It was standing in the back yard, holding an arm, chewing. Part of the fence to the Whitley’s yard was down, that must have been how it got in.
They van was in the garage, fully packed. All there was left to do was get in, open the garage door, and drive away, make a run for it. I don’t know why he bothered. We were leaving anyway.
But Morris, you know, his home is his castle. So out he goes with the baseball bat, and of course gets bit. He was still swinging the bat when I drove away.