Just after ringing the bell, Freddie's sensitive hearing picked up the sound of the car coming up the drive and stopping in front of the garage. With dismay, he saw Michael's parents step out of the vehicle, slam their doors, and immediately turn to the spectacle of a dog on their front porch.
"Where did that dog come from?" Michael's mother asked, somewhat rhetorically.
"I don't know," Michael's father, a rather large man, said as he advanced in a threatening manner toward the porch. Freddie yelped in fright and scrambled off the porch and stopped by the hedge. "Go on, you mutt," Freddie's father berated.
Freddie did his best to whimper and ingratiate himself, but it all backfired. "Is it growling? It could be rabid!" Freddie didn't know Michael's parents well, but his mother seemed awfully flighty.
"Call animal control," Michael's dad said and, to Freddie's surprised, lifted his foot slightly off the walkway, slipped off his right shoe, and tossed it toward him. The leather loafer slapped Freddie in the snout.
"What the hell?" Freddie barked.
In the meantime, Michael's mom had phoned 911 and asked to speak with animal control. "I realize this is 911," she said, "but this is an emergency. There's this dangerous dog..."
Freddie listened and grew increasingly concerned. He couldn't wait any longer for Michael...
He scooped up the shoe Michael's dad had tossed at him. "This will teach you," he said with a triumphant woof as he turned tail and raced down the street to regroup and determine another approach.