The rumbling beast lurked at the end of our driveway, its stench filling the air. It screeched to a halt just as we stepped from the house for our morning walk. It hissed its displeasure at our presence.

Roscoe looked toward Hu-Dad, unsure if our neighborhood was still safe. The creature’s weekly visits shatter his bravado. He slipped behind the Hu-Dad, warily eyeing his nemesis.

A claw shot from the monster’s side, wrapping its tentacles around the unsuspecting prey. With a roar of triumph, the fiend lifted its catch high in the air, ripped it open, tilted the body, and dumped the guts into its gaping mouth. Its hunger temporarily satiated, the abomination slammed the carcass to the ground.

With a loud belch, the grotesque freak of nature growled its way up the hill in search of more victims.

We know that some of you might be skeptical that such a horrid mutant lurks near our home, so Roscoe insisted the Hu-dad capture a photo for your viewing pleasure.

Not much bothers our intrepid canine. He happily watches squirrels, rabbits, cats, deer, and other dogs on our walks. He’s respectful of bears, smart enough not to challenge them, but nor does he shrink away. And he adores humans, especially the human pups who delight in his presence almost as much as he delights in theirs.

But anything with a diesel engine is to be feared. He avoids pickup trucks, tractors, and even a certain diesel Mercedes we encounter from time to time.

The garbage truck, though, is the most heinous of them all. It passes our house about 7 a.m. every Thursday, about the same time we start our morning walk. He watches it warily if it’s in front of us and looks over his shoulder if it’s approaching from behind.

On this day, it pulled in front of us just as we exited the safety of our house. We stood at the top of the drive until it had moved on and turned at the next intersection.

Roscoe knows that this is only a momentary lull. Behind us is a dead-end road. The truck goes up one side, turns around and returns. Then it reemerges behind us and takes our same path to the greenway.

Fortunately, just enough time passes that we can make it down the hill, off the street, and into the woods before it catches up with us.

Assuming everything happens according to plan. Being Siberians, though, we aren’t big on following rules.

Roscoe, of course, must water a tree in some community space. Landon must do the same. Frankie, however, waits to do his business until we get on the trail.

Watering done, we hear the truck making its turn and beginning its return. We should be okay, as long as…

Oh, look, deer. Several of them. They must be sniffed from afar. Pleasantries must be exchanged. A buck with his sprouting antlers must be admired.

The truck grows closer. We need to move. Now. No more delays.

Except for the mountain lions. Both of them, lounging in the front yard. Oh, sure, they look like ordinary house cats to humans, but we know better. Mountain lions are to be feared. And stared at. And mountain lions stare back, the feline challenge issued. Bring it, dog breath, they hiss.

We ignore the challenge. The rumble of doom behind us announces the return of the beast to our street. We can’t see it yet, but it will emerge around the corner soon. Two trashcans behind us to be picked up. Two in front.

We move along, making great time, until a squirrel darts across the road. Landon yodels. Chaos ensues.

Behind, the hissing sound of air brakes. The lifting of a can high into the air. The rattle of the shake to empty its contents. The slap as it’s returned empty to the driveway. We’re passing the next-to-last can, so just one last drive in front of us. Then we reach the trail. We can make it.

We’re approaching that last garbage-filled container. Behind us, the truck lifts another can. One behind us, one beside us, and we’re almost clear. Roscoe is walking backward to monitor the approaching menace.

The truck reaches that next-to-last stop. The claw shoots out, grabs the can, raises it, and shakes. Slam as it returns to earth.

We still would have made it, except…

Remember how Frankie waits until we’re on the trail to handle morning business? Sometimes, though, business can’t wait. Even if you’re standing in a street with your anxious siblings and an approaching interloper. Or maybe because of those things. After all, what better way to be the center of the attention.

So there we stood—Roscoe prancing nervously, Landon twirling as usual, and Hu-Dad with a bag in hand, waiting to collect the proceeds.

And the driver? Laughing hysterically at Hu-Dad’s embarrassment.

Mission accomplished.