He hurt my pack. He entered the home. He hunted my William. I didn’t say, “No!” I didn’t say, “Bad!”. No talk. Kill. Protect. I attacked. ...ushed him from home. Kept him from my William. I bit, I pulled, and its hot blood bathed my jaws. It bit me with the tooth in its hand. Again, and again. My jaws sunk into its neck. I yanked, I shook it. It pulled free and ran to the water, trailing blood. I followed, slowly, my blood mingling with his.Lying on the ground, I wondered about my Finn. Where was. His hips were a tight fit but the surface of the hole was slippery after years of waste and water had coated the rock surface. He raised his arms above his head and wriggled, and bit by bit he worked himself into the stinking hole. The smell was overpowering as he continued slipping downward. He fought back the urge to gag and kept on wriggling until his shoulders were below the edge. He was now at the point of no return. If he got stuck he would be unable to pull himself back up with his arms. Becky, sounding bold and defiant, rose to her feet and pleaded her case to Miss Davenport, who concurred."And he should say something," Becky said. "How about, 'I'm taxiing for takeoff?'"Unable to stay on my hands indefinitely, I rose to my feet and watched as Becky consulted with Miss Davenport."Can you remember that? 'I'm taxiing for takeoff, ' Sammy?" Miss Davenport asked me, having agreed to the line that Becky suggested."Yes, Ma'am," I said."Apple, it's Apple," Becky said to the older. I wouldn’t dare to take my shoes off now. But your feet are smaller than mine, so they probably smell less." "Don’t worry!" I said, grabbing the opportunity to both have an opinion on the topic and to say something flattering. "Women in general sweat a lot less than men do, especially through their feet," which I knew was true because I had overheard it in a shoe store once. "Men’s feet stink like rats, but women’s feet have almost no odour whatsoever." "Is that so?" the pretty girl said.