

tongue lolled; his ears pressed flat against his head; a huge doggie grin spread across his face.
    I hesitated before pulling out the vial of Spot Stop. Michael loved animals as much as I did, so when he assured me that the citronella spray was humane, but effective, I believed him. Still, that didn’t mean I wanted to use it. Using force against an animal—even relatively benign force—was clearly against yoga’s principle of nonviolence. I firmly believed in ahimsa. I tried to live by it. But if by using force I could prevent harm? Well, I might have to make an exception.
    I moved the spray’s nozzle off safety.
    â€œCall your dog!” I yelled across the empty field. I was in luck, or at least I thought so. Somebody heard me. The cabin’s door opened and disgorged Bandit’s red-fingernailed owner. She stood on the deck, watching, as her dog barreled toward us.
    Bandit didn’t stop when he reached us. He didn’t even slow down. He just kept running. He zoomed around Bella, Michael, and me in ever-decreasing circles, orbiting Bella like a low-flying raptor circling its prey. Only faster. And more determined. And juiced up on cocaine.
    Bella didn’t move a muscle. She didn’t even twitch. She crouched forward, ears pricked at high alert, as if waiting for the right moment to strike.
    I prayed to God, the universe, or whoever else was listening. Please don’t let today be the day.
    Bella was famous for her ferocious-looking outbursts, but she’d never actually laid a tooth on another creature—at least not yet. I had a horrible feeling that Bandit might be the first. I envisioned ripping fangs, high-pitched yelps, and spatters of bright red blood in the terrier’s future.
    I didn’t consider what Patanjali—the author of The Yoga Sutras— might have done in my situation. I’m sure he would have reacted with much greater aplomb. But in my defense, I was trying to prevent bloodshed.
    I looked up at Bandit’s still-glaring, still-motionless owner and screamed, “Call your goddamned dog!”
    â€œOh, for God’s sake,” she yelled back. “He only wants to play. Ignore him and he’ll go away.” I watched, horrified, as she stomped back into the cabin and slammed the door behind her.
    I was completely out of Bandit-control options. “I’m going to have to spray him!”
    â€œDo it, already!” Michael yelled.
    I pointed the nozzle at the circling terrier, silently begged for forgiveness, and pressed down on the plunger, expecting to douse the unsuspecting canine in a fire hose of pressurized chemicals.
    A low-pressure squirt of lemon-scented water drizzled out of the opening. Bandit yapped excitedly, entranced by this new game. He alternated between leaping over the ineffectual stream and dodging out of its reach. After less than a minute, the drizzle stopped. The canister was empty. Bandit stopped running and glared at me, clearly disappointed that I’d broken his new water toy.
    That was the opportunity Bella had been waiting for. She lunged after Bandit, teeth thrashing and voice roaring. I managed to hang on to her leash—barely—but she pulled me to the ground. Michael tried to prevent doggie homicide by becoming a human shield. He threw his body toward the spinning fur ball but missed and fell face-first into the muck. Bandit alternated between nipping at Bella’s toes and vaulting over Michael’s prostrate, red-faced, and loudly swearing form.
    The cabin’s door opened again, and a tall man wearing beige khakis and a blue polo shirt rushed outside. “Bandit, come,” he yelled. “I have a cookie!”
    The c-word stopped Bandit in his tracks. He peeled off and ran back to the stranger. My new hero clipped a collar on the little beast and tied him to the porch.
    Meanwhile, back on the battlefield, Michael, Bella, and I started to shake off our recent trauma. I slowly