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Waving a hand toward the announcement booth, I wait for Reggie to flash a thumbs-up, acknowledging my signal that everyone’s fine.
His little spiel revs up fast, echoing over the arena and ending with, “Thank you all for coming out today, folks. Another Dallas crisis averted—and we didn’t even have a tiger on the loose this time!”
I snort, grateful he’s a people pleaser. Though I guess his callback to the time my uncle rescued a stray zoologist will always win some grins.
Bruce the tiger might be the most popular creature in Dallas short of Edison these days. And hell no, I’m not interested in giving Herc a chance to grow his fame.
As the crowd erupts in applause and people start exiting, heading for snacks and friendly critters to pet, I tell Karl to clean everything up. I also catch a glimpse of a worn, raised up scrap of chainlink fence—clearly the section Herc found and dug under after he broke out of his petting zoo pen.
I knew it was a bad idea bringing him out here, even if Aunt Faye insisted.
Just socialize him, she said.
He’s a darling, friendly boy, she said.
Right. My aunt is either a bald-faced liar or she owns the strongest rose-colored glasses in the world when it comes to her precious hog baby. Bottle feeding him since he was a baby must’ve done funny things to her head.
If only I’d let my gut do the talking.
With the pig still at my side, I stop by the ticket table to apologize for the interruption and explain that we’re ending the show for the night. Everyone who asks will get a refund for tonight’s tickets.
That’s only fair.
Although it is disappointing to know I won’t be able to donate as much as I’d planned to the sobriety and detox program at the vet’s rehab center.
That place is half the reason I’m walking and talking right now, much less organizing monster truck rallies. I owe them more than I’ll ever be able to give back.
The other half is Uncle Grady.
Without him, I’d have never contacted them, let alone found the balls to get help.
I wish Shelly was right about that shit she said.
I wish I’d stayed the same.
On some dark nights when I wake up in a cold sweat, I wish I’d never left Dallas—or her—at all.
* * *
Later, at home, I find out Herc’s outburst wasn’t limited to the rally.
There’s a new hole in his pen—the same one I fixed barely two weeks ago—suggesting he’s more than ready to keep raising hell.
When did my life become this?
Constant babysitter to a four-legged wrecking ball who cries like the world’s saddest baby.
Muttering to myself, I find a couple cement blocks to reinforce the area till I can give it a proper fix.
In theory, it should make it impossible for him to dig out again. In practice, it’s frigging Hercules.
I hold up a carrot to get his attention, holding it just out of his snout’s reach.
“Not yet. First, you’re gonna hear me out. You used to be Aunt Faye’s little angel, so I know you can behave,” I say, trying not to think about the fact that I’m having a heart-to-heart talk with a damn pig. “No more causing trouble for this town, you hear? The good folks of Dallas keep you fed, warm, and watered. They keep me working on their cars so I can keep you happy and buy you more crap to chew up, Herc. No more trouble. Capeesh?”
His demanding grunt turns into a loud squeal.
“No more trouble,” I repeat slowly, touching the tip of the carrot to his nose before snatching it away. “Not for me. Not for Marty. Not for Uncle Grady and his family. Not even for Shel Simon. She may deserve you acting out more than anybody, but you owe her one.”
