I took a deep breath as Caleb and I walked up to the barn and slid back the heavy, wooden door.
The first thing that hit me was the smell. Pot. Clouds of it hung in the air.
That, mixed with the smell of stale beer. Way too much of it.
Then what struck me—more than everything else—was the smell of an animal. I had never had such keen senses before. The shock of this animal’s presence raced through my senses, as if I had just sniffed ammonia.
I looked to my right and zoomed in. There, in the corner, was a large Rottweiler. He sat up slowly, stared at me, and snarled. He broke into a low, guttural growl. It was Butch. I remembered him now. The Colemans’ nasty Rottweiler. As if the Colemans needed a vicious animal to add to their picture of mayhem.
The Colemans had always been bad news.
