Good offenses make good neighbors
- Oscar the Pooch
- Dec 8, 2025
- 10 min read
The Wagon screeched back onto the road like the Scooby Mobile running from a ghost.
I didn’t notice how much my feelings hurt until we were safely on the road again. Why would anyone bark at me without getting to know me first? “What did we ever do to those homeleskimos to make them so mad at us?” I asked out loud.
“It wasn’t about you, Spud. They just don’t like intruders.”
“You could have told them that we respected their boogeybubble,” I said. “Maybe then they wouldn’t have been so aggressive.”
“I don’t think it was about the virus.”
“Then why? Who wouldn’t want to meet me? I’m terrific.”
“Well…” She wound up her mouth like she does when she’s preparing to ’splain something that doesn’t make sense. “You know how you bark at service dogs?”
“I hate those goody-goodies. Too high and mighty to sniff my butt…”
“Right. No one likes rejection, but those dogs have responsibilities more important than greeting everyone they meet.”
“Greeting everyone you meet is a very important job,” I huffed. “They think they’re so much better than me just because they get to go inside supermarkets and liberries. I could do those things too, if I wanted.”
“Someone else doing their job doesn’t mean you’re not a good dog. What does it even have to do with you?”
“Innocent guys like me get in trouble because of those self-satisfied snoots.”
“Maybe what gets a rise out of you isn’t the other dog, but that they stay calm when you can’t control intense emotions?” Mom suggested in a service-dog tone. “Could that be what makes you mad?”
“Well yeah! They’re gonna get me in trouble pretending to be good boys and girls like that. It’s all an act, you know. You don’t see it, Mom, but they’re just dogs underneath. I bet they lick their butts when no one’s watching.”
“It’s your insecurity, not the other dog that makes you lose your cool.”
“Not me! It’s because you can’t protect me from a judgy look. That’s why.”
“Right,” she said, as if she’d agreed with me the whole time. “People are the same way. They don’t just protect what’s precious, they also protect what they’re ashamed of. Some people don’t have it in them to keep up with the responsibilities of money, houses, cars, and their health because there’s something stuck on their minds that leaves no room for anything else. Maybe they’re doing their best, but others don’t understand why they can’t just follow the rules like the rest of us.”
“But their Friends love them just the way they are, right?”
“Love doesn’t always feel loving if someone’s offering you help that you didn’t ask for. It’s easier to hide than to explain yourself to someone who doesn’t get it. If you push all your friends away, at least there’s nobody to make you feel bad by helping. Nobody to let down if it doesn’t work. Nobody to take away your freedom if you can’t fix it yourself. The aggression is just misdirection to prevent anyone who comes too close from discovering their secret. That hobo wasn’t protecting anything in there but privacy and a whole lot of shame.”
“And that makes it okay to be mean to someone who’s just hiking by?”
“Sometimes the best defense is to take offense,” Mom said.
“And that makes it okay to be offensive?” I asked. “Why should I have to be polite to someone who has such bad manners?”
“They used their words, just like you do when you’re on leash and someone invades your personal space.” She shrugged. “Everyone’s allowed to protect themselves.”
It’s nice to have a life partner that gets you. “When I can’t escape, I’ve got to tell them somehow,” I agreed. “Good offenses make good neighbors.”
I hadn’t even noticed the End of the World sneaking up on us. Suddenly, there were no more trees and the earth simply broke off and fell into the sea. The Wagon drove straight toward the End. When it seemed like the only place to go was right into the ocean, a crossroad appeared and the Wagon turned to follow the jagged path of the coast. We floated along the highway, bobbing through the waves of wildflowers and cow fields as the ocean bashed itself against the cliffs, too far below to be part of my world. From up here, the waves were just ruffles to remind me how big the ocean really was.
Mom tried to keep the Wagon on the road as she watched the battle between land and sea. Rumble-grumble-mumble, said the Wagon’s belly every time Mom let its wheels follow her eyes too close to the water.
“Why don’t you take a picture? It lasts longer,” I harrumphed each time the rumbling disturbed my nap.
“I can’t take a picture because I can’t pull over because all the pullouts are blocked with caution tape,” she grumped.
“You can duck under it,” I said. “I’ll show you how.”
“That tape might as well be an impenetrable wall. Cars can’t bend the rules like people and dogs do.”
“If you say so…” I yawned. You can’t help someone who doesn’t want to change her ways.
“Each one of those pullouts holds 1 to 2 cars at the most, and there’s nowhere to go when you get out of the car,” Mom ranted as if I were still listening. “People are gonna stop following the rules if you take things away for no good reason. Quarantine isn’t supposed to be a punishment.”
“If the tape isn’t there for safety, what would happen if you drove through at top speed like in the movies?” I asked.
“We’re at the top of a cliff, dummy. Have you ever seen Thelma and Louise?”
“Yes, of course. They outsmart the Law by doing what the audience least expects. Where do you think I got the idea from? We can hold hands if you want. One… two…”
Mom didn’t reach out her paw to hold mine. “What do you think happens after that last frame, Oscar?”
“It works and they get away, of course. Have you ever seen Thelma and Louise?”
“I’m not sure you got the point that the ending was trying to make.”
After many miles of searching, the Wagon found enough space between road and tape to pull over. It nosed its way into the gap in the tape and casually parked as if it were just thinking about where to go next. Mom and I dismounted and walked onto the beach as if we belonged there, looking for a place to potty away from prying eyes. We took our time coming back, doing our best to look like we’d just forgotten where we parked.
When we ran out of ways to look busy, we reluctantly returned to the Wagon. Mom had just closed the door behind me and was walking around to the driving chair when a motorcycle stopped a little ways away. Its knight dismounted and Mom smiled hello.
“Where are you from?” the Knight asked. I could tell that he was a furryner by the way he made his words like his mouth was full of tennis balls.
“The City,” Mom said.
“Eh?” the Furryner asked, taking off his helmet and stepping closer to hear better.
“The City,” Mom repeated, taking a step backward toward the Wagon.
“Eh?” the Furryner asked again, stepping to the edge of her boogeybubble.
“The City!” Mom shouted, taking the last step toward clean air. She stood with the butt shelf of the Wagon against the back of her knees, hoping he didn’t have any more questions.
“Eh?” The Furryner stepped even closer.
Mom leaned back and her arm shot out as if to shove the Furryner off a cliff. She might have done it, too, if he’d come any closer, but only by accident. They froze for a second, both staring at the stop hand at the end of Mom’s stiff arm. They realized in the same moment that they had each almost accidentally killed each other.
“San Francisco,” Mom finally said, dropping her limp arm to her side.
The Furryner stepped back out of Mom’s boogeybubble. “You smart. I forget.”
He put his helmet back on for safety and pushed his motorcycle a little farther away. He looked out toward the End of the World and pretended like he was lost in thought. Mom quietly remounted the driver’s seat.
“Maybe people aren’t as closed off as I thought,” she said as she spurred the Wagon to life. “Everything that I know about what other people think comes from social media, but maybe they’re exaggerating.”
“No one lies on the internet,” I reassured her. “I don’t think it’s allowed.”
“People on the internet portray themselves more like how they want to be than how they really are,” said Mom, who sometimes pretends to be a dog on the internet.
“Why would anyone want their Friends to think that they’re the kind of bully that shouts to stay the duck at home?” I asked. “That kind of talk makes people not want to play with you.”
“Are you asking as a dog who can’t pass a service dog without barking, or a dog who preaches love and friendship on the internet?” Mom asked with a trap on her breath.
“Is there a difference?”
“People are just looking for validation. Telling your own truth doesn’t mean your opinions always match your behavior. The whole point of the internet is that it gives you a place to say the things you wouldn’t dare say to someone’s face.”
“Like how you’re always saying we should be patient and kind, but you think ugly things when you’re in a hurry and someone gets in your way?” I asked.
“Hey now. I think it, but I don’t say it.”
“Except when we’re in the Wagon. Then you say it real loud.”
She gave me a look like she was in a hurry to get to the point and I was in her way. “As I was saying, rudeness gets clicks, and clicks stand in for friendship on the internet.” That explained a lot about the Witch. “People post extreme opinions when they want to feel heard, but they’re mostly just venting.”
I was starting to see what she was getting at. “Like how you think your own farts stink less than everyone else’s because only you feel the relief of not holding it in?”
“Well said. Behind the internet, there’s supposed to be an older worldwide web of empathy and mutual understanding. It reminded us that there were people on the other side of those screens. Now that we’re all staying home, the interpersonal web is breaking down. It’s easy to lose perspective.”
“And hard not to bark at someone who’s always yapping and trying to boss you around.”
“It sure is,” Mom agreed. “Defending an unpopular opinion only makes people less likely to change their minds anyway. After arguing for a while, they get to thinking that what they thought in their worst moment was what they believed all along.”
Mom taught me that when things get tense with another dog, I should walk with him. It’s easier to understand someone when you’re walking the same path together than when you’re arguing over a bone. “Don’t they see that everyone wants the same thing?” I asked. “They’ll get what they want more easily if they all work together.”
“You can’t walk together if you’re stuck at home, alone in your head.”
I can’t stand when Mom mixes too much right in the wrong and too much wrong in the right. “I don’t understand. Am I supposed to be good and yell at people, or nice and kill people?”
“You don’t have to choose. You can be safe and nice,” Mom lied, as if she hadn’t just tried to push a man off a cliff for being friendly. “Fortunately, we’ll have to worry about it less in a couple of days.”
“Why? Is the boogeyvirus over? Thank Dog, I thought it would never end!”
“No, but I start work on Monday, so we’ll have less time to travel.” Mom’s eyes drifted toward the horizon to remind herself that there was still enough room in the world for everyone. “It’s probably for the best. It’s exhausting having to figure out the difference between right and wrong all the time.”
“But I thought the point of being a referee was that you get to decide what’s right and wrong,” I said. “For a referee, every decision is right. Right?”
From the way she didn’t answer, I couldn’t tell whether she’d heard me or not.
The Wagon continued drifting toward My Hometown. Now that I thought about it, it sounded nice to have a home larger than a mattress again that wasn’t always swaying this way and that. I could nap while Mom made cups of tea, because she wouldn’t need to open all the doors to the wind and cold every time she wanted warm, milky comfort. Mom would have electricity coming from the walls and wifi in the air. Even the Witch would have the sky to talk to all the time. Too late, I realized that those things were just bait for The Stuck to suck us in. To have those comforts, we would need to leave the Outside behind. Before I realized what was happening, the freeway widened and the trap snapped shut behind us.
“Is life going to be like it was when I was a puppy?” I asked as we came out of a tunnel. The Golden Gate Bridge filled the front window like the mast of a ghost ship. “You know, back before I was a business dog and I sat at home all day staring at my paws?”
“From what everyone’s saying on the internet, I don’t think that we’ll even be allowed out of the house. Except maybe when you go to the bathroom.”
“But how will we get food? I won’t have to survive on kibble alone, will I?”
“I think I’m allowed to go to the supermarket, but I’m not sure if there are restrictions on how often.”
Something felt horribly wrong as soon as we mounted the bridge. A creepy stillness filled the air, making it hard to breathe. “Holy crow, Mom! Slow down!” I whimpered.
“What do you mean? I’m only going a little over the speed limit.”
“But you haven’t stopped even once. You’re gonna hit something if you’re not careful.”
“What are you talking about? The lane is clear,” she said, like I was the one talking crazy.
I looked out the front window again. The bridge in front of us was completely empty. There were no clumps of tourists on the walkway nor other cars in the lanes around us. I checked the back window, but it was just as deserted. I’d never seen the Bridge like that before, even in the middle of the night.
We barreled toward the City, whose pavement and buildings covered the hills like a rash.
“I forgot how many people live around us,” I said. I’d never thought of it as a bad thing before, but now that anyone could be a murderer, I understood why Mom felt trapped around people.
“Yeah. A virus trying to catch on in one of those small towns would be like trying to light a fire on a wet log. Around here, it could spread like a brushfire on a windy day.”
“Don’t you mean… go viral?” I corrected her. I waited for a laugh that didn’t come.
At long, long last, the Wagon rolled over the final hill and came to rest outside the Stuck House. It settled into its usual spot across the street and closed its headlights. Mom and I sat at our posts for one last breath before dismounting. As we crossed the empty street, Mom hit the hibernation button on the key ring. Behind us, the light inside the Wagon darkened as it drifted off into a well-earned sleep.
Want to keep reading? Grab Oscar’s book, No Place Like Alone on Amazon.
