When I was a kid, every Saturday me and my brothers would go to the park.

I looked forward to it all week, because we got to drink out of the fountain at the side of the playground. The pipes in the old house we lived in were rusty, so it was the only time we got water that wasn't brown and didn't smell like rotten eggs.

One Saturday we got our stuff together and made the half-mile trek down our old dirt road, through the pasture and across the railroad tracks. We carried our usual bat and gloves and a tattered old baseball. We always had to coax the ball out of Rustys' jaws. Rusty was our part-Black Lab part-who-knows that wandered up when I was five years old. By now I was eight and had become quite attached to the half-wit mongrel.

Anyways, when we got to the park we started throwing around the ball just to warm up. As usual, we had to throw high to keep Rusty from grabbing it and running away.

My brother, Mack had the best arm, but Brody could hit the ball a country mile and run like soup through a ladle. Me, I was the shortstop. Not that I got to ever touch the ball'� in play, that is. My job, mostly, was to run down the hill and grab the ball if it ever got loose on a foul.

There I was in the outfield. Brody wound up the pitch. As he let go, I recognized it as his all-time famous roundhouse screwball. That's what the guys at school called it anyway. I could hardly see it as it approached the bat. With a swing and crack, Brody hit the ball like there was no tomorrow. WHAM! It flew over my head and straight for Grindleman's drug store all the way on the other side of the street from the park.

'Get it Scooter!'� They both yelled in unison. But it was too late. It went crashing through the glass before any of us had a chance to move.

We all three stood and stared for a split second at the hole in the glass where it used to say, 'Air Conditioned'�. Now there was more of a natural sort of ventilation. I looked around to see nothing but Mack and Brodys' back-sides as they high-tailed it through the brush back toward the house. I took off running with Rusty on my heels.

Not far behind, I heard old Grindleman yelling 'You boys better get your carcasses back here!'�, but I knew I better keep mine moving or it would be the end of me. Not only would he beat my tale 'til I couldn't sit down, my mom would take me behind the woodshed too. Then my brothers would finish the job if I got them caught!


Doogie Jones was a kid who lived 2 blocks over from our house.
His Mom and Dad didn't much care for us and I've got to say, even though I wasn't sure why, the feeling was shared.

I was tearing past his house knowing Mr. Grindleman couldn't be far behind when ol' Rusty caught sight of Doogies' mangy cat. Spitz was one of them hairless cats that looks like it spent a little time too close to the wood chipper.

Rusty would have been okay, but then Spitz took a running swipe at him. He was never one to back down from a dare, so he shot off after Spitz like a rocket. Right as I was starting to go after him, I felt something 'Thud'� on the back of my head. I looked across the street and saw Doogie standing in the middle of his driveway holding a rock and laughing. He was pulling his arm back to let go of number two when barreling up the road came a cherry-red 1969 Cutlass convertible.

We all knew that was ol' man Grindlemans' pride and joy.

Now it was too late to run. I knew I was caught.

Just when I was about to give up, a miracle straight from God above happened. Doogie let go of the rock in his hand just as Grindleman was slowing down to stop.

'BAM'�! The rock slammed right into the driver-side door!

I took off fast as I could run to find Rusty, but I could hear Doogie scream for mercy as Mr. Grindleman took out his day on the only boy he could catch.

Me and my brothers never heard a word from the old storekeeper about that window, but we sure spent a lot of time that summer sweeping the floor of that old drug store'� volunteer work, you see.

I did find Rusty, but nobody ever saw Spitz again.

And Doogie? I believe to this day he still has to have a pillow before he sits down.

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