#25: Fishing

"Just think it through," Julie said. "What if the dog chomps down on the sausage where the hook is? Won't it go through its mouth?"
Tim twisted the hook in his fingers, examining the possibility. The barb pierced the tough flesh of a fish. It would poke a hole in a dog.
Tim looked down the abandoned mine shaft in response to another yelp from the dog. He couldn't see it, but beneath the tangle of branches, he knew there was a dog.
The plan had been simple enough. Throw a fishing line down with a sausage and, when they felt the yank on the line, pull it up quickly. The hope was the dog was hungry and wouldn't let go.
"Besides, what if the sausage isn't strong enough to hold the weight of the dog as you pull?"
It was Julie, older by four years, and had seen her brother sneak out of the house with a fishing rod and tonight's dinner, who did the thinking for them. She had followed him and found him sticking the hook into a sausage. It was bad enough tonight's dinner will be just mash with no bangers, worse if Tim killed someone's dog.
Tim pick up a sausage, twirling it around in his grimy fingers. Julie quickly snatched the end off his sausage and gleefully watched as it break in two.
"See."
"How are we going to save the dog?"
"You might as well throw a sausage down until we figure it out."
Tim threw down his half sausage. Julie threw hers down as well. They could hear a soft thud and then the gulping sounds of a dog eating as if this was its last meal.
"How'd it get down there? If it fell, it would have broken its neck."
They looked around for any sign of anyone who might provide an answer. Across the common were just magpies, paying them no attention.
"I know," Tim said. "Let's call the fire brigade."
"But it's not a fire," Julie said.
"Yeah, but they go up trees for lost cats. I'm sure they'll go down holes for scared dog."