Then I noticed a movement beside me, across the sales counter. A thin young man with a little beard was watching us, with his head cocked to one side, his eyes bright and alert. He was employed and clean, but the line between the woman and him was finely drawn. I don't where his terrier came from, whether it was the snorting and the stomping of the horse that brought it out, or if it was the smell of sea and fish that was quickly fading from me. The small man's doggedness showed in his eyes, though, and you could see he thought it was his job to make something happen.
He vaulted over the counter with one hand and quickly sunk his fingernails into the arm of the woman. She let out with an indignant whinny and shook, hard. The crowd that had gathered backed away, making the circle big around us, but never blinking their eyes. It was blood sport, like cockfighting, probably illegal, certainly immoral, and they were only human and were compelled to watch. The terrier boy held tight and the horse woman jerked again and again, and finally reared up and gave him a good hard kick. The shock threw him, and his bite loosened enough that she could shake him off. She bolted out the door, toward the open field, and he was up again and right behind her, nipping at her heels. My keys were still in her hand.
"What happened?" Everyone was around asking, and I didn't know what to say. "She grabbed my keys and wouldn't give them back." Was that what happened? I was shaky, I still had sea legs, I wasn't sure.
© 2000 E.V. Hobbs