Danny felt the wax paper buckle on one side and droop down his knee.

"That way," George went on, scratching the wizened scruff of his neck, "he can’t snap ’em."

Danny stuck his head out of the Chevy station wagon and stared at the gate looming before them. Through the iron bars he made out a driveway winding along blazing rhododendrons.

"What do I do then?" He asked with some trepidation.

"Just walk up to the door," George drawled. "Miss Gloria is pretty old, so if she don’t answer right away, ring again. And," he added with a wink, "look cute. Ya might get a tip."

"No, I mean...what if he…does snap!"

"He won’t. Dogs wanna test you, so don’t show ’im you’re scared. Now go ahead."

Danny was scared. It was his mother’s fault. She was the one who had gotten him this job because she didn’t want him to hang around the house watching TV during his school vacation. She had asked Mrs. Dodge if he could help out at the pet shop, but the only work was delivering horsemeat.

"Remember," George said as Danny clambered out of the seat, "stand your ground!"

Danny watched him hunched over the steering wheel, glasses sliding down his big red nose. He was singing that stupid song again, "I wonder who’s kissing her now...I wonder who’s teaching her how?". George had been living with the Dodge’s for so long that everyone thought he belonged to the family. He usually did odd jobs around the house, but now that Mr. Dodge was sick all the time, he helped at the pet shop.

Danny went up to the gate and stared at the name Miss E. Gloria heavily engraved in a brass plate above the bell and intercom speaker. Miss Gloria was a famous actress, George had said, back from the silent movies. Danny had never heard of her. He only watched Cowboy and Indian movies.

He pressed his thumb hard on the bell. Nothing happened. He pressed again.

"Who’s there?" a voice crackled.

"Danny…the delivery boy.

"Who?"

"Danny…I got horsemeat."

There was a mumble and the gate clicked open. He pushed it with his shoulder.

"Shut the gate behind you!" the voice boomed.

Danny had never seen a giant lawn like that before. It rolled up like a lush green carpet past hedges and orange trees to a pink mansion on top of the hill. He heard the distant swish of sprinklers and twitter of birds. Clutching the horsemeat to his chest, he gingerly made his way past an old white Cadillac parked in front of the garage. To get up some courage, he thought about the fishing rod and tackle he would buy with the money he earned. Then he wanted a rifle, just like his brother, but he had to grow up first.

Suddenly something black shot out from behind the garage and came bounding down the hill. He wanted to run, but remembered that George had said, "Stand your ground!" The dog reached the driveway, its paws flailing across the asphalt with a click…click. Danny shut his eyes. "Don’t chicken out," he whispered. When he opened them, the dog – a Doberman – was about three yards away, jaws hanging, hair bristling along its back. It fixed him with black eyes and let out a rumbling growl.

"You stupid dog," Danny said, "I got food."

This antagonized the dog even more. It started circling him, barking like the backfire of an old car. Danny was about to throw the meat at him and run, when a voice broke the air, "Bongo... Bongo...come here!"

The dog whined and whipped round.

"I said come here...NOW!"

It shot one last woof at Danny then slinked up the hill to where a woman was standing akimbo on a wide verandah. She was wearing a gold dressing gown that sagged on one side. When the dog cowered up to her, she cuffed his ear.

"Come on up," she waved. "Bongo won’t hurt you."

Danny’s legs were wobbly when he reached the verandah.

"Here’s your...meat," he said.

"Thank you, my boy," she quavered from behind large sunglasses. "How much is that?" Her lips were smeared with lipstick. She thrust out two bony hands studded with rings.

Danny dumped the brown bundle into her arms.

"Uhhh...that’s $2.45...please."

She placed the meat on the windowsill next to the entryway. Bongo perked up and sniffed the air. "Better not!" Miss Gloria snapped as she rummaged in the pockets of her gown.

"There you are, my boy," she said, extracting three crinkled dollar bills.

"Gee, thanks!" Danny said, grabbing the money.

He was about to skip down the stairs when Miss Gloria stopped him in his tracks.

"Aren’t you forgetting something, boy?"

He looked up at Miss Gloria. With her eyebrows arching in long black lines, she looked like an owl ready to swoop on its prey.

"What...?"

Bongo sensed the animosity switching from him to Danny and snarled.

"My change," Miss Gloria said, revealing red flecks on her teeth.

"Sorry," Danny grinned awkwardly as he reached for the change George had given him. "Let’s see...that’s $2.45 out of $3.00..." He fingered each coin, dropping a quarter and three dimes into her palm. "Here you are, ma’am."

"How old are you, boy?"

"Ten and half."

"Well, you’ll make a good delivery boy...one day," she said, patting him on the head. "But you’ve got a lot to learn."

The dog commented with two barks to which Miss Gloria hissed, "Shut up!"

Back in the station wagon, George had slumped down in the seat and was snoring loudly. Danny got in and slammed the door.

"Huh...everything OK?" he said, pushing up his glasses.

"I didn’t get a tip," Danny said. "I gotta a lot to learn."

"Don’t go paying no attention to Miss Gloria," George said pulling away from the curb, "She ain’t right in the head."

After the last delivery and being chased by two more dogs, one yapping mutt tearing his pants, Danny wanted to quit. Twenty-five cents was all he had made in tips, and they came from an old lady living in a bungalow near Wiltshire. She had groped in the pockets of a torn apron and hastily pressed the quarter into his hand while her fat poodle was trying to squeeze out from between the screen door.

Now they were heading down Western Avenue.

"I wonder who’s kissing her now…" George started singing again in his raspy voice. When he wasn’t singing, he talked a lot about the time he was a tractor salesman in Ohio.

"I wonder who’s teaching her how…"

"Could I turn on the radio?" Danny interrupted.

"Sure."

He flicked the dial past the weather report…sunny skies…with a high of 80°… cooling down tomorrow…past traffic news…truck turned over on the exit ramp to the Valley… when a voice boomed out, "…and here’s the number one hit song of the week …" There was a pause, followed by a tinkly melody and squeaky voice: "How much is that doggie in the window…woof…woof…the one with the waggly tail…"

Danny switched off the radio.

"Don’t like that song, huh?" George grinned as they swerved into the back lot of Mrs. Dodge’s pet shop.

A piercing shriek met them. It was Joey, the mynah bird, who could imitate any human voice.

"Oh, isn’t that awful," Joey said in Mrs. Dodge’s husky voice. "No…no…he didn’t…he didn’t do it again!" She was always on the phone with Milda, her daughter, talking about her son-in-law’s latest affair.

"George, George," Joey continued in her voice as they walked past the cage, "don’t forget to feed the goldfish!" He cackled, hopping from perch to perch, beak half open, beady eyes scrutinizing Danny.

"Shut up," George said.

"Shut up," Joey echoed in George’s voice.

The back of the shop was crammed with sacks of hay and birdseed, rusting cages, and open crates labeled "Live animals. This side up". From a corner came a scrabbling sound – two tortoises were trying to climb up the sides of a box with a clunk…clunk. Danny walked past small pens full of guinea pigs that bolted under tiny heaps of hay, then stuck out their snouts and squeaked. Up front, aquariums, bathed in murky green light, frothed with bubbles. Everywhere canaries twittered, bursting into song, while parakeets chirped, pecking at each other or at dangling mirrors. Against one wall there stood a tank with a snake inside. A tiny mouse scurried between its sprawling coils and sloughed skin that littered the sand like discarded bandages.

Danny went up to a cage where two white-faced baby monkeys were clinging to each other. A shipment of four had arrived a couple of days before from the jungles of Central America. Mrs. Dodge had immediately put them in diapers and nursed them with a bottle, but two died anyway.

"Hi," he said, sticking his finger between the bars.

The smaller of the two screeched, wrinkling its face, while the other put a tiny black hand over its eyes and peered at him from between parted fingers. They crouched down, wrapping their tails around them, and trembled.

Mrs. Dodge was behind the counter, waiting on a customer. With her blond hair all puffed up and sprayed to stay in place, she looked like a minor pyramid. In her youth she had been a nightclub dancer and still liked to dress up, with lots of powder and perfume. Danny had once seen George grab Mrs. Dodge from behind. For a while he stank of that perfume.

"Danny…stop bothering them!"

"I was just saying hello…"

After the customer had left, Mrs. Dodge turned to George and they huddled together, nodding several times. George dumped the contents of the purse on the counter top and Mrs. Dodge began stacking the coins and bills. When she had finished, she beckoned Danny to come over.

"That’s for you," she said. "Now don’t go spending it all on candy and comic books."

One dollar and fifty cents! He stuck the money in his pocket. While heading for the front door, he stopped at the glass counter and stared at the trays and bowls heaped high with chunks of spongy lung, chopped heart and liver, bulbous kidneys, and slabs of a dark, red flesh that glistened under the neon tube.

"That’s horsemeat," George said when he saw Danny pressing his nose against the pane.

"What’s it taste like?"

"It ain’t for people," he whispered. "But ’cause it’s cheap some folks pretend they got pets and then…" He bent down close to Danny, "…they eat it themselves."

Danny’s turned his face in disgust.

"You mean like…cannibals!"

"No," George laughed, "eatin’ a horse don’t make you a cannibal."

Over the shop door a bell jangled. A man lumbered in and strode up to the counter.

"I’d like some o’ that horsemeat," he said, poking the glass with a stocky finger.

Mrs. Dodge took out the tray and slapped a piece of meat on a block of stained wood.

"How much?" she said, pulling out a long, gleaming knife.

"Gimme two thick hunks," he rolled out his tongue.

She slowly cut into the flesh.

While watching, Danny in his mind began to hear the snorting of Trigger, the way it did on TV, haunches flinching, mane flying as it trotted off into the sunset, Roy Rogers sitting tall in the saddle, crooning a ballad. At the end of the show, Trigger would always rear on its hind legs and let out a powerful whinny while Roy Rogers swirled his cowboy hat in a wide circle, singing "Soooo long."

Suddenly from a cloud of dust Miss Gloria’s white Cadillac comes roaring across the prairie, Bongo dangling out of the window, barking and snapping at the wind. They catch up with Roy Rogers who’s trying to outride them. Miss Gloria pulls out a Colt from her dressing gown and starts blazing out of the window, holding onto the steering wheel with her other hand as the Cadillac swerves and bumps along. Roy Rogers ducks the bullets, draws a long silver six-shooter from his holster and fires back. But Miss Gloria is quicker and with a bang…bang… she hits Trigger who goes toppling headlong into tumbleweeds, with Roy Rogers flying into a cactus.

They stop. Bongo springs out of the car and lunges towards the dying horse.

"Back, Bongo…back," Miss Gloria screams, licking the lipstick from her teeth, "he’s mine!"

After she was finished cutting the meat, Mrs. Dodge wrapped and handed it to the man.

"There you are," she said, "two nice, juicy slices. I’m sure the dog will love it."

"Sure will," the man winked, reaching for the brown package. He stuck it into a bag and walked out into the hot street. Danny slowly backed away from the counter and moved towards the rear of the shop. As he passed Joey’s cage, the bird starting yaking again: "Please," Joey said in Mrs. Dodge’s voice, "…Milda’s my daughter…I…I…can’t!"

Joey switched to a deep male voice: "I don’t care…I’m crazy about you. I’d do anything to…"

Mrs. Dodge rushed over and banged on the cage, making Joey flutter against the bars and drop to the bottom with an indignant squawk.

"One day," she said, jabbing her right index finger at Joey, "you’re going to wind up in the soup pot." And you," she added, nudging Danny, "go out and play!"

He didn’t mind. It was a chance to get away from the horse cannibals.