"This won't work!" I heard the strange, dark skinned man grunt while pacing up and down the beach's edge. I leaned closer, pressing my breast against the cool grey rock in order to try and hear what he was saying.
"Relax, Friday," I heard a familiar laugh. A white male appeared in my vision, holding a dog in his arms. SO CUTE, I thought to myself in silence. The man was strong with tattered clothes that met with many different hand-made necklaces. Wavy light brown hair hung down in front of his face and stopped right under his chin covered in small stubbles of more hair. My eyes were drawn to the leather belt that held a pistol, dagger, a little telescope. Farther down were his bare feet, touching the hot sand underneath. As strange as he was, I had to admit, I was charmed.
"How can I relax when the dog is near death?" Friday questioned in an African accent. The dog was near death? That would explain why it wasn't moving. Why were they down near the ocean though? I tried to lean in closer to hear over the splashing of water. My wet hair fell over my eyes and I quickly pulled the red locks behind my ears.
"Dundee isn't near death. You're just exaggerating a snake bite," the British man laughed. I found nothing funny about a snake biting a dog.
"POISONOUS snake bite," Friday exclaimed. I placed my sweaty palms on the chilling rock to act as leverage for me leaning in. I knew how to treat animals, I used to care for many different breeds as a child. I watched on, seeing what the white man would do. He placed the dog near the edge of the beach. The water reached up, wanting to grab the dog and pull him deep under.
"How about you stop pointing out the facts and do something useful. Help me…" I was no longer caring at that point. I turned around and put my back to the rock. With my eyes closed, I heard the dog's yowls followed by a spitting noise. This made me curious. I turned around again and watched as the British man sucked out the poison from an open wound in the dog's throat and spit it into the ocean, making sure that the dog would not intake it later. My jaw dropped slightly for many reasons, but the largest reason being because the dog was not attacking, it was just lying there while making noises in pain. Their relation must be very close, I figured.
The next action surprised me a bit more. Friday handed the other man a bowl of some bright liquid. Was that a sort of ointment they used to heal poison? They seemed to know what they were doing. The Britain dipped a cloth in the liquid and pressed it against the dog's wound then began petting its head to comfort it while the African injected the same fluid into the dog's arm. Moments passed when the dog's tail suddenly started wagging. I smile crept across my face. What a heartwarming moment.
Just then, the dog rose to fours and shook off the sand. The British man laughed while shielding his face from the tiny sand bullets that flew in the air. Meanwhile, Friday reached down to pet the healed dog, but he wanted nothing to do with the dark skinned man. Instead, he began pacing toward me, behind the large grey rock that concealed me before. Both men followed the dog behind and I knew it was my turn. I rose and pointed my rifle at the British man.
"Sorry we had to meet this way, Robinson Crusoe."