Laying down. "Sniff-sniff-sniff, smells like mama's stove, sniff-sniff.

"Noisy, Oh! Oh! HereItcomes! Here it comes! Fast! Fast! I'm up! Go! Go-Go-Go! Hey! HEY! HeyHey hey hey hey! Truck! Truck BIGRED Truck!"

Bob watched the floppy eared retriever scrambled off the neighbors front porch. A hairy sausage mounted to four independently minded legs; no two of which were in agreement as to what direction of travel was best.

Barking and bounding, it slathered a frantic negotiation of the open gate fronting the yard and settled into an all out gallop vectoring in behind his pickup. Bob liked his truck, but had never been able to muster the enthusiasm for it Boggie had. Especially when it was cruising down the block.

"Ah, shit. Mrs. Cournet left her gate open again."

Bob hit his driveway turn a bit faster than usual trying to keep ahead of the mutt. As was normally the case, Boggie lost interest in the truck in proportion to the square of its speed. By the time the truck was stopped, Boggie was sitting on the sidewalk tongue hanging like a disheveled pink tie out of the corner of his wide-open mouth.

"Woof! LookitsBob! Bob! Bob! First it was Noisy/Smelly, now it's BOB! I gotta go lick Bob. Smell Bob! Yep, Smells Just Like Bob alright! Glad to see Ya Bob!"

"Whoa, hey! Down buddy!" Bob gave the big dog's head a quick once over, then pulled the dog's paws down off his shoulders. Two years living just one house away from the beast, and still every opportunity that presented itself, Whammo! Dog slobber city.

His mom constantly told him he should get a dog. He replied that he already had his neighbor's dog, more often than not. Besides, they were expensive these days, what with the shots and all.

Bob squinted down at Mrs.Cournet's front gate. Maybe he ought to offer to fix her latch. While he was at it, he could put a spring on the gate so it would shut itself.

"Come on Boggey, let's go. Let's go see your Ma."

"Truck! Truck! BigRED Truck! GottaGet BigRED truck!"

Bob stopped in his tracks, eyeing the mutt.

"My truck's blue. Besides which, you're a dog - you're color blind." Bob looked sharply again at Mrs. Cournet's House. A vagrant bloom of black smoke floated from the back the house.

"Shit!" Bob dug into his coat pocket for his cell phone and punched up the fire department's local number.

"Hello? Yes, I need to report a fire at 21634 Waysdale. Black smoke…yeah. Thanks." He repocketed the phone and ran over to the open gate, through it, and up onto the porch.

Boggie followed at a merry trot ."Truck! Truck! BigRed Truck! Mama says. Get BigRed truck!"

From the proximity of the porch, Bob could smell the tarry odor of the burning house.

He banged open the old lady's door and started in. He could see, under the rising pall of sooty smoke, the legs of Mrs. Cournet where she had fallen, evidently having pulled over that old oak china cabinet with the bad leg. Pulled it right down on top of her. A large fry pan was knocked over onto the kitchen floor. Burning grease everywhere completed the immediate picture.

Bob pulled his jacket over his face and dashed in, kicking away the wedged cabinet, and pulling the unconscious woman out into the front yard. By then the fire truck had arrived, and big guys with long black overcoats were hauling hoses and axes out of it.

Boggie was whining and nudging at the prone form of Mrs. Cournet, saying "BigRed Truck, See Mama? See? GoodDog, GoodDog! Get Up, Mama! BigRED truck"

Mrs. Cournet stirred and moaned, feebly pushing with one hand at Boggie.

One of the firefighters approached Bob with a clipboard.