And then Rick Jr. and Rick Sr. each took a dog by its collar. But it was no use. Ozzie was clenched on Ruby, and despite how they pulled he wouldn’t let go. The Dowlearn men yanked and even raised the two terriers up off the ground. Ozzie’s snarls grew more deranged, Ruby whimpered and rattled. Rick Sr. raised up the Texas Monthly and started whaling on Ozzie’s snout. Nothing. Missy screamed as the dogs left a trail of blood along the hallway carpet. Rick’s mom was yelling ten different things to do at both Ricks. After a dozen gigantic blows with the magazine, Rick Sr. gave up.

Dan thought of the gun cabinet in Rick Sr.’s office. Are these people crazy enough . . .

Just then Ozzie let go for the briefest of seconds, and Rick Jr. pulled Ruby away and ran off with her to the garage. Rick Sr. dunked Ozzie into the kennel as the dog went ballistic, scratching and snapping at his hands.

Rick Sr. kneeled down next to the kennel, exhausted. “Well, hell’s bells. Goddamn dogs. So goddamn high-strung.” He studied the cover photo of Henry Cisneros on his Texas Monthly, now spattered with blood. He started to chuckle and smiled with a touch of pride.

“Did you see that grip Ozzie had? Dan here looked like he was ready to shoot them both, I tell you what.”

And as they began to clean up this Plano crime scene, the Dowlearns all started laughing.

The color returned to Dan’s face. Huh, Mom is right. These native Texans are certifiable.

All he could think to do was laugh with them.

Dinner with the Dowlearns included more chips and dip and takeout from Herrera’s, which was the normal tia’s special of tortilla soup and greasy enchiladas. Then around eight p.m., Beppe Ravioli, a classmate and fellow Planoite, picked up Rick and Dan in his mom’s Tercel. In spite of his delicious-Stouffer’s-frozen-dinner name, Beppe was a fairly cool dude with a joker face and a butt cut, who always had soft-pack smokes he stole from his dad. All three boys lit up as they got on the tollway heading south. The plan was to meet the rest of the gang at Josh Barlow’s house in Highland Park. Mama and Papa Bear Barlow were out of town, and Josh had invited over half of North Dallas.

As sophomores, the boys were low on the social totem pole—better to be neither seen nor heard by upperclassmen while sneaking turns at the keg. Rick, mindful of living in his father’s house, would not dare drink but was amused by Dan’s attempts to lush it up when they went out. Instead Rick chased girls. And he even caught a couple, which brought with it a new set of problems.