The following are sample chapters
of four books by P.K. Foster and Ilona Benzel
There was a Manx kitten, black and white. Her name was PK. Poor Kitty had no name, no home and no tail. Poor Kitty found a home and a name but is still without a tail unless you consider this her tale. The author was an animal control officer for a small town in a small state in New England. The stories are based on real and/or fictional situations all blurred together. Anyone assuming they are in the book of stories are making assumptions that may not be true. All names have been changed to protect the innocent and guilty. It all happened a long time ago and is mostly forgotten. Ask me no questions ~ I'll tell you no lies.
JANUARY
Lexi gritted her teeth throughout the drive and wondered why he’d need a ball cap at night, to keep the sun out of his eyes? “Whatever, as long as we get there in one piece.” She said.She’d first met him in daylight when she called the police station and was referred to the animal control officer. She wanted him to talk to the neighbors about their loose border collie, Joey. Doug shaved his head as well as his dark facial hair, wore a red sox baseball cap usually backwards and had black-rimmed glasses that darkened in the sun. He was about in his mid-forties, married to June, a dark haired twenty pounds or so, overweight girl and they had a toddler named Chrissy. He was wearing brown stall mucking boots that carried a manure aroma, enough to give her fond memories of mucking stalls but not enough to gag her. “First night out, is it fun for you yet Alexis or ACO four?” He asked. “Call me Lexi ok? I am never called Alexis except by one algebra teacher in high school who was totally anal.” Lexi clung to the holder above her right hand. “Everyone in the classroom, including me, waited for Alexis to answer the teacher. You know, I haven’t done any animal control stuff yet and as long as we get there in one piece, I think I’ll like it fine. Oh, yeah; if I don’t have to kill anyone.”
Doug laughed, “Why would you kill someone?” He asked.
“You know…not taking care of a pet, a dog with hair is so long and untidy it can’t walk due to tangled mats, dogs hit by cars, any screaming at me…and the list goes on….for like, ever.”
“Hmmm are you easily ticked off?” He smiled at her humor.
“Sounds like it, huh? But not really. I can stand and listen while quietly writing out a fine, nor do I have a gun, I’d have to strangle the bad pet owner bare handed. But I do have the arm muscles for that.” She lifted her coat sleeve back and pumped up her arm to show him.
“Wow. You’ll be able to pick up a Rotty, literally pick it up. How’d you get those arms?”
“When I walk my four morning miles, I pick up heavy rocks and lift each one fifty times both hands until I find another rock. There are rocks scattered every 500 yards or so on my route.” Lexi said.
“If you think you need to kill someone let me handle the situation after my real job, ok? Don’t need my new ACO arrested for murder. You do sound like you’re potentially armed and dangerous.” He laughed.
“Yes. I am. So, how do you learn all the side dirt roads, there are like a million of them out here. I’ve gotten lost before and I’ve lived here most of my life but the dirt roads go on forever and new ones are always being made.”
“This is one of the largest towns in New Hampshire, almost fifty square miles, so it takes time to learn all the back roads, took me about six months. I’ve been doing this for three years now and lived in town ten years. How long have you been here? Townies would call me new to the area.”
“I grew up on the old Berry farm. The Berry’s lived here a long, long time and even after two previous owners everyone still calls it the Berry farm. We’ve owned it thirty years. Weird huh?”
“Nature of the natives in New Hampshire, are a bit on the chilly side like the weather. Most don’t go out much, winter is almost 6 months a year if you count mosquito and mud season. Takes seventy five years to say good mornin’.” He smiled revealing a dimple on his right cheek.
Lexi smiled at that. “Nature of the beast. I took some years off school and pumped gas, finished college in Florida and returned to New Hampshire to work at print shops ended up at a Concord daily newspaper then a community college. I lived in Pembroke five years before my parents died three years ago.” Lexi said.
“Ah, so your last name is Stillman. Sorry to hear about the plane crash. It was on the news.”
“Thanks, it’s hard to imagine it happening, I miss them.”
“Sorry. We’re on a loose dog warning. The owner, Jerry Dumont, has a lot of land, like twenty acres, but his dogs run down the driveway that stretches about a mile and they get into the street. We have a complaint because someone almost hit his Bassett.” He reached over to the radio attached to the dashboard. He picked up the heavy gray metal speaker and handed it to Lexi. “Here call us in.”
“In what?” She looked over the clumsy looking gray square.
“Dispatch, so they know where we are if there’s any trouble or something.”
“What do I say?”
“Push the red button, speak into the mic, then let go of the button so you can hear them talk back, it’s a two way radio easiest way to explain it. Say ‘ACO four to dispatch.’ If you ever have any real bad emergency you say code three to get the police immediately. Code one is not a major event but still trouble, two is respond on site if you can and code three is ASAP. The cops will be here pretty quick if you remember to state your location to dispatch every time you stop this truck, and it’s mandatory. You will always get a case number from the police secretary, May, you can get it at anytime but you must get it for each call you go on. The dispatch number and some other codes are here on the visor.” He reached over and flipped her visor down. “I’m ACO one.” He flipped the visor up again in front of her face.
“I get it. Where are the other three ACOs?” Lexi said.
“Um, well we don’t have any but you and me. A quick count, one, four.”
“Where are the other ACOs? Why can’t I be ACO two?”
“No particular reason that’s what I was told is your number. When you have days with no calls you can imagine ghosts of Christmas past are ACOs working.” He laughed.
“Great.” Lexi looked at the intimidating clunky metal she held. It was a wide grey metal speaker that looked a hundred years old; she felt a button at the top. It was too dark to see what the hell was going on with the radio aside from the box with red dashes zipping past in front of her attached under the dashboard. It squawked with calls now and then. She waited for one call to finish, a police call only of numbers, and she tentatively pushed the button, held it to her mouth and said “ACO four to dispatch.” She lifted her finger off the call button. Doug put on the left blinker and turned down a very dark, narrowly plowed driveway leading into wooded darkness. This darkness was so intense if you stood outside you could not see your hand in front of your face, it was eerily spooky in the boondocks but Lexi was used to it.
“Go ahead ACO four,” the radio replied.
“Tell her we’re ten-one, in service and off at Brighton Way. Can’t give an address; only one house.” Doug said.
Lexi held the button down and hesitantly said “Ten-one and we’re off on Brighton Way?”
Dispatched responded, “Are you asking? Who are we?”
Doug laughed. “Better tell her ACO one and four. Also when you’re done speaking say ten--three it means you understand and are at the location or will be soon.”
She repeated that, got another ten one and hung up the radio while watching the blackness roll past the window. It was only eight o’clock but dark enough to swallow the truck and never spit it back. Finally she saw a house standing eerily from the dark with light spilling out windows lighting up the snow. The driveway was on the left side of the house and a few steps below the home. Doug opened the truck door and the overhead motion light lit up. He told her to stay in the truck because the owner was a little reactive. She had no time to ask what ‘a little reactive’ meant before he slammed the cab door plunging her into darkness.
Doug, carrying a metal box filled with warnings, pens and summons’s strode up onto a rustic built open deck of the log home. She sat in the dark but it was easier to watch him this way. She rolled the window down, manually of course, and try to catch the conversation.
Doug had to climb steps to get to the front of the house. She heard him knock and say, “Mr. Dumont, it’s Doug, from animal control.”
The house door burst open, Lexi saw the house lights beam behind a figure taller than Doug standing a step over him and the person was clearly carrying a rifle by his side. The young lanky guy was gesticulating wildly with the other hand. A Bassett hound peeked around his ankles. Lexi watched the guy become more and more animated. She worried about Doug who was tearing off a copy of a warning. Another mix breed dog came onto the porch sniffing Doug’s pant leg. Lexi looked around at the nothingness beyond the side window and grabbed the radio speaker that dangled on her knee. She gripped it tightly in her hand and kept her finger over the button whispering to herself, "Code three, code three, code three.” Death could be alighting on her head any second, she feared. One minute you’re in a dark pick-up next BOOM: dead.
Mr. Dumont was furious. He was yelling and swinging the rifle…suddenly Doug leaned in and said something to him, they looked at the truck and both laughed uproariously and the rifle aimed back down at the ground.
Neither she nor Doug carried a gun. They were only outfitted for catching and transporting dogs in the back of a covered four-wheel drive pick up. She had no clue what she would do if Doug got shot. Hell, she’d have to climb over the stick shift to get anywhere near the driver’s seat. She would for sure get shot as well but at least she’d have called into dispatch because her finger was frozen, poised over the red button. They could then remove her body but she was afraid the mic would go with her to her cremation.
She was sweating as if a hot flash struck her. Dampness trickled down her armpits and spine. Doug was finally finished and the door behind him slammed shut. He stepped down the stairs with no railings to hold, only headlights to help and the stairs looked slick with snow. He made it to the truck in one piece then opened the door letting a blast of winter air whoosh her long brown hair behind her. She was still holding the radio mic in a death grip.
“What you doing with that?” He asked while he put the seatbelt on. She had been told that under no circumstances were they to be unbuckled when driving and no citizens were allowed in the truck. She refastened her belt because in her panic at the sight of the rifle she had been preparing to bail.
“What am I doing with what?”
“Duh, radio? Long as you have it in your hand call in and say we’re ten seven nine, which means we’re leaving this call.”
“Sure. First though, what the hell did you say to that guy to stop him from shooting you? He was really pissed.”
“I told him, ‘See the girl in the truck down there?' He said 'yeah'. I said 'well, I’m training her and this is her first time on a call. Now I’m probably going to have to change her diaper.’”
“Asshole!” Lexi snorted.
“Hey. Who’s alive?”
Lexi smiled then called in dispatch as Doug advised and told them they were ten seven nine. He explained he kept the pink copy; the yellow went to the town office staff so they’d receive the money and the white top copy went to the pet owners.
Doug said, “Since the animal control job is on-call and a part time position it will take awhile to get trained. You’ll do a lot of learning on your own and by reading the book of state laws I gave you because you’re on your own days. One thing you absolutely have to do is ask if dogs are licensed. It’s revenue plus it makes owner location of a lost dog so much easier.
“You’ll have the police and dispatch for back up, plus the boss, Bill Mason and the phone number for the state Vet, Dr. McDougal, I already put their numbers in your phone. McDougal is only on during the day in Concord. We maybe get twenty calls a week and I do animal control part-time after my full time day job. I work at a body shop repairing cars in Manchester. I’m not in town during the day but you can call me anytime, my work and home number I already put into your cell.”
Lexi nodded. She knew she would be working for the town manager, Bill Mason, during the day. He hired her. There was talk the town couldn’t afford him and at the next town meeting in March he’d be let go.
“What happens if Bill Mason looses his job, who’s going to be in charge of us working for animal control?” She asked
Doug said, “The job will transfer to the police department and the chief will be in charge of us. There are only two animal control workers and that’s all we need in a town of approximately five thousand people with maybe twice that in animals counting pigs, cows, horses and goats. There is an animal control officer the next town over that handles three towns.
“The police don’t want to deal with animal control calls and that’s how the position was born. There have only been ACOs about two years and there’s a high turnover due to lack of business, low pay and stress. Barking and loose dogs are the bulk of the work, believe me it gets tedious.”
“Well I haven’t gotten to the point of tedious yet, how long does it take? Do we get paid for two hours on an initial call then hourly after that?
“Yeah and don’t think you’ll get paid using your phone and handling a problem that way you need to go out on a call with the truck. Phone calls are endemic to the job, but you get paid for going out and getting case numbers and writing reports at the station or where ever they put us.” Doug said. “I rarely get paid more than a hundred a week. You’ll see how long until it gets tedious.”
“I saw the open position for an animal control officer on the town cable station a week ago.
“That’s how long dog barking and finding dead dogs takes. He worked about a year.” Doug said.
Doug dropped her at home and took the truck to his house. Standing alone in her wide driveway she looked up at the light over the kennel/barn. It made a perfect circle of white below on the driveway and she could see each fat snowflake coming quietly down in the light. It was eerily quiet. She felt alone on the planet making soft boot tracks and then she could hear the snowflakes make a crisp crinkly sound as they landed. She never in her life heard snow land before.
She felt like a fraud ACO without wearing a town logo T-shirt because they had to order one to fit a five-foot, one hundred four pound female. The other animal control person must have been one big guy to judge by the size of the shirts she found in the truck. The pick up was outfitted with a hard cover they could stand up in, Doug had to bend over a bit but Lexi had plenty of headroom. Inside were hooks for tools, a noose pole to catch dangerous dogs, a rubber mat on the floor. It was easy to wash the inside and she saw other implements for the job hanging on hooks.
Lexi had to be comfortable with the job and Doug before the town was certain she would be permanently hired, so in a couple weeks she’d have an ACO shirt and wind breaker with the logo of a German shepherd stitched on the upper left corner with “Mountain Woods Animal Control” embroidered around the dog in a circle if she was still employed by the town, that is. She liked the idea of the job so far.
She trudged towards the farmhouse that her parents had left her and her sister, Ruby, in their will. The shepherds were peeking out the kitchen window. Which meant the four of them were crowded around the built in bench seats and of course Kit had climbed the bench and was boldly standing on the table itself wagging her tail in gentle waves and watched her approach. Lexi had to smile, that dog was something else.
To bring the dogs out it would be simpler for her to walk around to the back French doors inside the fenced area so she trudged through the fresh few inches of snow, unlocked the padlock, then the gate. She saw the dogs beat her to the doors as she closed the gate behind her and relock it with a loud click. It wasn’t a fall down type gate-lock all her dogs could nudge open the gate if it had been. She stepped up the three porch stairs to the doors, opened the right one with a key and reached inside for the outdoor light switch flicking the floodlights on. Then she let the dogs into the fenced four-acre yard with about an inch of new snow covering a crusty foot of older snow. It was hard as a rock underfoot and slippery.
She made sure they all at least peed and when there was a poop she carefully picked it up and put it in a wheelbarrow lined with pine needles. When full, she or Ruby dumped it across the street.
Lexi was unable to care for fourteen German shepherds left behind after the plane accident and kept two of the dogs that were her mom’s Schutzhund II trained breeding stock. Last year Lexi bred the female, Sinda a bi-color, (her top was black, her underneath and behind her legs was red) it looked like someone threw a can of black paint at her from the front. Lexi sold seven puppies to working dog homes because her parents promised most of that litter to those buyers. The sire was a Schutzhund III trained dog she sold. Practically all the pups Sinda produced were sold before the dogs were mated. She kept her favorite pup from that litter for herself and named her Kit.
She chose Kit because she watched the other female pups run around and sniff everything, or they fought and played, but this one smart pup stayed off to the side, crossed her little front paws like a mature spirit and watched the action before getting involved with her baby pack. Lexi liked that for some reason, she couldn’t say exactly why. The pup seemed attentive, intelligent and since then has proved herself over and over again. She also kept a German import, Tonka. He was one of her favorite males so she had him neutered when she moved into the house. Kit finished her outdoor business and Lexi didn’t want the dogs slipping on the ice under the snow so she didn’t throw balls for the dogs, just brought them into the house.
Her mom and Ruby worked with the dogs training for the sport, Schutzhund to earn titles. Sinda and Tonka earned Schutzhund II titles. In the past she often went to the trials, sometimes helping to train or hold dogs during the demanding sport created for working dogs of almost any large breed, it was also called a German breed survey to prove a dog was able to perform as a working dog should and could then be bred after hip x-rays passed. The sport involved protection, obedience and tracking and was not focused on the look or beauty of the dog. There were three stages to work a dog with more and more difficulties.
Lexi was training Kit, a long hair all black shepherd for tracking and they both went at it daily when time permitted. Kit loved carrying anything, especially beer cans and plastic water bottles found on walks and she proudly carried them around until Lexi recycled them after they were dropped. Kit was a kleptomaniac. When the newspaper was tossed into the driveway Lexi sent Kit out to pick it up so long as no cats or squirrels were in view. She learned the hard way to look first because one time in the early morning, she let Kit out to get the paper and a cat was sitting at the end of the driveway. Kit’s prey drive kicked in and she forgot all about the newspaper, chasing the cat across the busy highway in front of the house. Lexi was more careful since then.
Glancing around she spotted the foster pup she was responsible for until he was homed by the rescue. Her family fostered rescue shepherds.
She glanced up at the lit second floor window to the right of the French doors while the dogs peed and greeted her, Jag, the clumsy long legged foster boy jumped up on her, she took his snowy paws and dropped his feet down squeezing to make it uncomfortable and said, ‘No, off”.
Since the light was on it meant her sister, Ruby was awake. Lexi kicked some snow around her hiking boots thinking of Ruby and the nightmare she was dealing with.
She had to brush the snow off the dogs before letting them back into the house so the hardwood floors wouldn’t get soaked. At the door, she reached around for the pegged hanger draped with coats and towels, grabbed a towel then wiped each dog down gently as they came in. They stood for it and lifted each foot to get dried on the rug in front of the door and behind indoor gate. She had to remove some snowballs that hid between and under their toes trapped in the hair.
Sinda turned and kissed her face when Lexi did her feet, which encouraged the rest to surround her with sloppy wet tongues. They had eaten dinner before she went out on the first training call “Hey, yuck you guys. Busy here.”
She hung her towel and coat on the rack and removed her hiking boots placing them on a rubber mat below. She snapped off the outside floodlights.
She hadn’t seen Ruby all day and really should knock on the door and verify she was alive and kicking. With Ruby one never knew, especially since her husband died in early December in a car accident. A week ago she moved back into her childhood bedroom.
“Hey guys. Love you honeys.” Lexi hugged each big fluffy black or black and red head, rubbing chests, accepted her kisses as she opened the gate and walked thru the living room pushing the TV on button as she walked past. She climbed the stairs. As she passed her empty parents bedroom at the top, she briefly thought she saw a lamp in the corner flick on for a second. She knocked on the closed door of the bedroom where Ruby parked herself these days. “Ruby.”
Lexi put her ear against the door as the dogs fidgeted beside her. “Ruby come on, I know you’re up because puppy Jag was let out of his crate. I’m crate training him for the rescue.”
“There’s always a damn rescue puppy in this house since I was in kindergarten. It gets monotonous. What the hell you want anyway?” Was her muffled response.
“Can I come in? I haven’t seen you for a day. Are you eating?”
“Fine. But, no dogs. I had to get Jag out of the kennel not the crate. You had him in the first kennel near the door. If you had put him down the end I wasn’t gonna walk past fourteen kennels to get him. Lucky boy. ”
“Forgot about that.” Lexi turned the antique glass doorknob and squeezed through the opening before a dog could slip past her. She leaned back against the solid wood. All she could see were colorful bedding materials. Her younger sister went in for very bright bedding when she married. “I know you don’t feel like communicating Ruby, but hiding up here under a quilt isn’t right. What about your hospital job in Lebanon?”
“I’m sick of taking care of other people. I quit nursing. I can’t do it anymore. I do not care. At all. I don’t even want to talk to you.” Ruby’s tear tracked face appeared from under a red sheet. Her thick dark hair was stuck to her red cheeks and was a mess of long snarls. Her hazel eyes were brimming with tears.
“Ruby I know you and Larry were in love these last years. I sure don’t know what it’s like to lose someone you’ve loved from the time you were sixteen to twenty-six, aside from losing mom and dad, but really, you can’t lay in bed day after day and pretend the world disappeared. I’ve never seen you like this.”
“I love him. I love him so much. We are soul mates, you can’t understand. We’re practically one person. I don’t know if I can live without him. If I had courage I’d kill myself. I don’t, so I’ll just rot up here. Talk about courage, I’m running out of vodka. Not that you care.”
She lifted a tissue filled hand and pointed towards an empty glass on her bedside table that was covered with crumpled tissues, the ones that hadn’t already fallen to the floor under the table. Lexi vaguely spotted a glass in the mess.
“I do care. You have courage by staying alive. Don’t you see that? Don’t expect me to make a liquor store run. You have a car but since you’re drunk why not go to sleep?” Lexi felt helpless when she had to deal with Ruby. She was still dealing with handling the loss of her parents, her pain was as fresh and real as Ruby’s. “How long do you plan to live in this dreadfully colorful cave?”
“A very long time, maybe the rest of my life so get used to it. Me and Larry were saving for a house. I have twenty thousand, plus half our inheritance; so don’t expect me to leave anytime soon. This house is as much mine as yours.”
“How anyone can be depressed covered with salmon, green, red, aqua and all these bizarrely colorful sheets and blankets, I have no clue. Maybe the colors suck the joy out of you.” She smiled.
“Bite me Lexi. The house is left to both of us so here I am-get used to it! Besides if anyone deserves it more than me, let me know. I took care of the kennels, half the barn, even the fosters for as long as I can remember. I checked future homes so well no dog we ever sold or adopted out has ever been hit by a car, they live in kennels in working homes or in the home with families and the owners signed contracts specifying training. I’m a genius at finding proper homes, even ones without children under ten. You can’t do that.”
“I can Ruby, I recently sold all the breeding dogs to good homes, or working homes.” Lexi said.
“With my approval. You do realize that?” Ruby muttered, “I live here too, this house is as much mine as yours.”
“Just so you know, the house comes with responsibilities and bills.” Lexi said.
“Bye!” Ruby shouted from under a quilt. Lexi sighed loudly and pulled the door behind her open so she could squeeze out almost bumping into the dog pile on the other side.
She glanced at her parent’s bedroom walking past expecting another flicker. Neither girl wanted to clean anything in that room. It was exactly as her parents left it three years ago. A few times a month Lexi went in to sit or curl up on the bed and feel as though they still lived here. She often looked at the hanging photos and ribbons or the ones propped around the bureaus among the dog trophies because they brought her good memories of the working dog shows and how proud her parents were of the work they did improving the breed. If it was work, they didn’t reflect any hardships. Her parents both loved working the dogs and taught other people obedience and on weekends how to earn their titles.
The room had become a little eerie since they passed, though. Lights came on or went off and flickered. Wind blew when no windows were open and her mom’s perfume drifted around her like music if she sat on the bed long enough.
Tonka and Sinda sometimes began to sleep in this bedroom but usually moved onto scatter rugs in her room before morning. Every night Kit snuck onto her queen size bed, consisting of two mattresses on the floor, leaving Lexi odd leftover positions for sleeping, at least if she fell out it wasn’t far to the floor.
Ruby kept her door shut all night. She didn’t like dog hair and dog smell, and she hated when they filled the little room with a fart. What was amusing is no matter what she did she still lived in a home with lots of dogs, their toys and blankets and smelled of it all the same.
The neutered foster, five-month old Jag slept in the spare room following the bathroom. This room had crates spread around it some folded some open. The pups were always being crate trained for the rescue organizations. Lexi’s room was past Ruby’s, through the bathroom, the extra bedroom with crates and a tiny hall. It was off by itself with a back staircase to the kitchen. She went through to her room, got her comfortable clothes, showered in hot steamy water to take the chill out of her from being outside, once done, she dressed for bed and at eight removed the dog water bucket and sat in the living room watching television. The dogs followed her and she gave them their nightly ice cubes and tried to hear a show over the ice crunching. At eleven she took them for a last potty then went to bed. Sometime during the night she heard Ruby sneaking down the back kitchen stairs, past her bedroom; apparently she ate or was sleep walking.
***
In the morning Ruby was in the living room abusing the remote switching channels so fast Lexi couldn’t keep up. She plugged in the coffee maker she prepared last night and walked to the French doors with the dogs. Lexi opened the door, felt a zero degree blast to her face so she watched from behind the doors as the dogs played and did their business. She’d have to pick up the yard later, she thought, maybe the sun would warm up the day, she hoped. When it was time she let the four back inside and dried off their feet. They’d had a good run playing in the new inches of snow from last night.
She then fed them in the towel/dog room as it was now called and dropped each bowl about three feet apart. The room had previously been a formal dining room but Lexi sold the table and chairs and put a gate around a new rug area at the door to keep the dogs from wandering before being dried off. The rug extended under the fence a bit to accommodate the five-gallon water bucket. Cleaning off snow and feeding was easier in here than anywhere else. The large closet on the left wall was convenient for holding dog food and treats. It was a little troublesome carrying the five gallon water bucket from kitchen to dog room but not impossible.
“Lex, I need to speak to you today.” Ruby called from the living room.
“Minute.” She poured her coffee in the kitchen. She was trying to enjoy it but she scooted Jag from Kit’s food bowl when he was finished eating his food. Kit, her female two year old, growled at him. She would let humans touch her food or move her bowl but not other dogs. Jag tried that on Tonka once and got a face full of big square dog head and a flash of teeth, which was also the last time he tried that. He too had no problem with humans touching his food or removing the bowl, no dog in her house ever had food or toy issues.
Suddenly the pager went off on the kitchen table where she’d dropped it last night. “Crap.” She went in, picked it up and saw that dispatch wanted her to call them.
“Lexi damn it. I need to talk to you.”
“Let me call dispatch first. It’s my very first animal call.”
Dispatch told her to pick up a loose Golden puppy running around on one of the busier streets in town. Two New Hampshire highways cut through town one was north/south the other east/west. The hick town only had two yellow blinking lights and a bunch of stop signs.
She grabbed her coat, put on her boots and stepped into the living room telling Ruby she’d be back in a few minutes.
“I need to talk to you, I said!”
“I’ll be back. I need to get the truck and pick up a puppy running in traffic. You don’t mind, right?" Lexi asked sarcastically.
“Do something with these dogs,” Ruby whined.
“They live here Ruby, I don’t kennel them when I go out for an hour. Usually I crate the pups. Have coffee, it’s ready.”
“Jag the foster. Do something with him. I don’t want to watch him eat the furniture, wrestle or crawl over me.”
“Fine, I’ll kennel Jag in the barn so you won’t have to worry about fighting.”
“Without collars that’s not necessary, they have no chain links for teeth to get caught in, panic, or strangle anyone. They’re all micro chipped or do you not remember that?” Ruby said loudly from the living room.
“I remember Ruby. Was just sayin’.” When she was ready she took Jag through the fencing that also connected to the barn and kennels.
The kennel door was on the right and ten kennels ran across to the left after the door. She and her sisters’ cars both fit inside the barn to the right of the kennels. The kennels were divided from the garage so exhaust fumes didn’t leak into them. The loft was over both sides they used it for storage. She put Jag in a kennel filled with a hay bale for warmth and a flap door to go in and out. Water was already in the kennel but she had to break a thin layer of ice on top. She’d have to leave her car at the police station and pick up the truck there. Since she was on call all day she could keep the truck at her house after the first call.
After trading vehicles she got to the street of her very first call alone where the Golden Retriever had been spotted running around. Morning traffic was racing past her pick up going fifty-five as she pulled to the side of the road and put her blue and yellow bar lights on.
She lifted the radio mic. “ACO four to dispatch.” She said reading from the codes she found over the visor. When they responded she said, “I’m ten one and off at bypass twenty-eight.”
“We have an owner looking for a male Golden puppy. Check Barrow Rd the cross street is the Bypass.” The female dispatcher said.
“I’m looking and don’t see the pup. I’ll drive up another street that goes to the transfer station. Can you give me owner name and number?” She asked.
“Not over the air. Call in. Everyone in town has a police scanner. Some things are private ya know?”
"No, I didn't know about scanners. Maybe I'll get me a scanner." Lexi smiled.
She pulled the truck from the side of the road when a spot in traffic appeared, turned around and went up a side street. She drove slowly peering into nearby woods and yards until she spotted a fluffy yellow tail under someone’s porch. She pulled the truck into the driveway and approached the house. Before she got to the door, the tail disappeared and a large clumsy puppy with huge snowy paws ran out from the porch and leaped on her. “Nice! Gotcha. Don’t call me dog catcher for nuthin’."
She hefted the clumsy overgrown Golden and put him in the back of the truck. She knocked on the door to inform the owner she picked up a loose dog in their yard hoping it didn’t belong to them- that’d be bad. They had no idea he’d been there and he didn’t belong to them.
She used her cell phone to call dispatch and get the owner info, the McKenzies, then she called the owner on the police cell phone. They expressed happiness at having their puppy found, he was wearing a red collar as described but didn’t have license tags. Lexi drove to the home nearby. She could have charged them for a pick up but since they were actively looking for the pup she didn’t.
The dog’s name was Boom Boom, he was six months old and Lexi asked the owner to get to the town hall and license him since he was up to date on all his shots. She glanced around the yard where she was standing and saw dog poop in every direction.
“Know why my son named him Boom Boom?” Mrs. McKenzie asked.
“I might think so.” Lexi smiled.
“It’s because of all the land mines he makes in the yard.” Mrs. McKenzie was in her fifties, had dark hair and eyes and was over five nine at minimum.
Lexi told her if she didn’t license Boom Boom by the end of April she’d have to pay an extra fine.
In order for the town to fine the owner Lexi had to copy the information about the dog owner then call it in to town hall where they kept records of all the dog tags. They sent out late tag notices in April. People had from January until then to get the dogs licensed.
She started home dreading whatever Ruby needed to talk about. Lexi thought it was going to be that she was moving in permanently. They hadn’t lived in the same house together since Lexi was eighteen and Ruby was twelve. After Lexi went to college for four years, earning a BA in art she owned her own small cottage in Pembroke, near Concord, until her parents died leaving the Schutzhund trained dogs and some high quality pups along with a mortgage-free antique farmhouse on eight acres with land across the street. They had had mortgage insurance so when they passed away the mortgage was paid off. Lexi sold the Pembroke cottage before leaving her job in Concord.
Lexi, at the time, was working for a daily newspaper in the art department. She loved doing that but became over burdened with tending her parents kennel, the farmhouse, and re-homing or selling dogs and pups, and her parents still were fostering for the shepherd rescues and there were pups to adopt out.
Lexi’s dad, Cliff, was a pilot who spotted speeders on the highway and her mom stayed home training dogs, running a training club and caring for the girls until they were of age to be on their own. Their small-plane crash was during a sudden storm over Colorado on the way to a show. Her mom, Carol, was going to stud her top Schutzhund III male, Gunther, when they got there. They had another male, Ansel prepared for his Schutzhund III, as well and they all perished in the crash. It took a few weeks for searchers to find the plane but after two months they recovered it.
She got to the driveway and her pager went off again. “Shit!”
When she got in the house she called dispatch.
“We have a barking complaint from last night.” Polly, the police department secretary, told her.
“Can you give me the info or do I need to come to the station?”
“Got a pen?”
“Thanks.” Lexi grabbed a pad and wrote the information down. She tucked it in her pocket. She would have to buy a notebook calendar thingy for this job. She called Bill Mason, her boss to ask what she did about barking calls. They talked about that for a few minutes and Lexi thanked him and hung up.
Ruby was in the kitchen making cereal for breakfast. She was actually dressed, long dark hair looked washed, even combed and she seemed fully functional, a huge change. Lexi froze at the door in mock shock. “Wow, alive after all? You know I lost mom and dad in the plane accident too, I may not have lost a high school drop out boyfriend I’ve known since fourteen but I think you can overcome a criminal jewelry thief, or paste jewelry thief-jailbird who violated probation. Forget him and get on with your life.” Lexi said. “He couldn’t even tell the difference between crap jewelry and the real thing! Is your wedding band real gold or gold plated?” Lexi smirked.
“Gold.” Ruby said in defense. “He was there when I needed him after the accident. I depended on him and he was there for me. I know you didn’t like him but he was always good to me.”
“He was only real good to you after mom and dad died and you inherited the house and money. He even dumped his crazy ass friends for what your future was going to be like. All that breaking up and going out over the years and suddenly he settles down? How suspicious is that?” Lexi was becoming angry at the fact Larry cleaned his act up right after her parents died. He went so far as to ask Ruby to marry him.
“He loved me Lexi. Maybe you can’t understand that because you were never married.” She said.
“No he was homely as sin, long horse face, frizzy blonde hair, what was the attraction?” Lexi said.
“The rest of his body was hotter than hell, he loved me. His hazel eyes were blue flecked with brown dots and they were mesmerizing. He stopped a lot more than hanging with druggies to marry me. He quit all the hard drugs and got a job with his dad selling cars until the new job when he went to auctions for Greg and drove cars back to Manchester from up north.”
“Yeah, nice because he died in a Camaro he stole off the lot without permission and those cars always had something wrong with them that needed repairs before they were street ready. You knew he was a dangerous driver.” Lexi kneeled down and hugged Kit to her. “After watching you two for years I never had a desire for a long term commitment.”
“Enough trashing Larry. I need you to help me pack my shit and move me out of the apartment. I still have to go through his stuff. But I have to be out before the end of the month so I don’t have to pay rent for February. Also, I need someone to drive his Falcon back here after I fill it with stuff.”
“Okay, I can help with that. When are you doing all this?”
“I can pack and fill our cars then I’ll call you on that cell phone you got from the town.” Ruby rinsed off some dishes from the counter and put them in the dishwasher. “I’m sorry I’m a mess but I’ll never get through this. Never. I’m very close to killing myself to be with him, mom and dad.” Her face was blotchy from crying, her hair was hanging in her face. Lexi wished they had the type of relationship where she could walk over and hug her but it had been so long since they lived together that it didn’t feel right. She started towards her as if to hug her but Ruby backed away.
“Don't say stuff about suicide. You’ll never forget what you will lose in your life Ruby, but you are still alive. Your life has value. Turn it around and make something wonderful from it. It’s like beginning over again without a criminal druggie tying you down. You’re a free bird.”
“Free Bird? Oh sure, Larry was my life. No one has ever loved me like that before and no one will again.” She began crying and reached for a paper towel. “One time when he was teaching me to drive his standard he took me to the wealthy area of Manchester at night. He drove up a street, turned around, shut off the headlights, then got out of the car and told me to drive. He said to coast slowly to the end of the street. I saw his shadowy figure cross in front of the car and suddenly he darted into the pitch dark.”
She caught her breath between sobs. “Then I drove slowly to the end of the street and stopped. He ran around in front of the car, jumped in the passenger door with a gigantic armful of flowers. He says, ‘Lights on. Hurry get out of here. These are for you.’ There were so many different flowers scenting the car, so many colors and sizes. It was so sweet and bad-boy. Next day an article in the paper said that North end vandals robbed some flower gardens.” She giggled as tears fell from her cheeks.
Lexi went over and hugged her close. “It sounds as if he loved you very much.”
“You have no idea, that was when I was seventeen. You will never know how deep this is for me. No one in my life will ever love me like he did. Ever.” Her hundred pound body shook as she began sobbing. “I don’t even have parents to help me through this.”
“Ruby, death is part of life. Life wouldn’t be as bitter sweet and we would take everything for granted. Life is about suffering and growth. You’ll always have your memories. Everyone in the world loses people they love. Everyone, you’re not the only person to lose a lover. As a testament to your love for him, you need to have a good life.” Lexi felt inadequate explaining emotions on the topic because she was also coping with her parents’ untimely deaths and had given it a little thought. She wanted to be a calming influence on Ruby.
Every night she sat cross-legged before bed and meditated. It helped her tremendously and she suggested it to Ruby many times.
Ruby said, “Whatever. I don’t understand why I had to be in love with such a difficult crazy person then have him turn out so fantastic only to lose him to a stupid car accident! I will never get it, but he did drive really crazy when he was alone in the car or showing off for friends.”
“I don’t know what to tell you. I’ll help as much as I can. Meanwhile I have a barking call. Let me know when you’re ready to move your stuff home. You can drop off a load, pick me up and I’ll drive his car back here after you pack up more stuff. How many days is this going to be?”
“Maybe two. Once the car is here I can do the rest myself. Larry’s brother will be there today to take most of the furniture so I don’t have to do that.” Ruby pushed Tonka’s nose away from her wad of tissues, then Jag came over to nuzzle them around.
Lexi went to the desk and picked up her copy of animal control laws for the state. She paged through it to find what a nuisance dog would be fined, if that included barking and what sort of fine she could manage after a warning was issued. Ruby slipped back upstairs without saying anything more.
During the rest of the day Lexi picked up two Labs and located the owner by the tags. She issued a pick up fee to him then met up with the person complaining about dog barking. She asked him to sign a complaint form and explained it to the misbehaving dog’s owner. Soon after that call she had another about an injured fox in the center of town. Before leaving she went home and got on her computer to look up rabies. When she felt competent she left in the truck, listening to the snow crackling under the tires. She got to the post office in the town center and saw two cruisers with blue lights flashing on either side of the road she pulled in front of one.
Two officers were on the scene watching the animal. The fox staggered away from her, then he lay down. He didn’t look to be hit by a car but he was unsteady on his feet and drooling, he shook his head a few times and looked miserable.
Otherwise it seemed so woodsy and wild to see a live fox.
Speaking to Officer Dragon on the bank’s parking lot and grassy area before the highway she said, “A fox outside on a sunny late morning is a bad indication of his condition. I went online before leaving home to see if the fox’s behavior is typical of rabies and it sure looks like it.” He agreed with her.
She told him, “Shoot it but not in the head. Rabies resides in the brain and I don’t want it to aerosol and contaminate anyone. I read online that no one ever got rabies that way before but you don’t want to be the first.” She said to the officer. “It’s my responsibility to see it done safely.”
Police cruisers were placed on both sides of the highway and had traffic stopped so no one was in danger. Sergeant Dragon lifted his high-powered rifle, aimed and shot the fox in the chest a couple times. Lexi felt a twinge of regret with each loud report from the rifle. Poor fox, but it was the only solution to end its suffering. Shooting it protected other animals in the area from the same fate if they came in contact with him. Rabies was a painful and terrible way to die.
Once that was over she had no idea what to do with the contaminated body. She used gloves and a huge trash bag from a box in the truck to retrieve the fox.
"You can bring that to the town dump Lexi, they’ll bury it deep enough so no other animals can dig it up.” Officer Chris told her.
By the time she got home it was past noon and she felt as if she’d labored all day.
She washed her hands multiple times fearing the rabies. When she was over her mild panic attack she wolfed down a melted cheese sandwich and watched out the window as Ruby pulled her blue Falcon into the driveway. Lexi sat in the booth seat with three dogs curled up nearby Jag was still in the kennel. If her pager didn’t go off, she’d go out soon and get him.
***
Ruby knew she had to collect herself and do what needed to be done at the apartment she once shared with Larry. The world had always felt sewn delicately together and now the threads frayed, seams parted and Ruby was no seamstress. There was nothing for her to fix and that broke her heart.
She had returned to Lebanon once since the funeral. With a bottle of cheap wine in her hand, she drove her Falcon an hour to the apartment and put the key in the keyhole. She stood for a minute, chilled inside. Her dark heart steeled itself for all the love and togetherness they shared in this little apartment. She took a long swallow of the Pink Catawba, choked on the slug and walked inside coughing.
First thing she saw was his blue plaid mohair scarf on the floor near the front door. She lifted it and pushed her face into it for the scent of him, then wrapped it around her neck. Larry’s brother had dropped off boxes for her. She used newspaper and wrapped the kitchen stuff, then in the living room she took photos and a couple oil paintings she’d attempted in her spare time. She couldn’t look at the photos of the wedding and honeymoon in Florida so she hurriedly rolled the albums in newspaper and filled a box. Then she taped it shut. The next hard part would be taking his clothing. He wasn’t very neat and she knew the bedroom had most of his clothing littering the floor, chair and corner of the bed. When she walked in though, she saw it was almost an empty room. Larry’s brother Roland must have cleaned it all out for her. She sat on the stripped bed and had another gulp of wine.
She put the bottle on the floor then lay down curled in the fetal position. She was going to get up eventually and begin life anew, because something else awaited her if she didn’t join her husband.
She’d brought all the bedding to the farmhouse the first day she moved back. Most of what was left belonged to Larry. She wanted Roland to keep it all. She didn’t want the bed. She felt too close to him here. They’d had so much fun in the bed, on the floor, even on the dinky kitchen table, and once a chair not to mention while he drove and she sat facing him behind the wheel. That would have been an extremely embarrassing way to die.
She couldn’t bear sleeping in the bed again. This was her last moment she’d ever feel this close to him. She began crying and yanked some tissues from the side table that held Larry’s wedding ring, watch, and other personal items. She took the ring, folded her hand closed around it and took a deep breath. She figured Roland didn’t want to remove it from where she placed it after the cremation. It still had some blood on it. That took her breath away. She had her own ring on at the moment. She tried to wear both of them but his was too large for her fingers. She wore a peace sign necklace so she added both her and Larry’s gold bands to the silver chain. When she got home she’d clean up Larry’s ring.
She sniffled and began packing her own paraphernalia from the bathroom. Her clothing was already home. There wasn’t much for her to take. She left the watch for Roland and a sticky note explaining that to him. Seeing herself in the mirror behind the door only gave her more reason to sob so she refused to look.
After she loaded her car for the last time she gave the manager her key and told him Roland would hand over his key once he cleared out the rest of the stuff. Lexi had already left with the car and some apartment stuff. They hadn’t had much, Ruby thought, and what they did have wasn’t as important as what Larry and she shared together, it was so fragile and he was so difficult to manage but he became so gentle, sweet and caring. She would never have that again in her life. She knew she would never find that kind of love again. Never. Their love burned deep in her heart and head and it was as if she couldn’t free that love without ripping herself apart. It made her think of honeybees once they stung someone their heart was torn out with the stinger and the bee died. Her heart felt ripped out of her like a bee.
When she first noticed Larry, Ruby wasn’t looking for someone to love she had plans for her future. She wanted to be a nurse and work in a hospital, mostly with children, boyfriend not included. But Larry was across the street daily after high school let out with a bottle of liquor in his left hand. “Hey Ruby need a ride home?” He’d smile a huge grin. “I’m going to go out with you someday, you may as well face it now.” He said while swinging the bottle of booze back and forth.
“My plans don’t include dying in a car accident by a drunk.” She answered.
“Ok, deal. Next time I’m out here I won’t have any alcohol.” His sparkly hazel eyes mesmerized her and his wink was the final touch.
She and Maddie usually hung around downtown Manchester during the after school hours and caught the last bus to Mountain Woods where they lived. Eventually when Larry showed up sober Ruby and Maddie accepted rides home with him and the rest was inevitable.
***
Lexi took on more calls alone but also accompanied Doug on a few night calls to get the basics first hand. He explained most of the summons’s and paperwork, how to keep track of her hours and where all the tools she would need were placed in the truck. His biggest goal during this year was to get a shelter built.
He said to Lexi, “I know Bill, the town manager is in favor of a shelter because there isn’t anywhere to put strays. Nor can we quarantine a dog ten days for biting. The vet is expensive whether the dogs are claimed or not. Whenever dogs are placed with him he charges the owners or the town when we could be earning shelter fees to pay for our ACO work.”
“Having a shelter would be pretty cool.” She said.
Doug added, “Bill Mason plans to broach the subject at the next town meeting and with whoever replaces him if he loses his position at the March town meeting and it seems likely he will. It may be the police chief would follow through on getting it built he is very supportive of the ACOs. Have you met Chief Earle Dibbons yet?”
Lexi shook her head no. “But you know Doug I have mostly unused kennels, I can keep stray dogs there if you want until the shelter’s built.”
“Well that’s very generous Lexi but keep in mind that some dogs are considered dangerous, some strays may have distemper so you should give it a lot of consideration before offering to kennel every dog we find.” Doug warned her.
Lexi agreed with him. “I’ll only bring home healthy looking dogs with a collar and or tags. I’ll charge the owners or town a thirty-dollar fee which is less than the vet’s forty dollars and you can return dogs anytime of day or night as you want because I don’t close at five pm. I can use money instead of keeping every kennel empty.” She said. “I’ll give you a key to the kennel side door and gate it’s one key for both.”
“Sounds like that’ll work well but we’ll have to pass it by Bill Mason first.” Eventually Bill Mason approved of using her kennels temporarily until the shelter went up.
Lexi fell easily into the routine of the job and found it was mostly enjoyable but she hadn’t had years of dog barking calls either and knew Doug didn’t like them. The day would come when she’d dread those miserable calls as well. It was in the nature of a dog to bark. Dogs enjoyed being outdoors as well as in with their people, but barking was a nuisance. She often mentioned bark collars to the dog’s owners. The collars sprayed citronella in the dog’s face when he or she barked but those were expensive for the average dog owner so most didn’t want to try it.
She tried using spray collars for her dogs barking in the kennels. Her shepherds could wear one of those and bark until the canister had no citronella left. They were tough guys.
The rescue sent several people to her house to check out goofy long legged Jag to adopt but he hadn’t bonded with anyone yet.
Ruby was all moved in at the end of the month and all keys returned to the landlord. She had two cars, one was an old Falcon Larry drove that she kept in the garage covered with a tarp in front her own ice blue Falcon. His car was in good condition it hadn’t been the car he died in. He drove auction cars for a living and he ‘borrowed’ the Camaro without permission of the car buyer on the night he died, that car was totaled.
Ruby spent most of her time in her bedroom and seemed to be hibernating for the winter. Occasionally she made dinner or showered but she was becoming thinner and thinner. Lexi had no idea how to mother Ruby and even if she felt inclined, Ruby would have nothing to do with it.
Lexi often doubted she’d like having children because of all the emotions required and the teaching of children seemed overwhelming owning dogs was plenty of work and it was more than she could do keeping Ruby from suicide or alcoholism and Ruby was an adult.
***
Lexi and Doug made a deal that each of them had one day off on the weekend and they had to work an entire day. Lexi had Saturdays off and Doug had Sundays but either of them could switch giving the other enough notice.
On a Sunday Lexi was working, someone called about a black Lab that bit the owner’s child in the face, Doug said to call him on her first dog bite and he’d teach her how to do it. So he picked her up having heard the call on the scanner before she could get the truck. They rode to the house together. Doug took the metal box and pulled out two copies of the quarantine paper work clipping them to the top.
“The dog owner has to fill out two copies because we don’t have carbon paper and this wasn’t preprinted for us on duplication sheets. Costs money for that. You can fill it out or have the owner answer your questions, if you prefer.” Doug opened the door and got out of the truck at a small house with a freshly plowed driveway. Both went up the stairs and rang the bell. Doug introduced them both.
“I’m Tina, this is Jack.” She pointed to her husband. She was a tall thin blonde girl in her twenties. Her husband was in his coat sitting at the table smoking a cigarette. He looked depressed.
“Hi Jack.” Doug said.
The woman held out a hand to shake with him,” We just got back from the hospital with the baby. You can see him he’s in the living room in a playpen. He got two stitches. The dog is in the cellar.”
“We’ll have to check your dog out and see that he’s healthy, also you said he’s up to date on his shots so I’ll need to see the tags or rabies paperwork.” Both Lexi and Dog were standing in a kitchen area cluttered with colorful kid toys.
Jack held out paperwork he’d had on the table in front of him. “Here’s the rabies.”
Doug wrote the tag number issued by the vet on the two copies of the paperwork, and copied more information such as full name and address. He then handed the papers to Jack. “You can fill the rest of these two papers out describing what happened. Then you can either board the dog at the town vet, which will cost forty dollars a day, or you can keep him home with a lot of restrictions.
“If you keep him here the dog isn’t allowed outside unleashed unless in a fenced yard. The dog must only be handled by a family member.”
“It can’t go out by itself? We don't want the dog. I called so you can take it. I don’t care what you do with it.” Tina said.
“You called because the dog needs to be quarantined for ten days before you can do whatever you want. I can tell you right now that no one will adopt a dog that bit a child in the face. No rescue will take him either, although, a few give a dog one bite and call it an accident, but they only pull dogs from shelters, they don’t take owner surrendered animals. A shelter will probably euthanize him. Can you tell us what happened?” Doug asked.
Lexi stood by listening and trying to write in her calendar the information she thought was important.
Tina went in and picked up the baby bringing him into the kitchen. “See Brandon’s stitches? He was in the walker and no one saw what happened, I kept an eye on them both while I was cooking breakfast but I heard a scream from the living room when the dog bit him in the face. Like, for no reason. He’s an old dog anyway, like eleven.”
The baby had some puncture marks on his cheeks and two black stitches were obvious. Lexi imagined the child’s walker running over a sleeping dog or its tail. She didn’t see how nothing provoked the dog but she’d have to meet the dog before knowing anything like that.
“Jack, make sure you write the details of what happened in that report you’re filling out.” Doug said. “May we see the dog?”
Tina handed Brandon to her husband and walked to the closed basement door. “Down there, he was my husband’s dog before we married.” She opened it and a male black lab with a grey muzzle stood on the top step. His fat tail was wagging back and forth. Another child came running out of a bedroom to pet the dog. Tina grabbed him and said no.
Doug reached to pet and stroke the Lab he also looked him carefully all over. He touched the dog in various places and the dog allowed it all, so he had no sensitive areas. Doug and Lexi noticed that it did not look as if he had rabies. Doug turned to Tina and closed the door for her.
“Like I said, if he's boarded at the vet it will cost forty dollars a day, if you keep him at home he’s only allowed around family members. No one else can touch him for ten days. No one. He must be leashed outdoors at all times and supervised. I’ll have to see a health certificate on the tenth day signed by a vet. Then it’s up to you what you do with him.”
“Well I don’t want to kill Jack’s dog but he can’t live with our kids.” Tina said.
Jack wiped a tear with his sleeve before it fell. His face was blotchy red. He stood up and handed the paperwork to Lexi. “Here see if I did that ok. I don’t want the dog around the kids either. Can I give him to my mom and dad? We both lived there before I met Tina so he’ll feel comfortable. He can’t live on the top step in the basement. I’ve had him since he was a puppy. I would never believe he’d bite anyone, he’s always been so sweet.”
“He can stay with your parents but they must abide by the quarantine for ten days. Where do they live, in town?”
Jack nodded. “Yeah on Bakers Road. I’ll take him over there now and explain that to them. They offered to watch him anyway. I think they’ll even keep him.”
“I still need to see the vet paperwork saying he’s healthy in ten days.”
Lexi read the paperwork she was given, making sure it was all signed and filled in. Then she handed them to Doug. He signed and dated them both. “This explains clearly what the law is with regard to the dog bite. One copy is for you Jack, and one for me. Let your parents read it.” He dropped a copy on the table. “If you have any questions call Bill Mason or dispatch and they’ll call one of us. Make sure your parents know the rules of his care for ten days.”
Tina and Jack said thanks and Lexi and Doug got into the truck. He put the signed paperwork in the metal box.
When he turned the truck and radio on, he heard dispatch asking for the ACO on call. He picked up the mic and handed it to Lexi. “Go.”
She looked confused for a moment. Then gathered her wits. “ACO one and four.”
Dispatch asked them to pick up a husky on the other side of town and when they finished that there was a loose bull on Mills Way. Lexi hung up the mic. “Loose bull?”
“Yeah, we do it all!” Doug laughed.
“What the hell do you do with a loose bull?” She asked.
“For sure you don’t wave anything red at him.” He laughed jerking the steering wheel a few times.
Lexi giggled and grabbed the over the door handle, “Geez, does your wife appreciate your humor?”
Doug glanced over at her as he reversed the truck in the driveway. “She probably wishes she had a choice.”
Doug was driving helter skelter and when he spoke to her his eyes were off the road longer than Lexi was comfortable with. She kept massaging her seat belt in fear.
“For bulls we try to locate the owner first, if that’s not gonna fly we have to figure something else out.” He said. “Due to the location, I think I know who owns him. For future reference we have the eighty-twenty rule.”
“The what rule?” She asked.
Doug turned the truck onto a road and stopped in front of a husky standing in the middle of the street. Lexi then called dispatch to report their location. She could see the dog was a very nice looking thick coated black and white Malamute with gorgeous deep blue eyes and it was in very good health.
“It goes like this; eighty percent of the business is from twenty percent of the customers. For example, this is Almost. I’ve picked her up a dozen times, charged the owners a dozen times. And you haven’t met the goat and collie traveling companions yet.”
Lexi smiled as they both climbed out of the truck. “Goat and collie…what? Guess I’ve missed tons of fun not doing animal control before this.”
“Life as you knew it is about to change. Wait’ll you get the lion or elephant call.” He snickered then opened the back of the truck and the husky hopped in easily, he handed Almost a little milk bone treat. “The owners can’t catch her.”
Lexi laughed. “Well you are the dog catcher. A pro even! Do you feed the dogs you find? And what’s with a lion and elephant, where is that?”
“Both of the animals are owned by a wealthy couple. You’ll get called if the lion looks out a front window at some old woman’s poodle, she’s convinced the lion can jump through the window and eat her dog. Neighbors walking past there freak out. Someone lives outside all the time with the elephant.”
“Wow I had no idea!” She leaned forward in the seat. “Can I see them?”
“I’ll get you over sometime to see them, probably on a weekend if you don’t get a call before then. As for feeding strays, no I do not. I only treat for getting in the truck some dogs could be allergic to something or have epilepsy. I try not to feed anything but the milk bones unless they’re overnighters, then I have no choice.” Doug said. “There are so many people that catch a dog and feed it but most dogs are loose for a short time and don’t need to be fed unless their bones are visible. Feeding them a food they’re not used to can cause upset stomachs.”
Lexi took her eyes off the road for a second hoping they didn’t end up in a ditch. “I’m 100% with you on that.”
“We’ll stop over Almost’s house and see if they’re home, otherwise she’ll go on the bull call. Hop back in Lexi.”
The wife was home and was fined for the Malamute being loose, Doug told her the next time he came she’d have a summons to appear in court. The owner tied her on a long wire with a clip allowing the dog to run back and forth. “She gets loose before I can clip her and loves to run. I don’t know why but she won’t come when I call her. I tried to follow her with the car this time but she kept running even faster so I turned home before a car hit her. I have no control over her. Her name is Almost because we almost didn’t get her, she almost didn’t live she was too small; she almost is on the way to a shelter! Can’t figure what to do with her.” She gave the dog a stern look.
Lexi thought, training? But didn’t want to say that out loud. She knew huskies inherited a stubborn streak and running was built into their genes.
After leaving Almost, Doug wanted to get home before the bull call. He told June when he left that he wouldn’t be out long.
“Doug, I have three shepherds all well trained, Tonka, Sinda and Kit. Kit will do anything I ask of her. She’s the perfect dog.” She said, “I’ll stop and pick her up. You know... shep-herd?”
“Sounds like a plan. Drop me at home cuz I’m not herding no bull on my day off. Has your dog ever herded anything before?” He asked.
“No, but herding is instinctive. I believe.” Lexi said trying to boost her confidence. “You’re leaving me alone with a bull?”
“I’ll have a cop on the scene with you to stop traffic.” He said, as he picked up the mic.
Lexi ran inside her house to get Kit, put a collar on her, then the dog jumped into the back of the truck. Lexi went to find the bull once she dropped Doug at home.
Kit was eager for something to do. The working line dogs are not for the faint of heart. Working lines means working to exhaust the dog before becoming exhausted first, it is a contest of wills either tire the dog or knock yourself flat out trying.
***
When she got to the site, she called dispatch. In the near vicinity was a fenced area with a gate. A police officer, Chris O’Connor wasn’t sure whose fencing it was but said it would do till Lexi found the bull’s owner. There was an older woman, very thin with thinning white hair on her porch nearby wearing a warm wool coat and they both walked over to speak with her.
“I believe that bull belongs to the Franks. They live about half a mile east down the road. I looked out the window from the kitchen and there he was, so I called the police. He’s young and frisky. He’s been running back and forth between snacking. He’s held up some traffic.”
“I heard that from dispatch. Who’s fenced corral is that?” Chris asked pointing to the right of the woman’s field.
“I think it belongs to my new neighbors. Only been here ten years.” She murmured. “I don’t know them. I used to know everyone in town.”
Lexi walked to the back of the truck and let Kit out. She leashed her and returned to Chris who stood by the fenced pen. “Don’t get too close.” He said, “How do you work this with the dog to get the bull in that fence? If she can, I mean.”
“Kit will do anything I ask. She’s the most awesome dog.” Lexi led Chris to a spot to stand that blocked the road and she opened the corral gate. She said she'd stand near him. She then walked Kit way behind the bull and put her in a sit stay unleashed, then assumed a position standing near the officer, a few yards away. She told him to hold out his arms level with his shoulders to make it look like the area was blocked, she did the same.
She took a deep breath, released it and pointed to the bull while looking at Kit. “Get it Kit. Bark! Bark! Get it!” Lexi urged her towards the bull. Kit stood and began barking at the bull, staying a good distance away, yet following, as he kept getting closer to Lexi.
“Chris, stand between the road and corral so the bull won’t go anywhere but towards the corral.”
“Could he run over me to get to the road?” He asked.
“Don’t worry. Kit’s smarter than both of us put together.”
“Kit,” Lexi said, “get the bull, bark, come on!” The bull stopped grazing and watched the dog warily. Kit had stepped up closer to him, and barked continuously. His eyes rolled towards Lexi and he bolted in her direction. Kit kept behind him barking then she ran between Lexi and the bull rounding the bull towards the open gate. Lexi guided Kit keeping her hands up. The bull was bucking and tossing his horned head around. Then Kit herded him into the corral. Chris slammed the gate shut. Lexi ran for Kit and hugged her while praising her, “Good girl, Kit.”
“Holy crap.” Chris said. “That was awesome. She never did that before?”
“Not that I know and I’ve had her since birth.” Lexi grabbed Kit’s collar and leashed her so she wouldn’t wander into the street while Chris checked that the gate was closed tightly.
Lexi said, “I’ll head to the Frank’s house. I think she said it was four houses on the right.”
“Four houses on the right?” Chris said, “No, that’s where the lion and elephant live.”
“Cool, I hope someone calls me to go over there and see the lion and elephant.” She smiled.
“You are crazy enough for this job.” Chris said as he got back into his cruiser. “You probably want the house across the street from the lion. I’ll ten seven nine us. Give dispatch the new location when you get there.” The officer drove off in his cruiser.
Once she found the bull’s owner at home she fined him fifty dollars and watched him leave with a lead and halter to bring the bull home. He told her the bull was not even a year old yet.
Lexi, on the way home, slowed down at the house where she believed the lion lived. She loved wild cats. She really wanted to see it. She couldn’t imagine, looking at the property, where the heck an elephant was hiding. When she got home with Kit she took all the dogs outside to play in the yard, even getting Jag out of the kennel.
Ruby stood on the back formal stairs when she got inside. “Got a message for ya.” She hollered.
Lexi sighed as she led the dogs towards the towels. “What is it?”
“Come here and I’ll tell you.” Ruby said.
“Please Ruby, tell me. I’m in here drying dogs.”
“No. Come up stairs or I’ll tell you later.” She heard Ruby tromp loudly towards the bedroom every old plank of wood creaking under her feet.
Once the dogs were done and she cleaned up, Lexi called the neighbor to plow the entrance to their driveway but no one was home. She hoped he was out plowing driveways because she couldn’t easily get her all wheel drive car over the giant snow pile the town plow left, like a prize, at the end of her driveway. Even Doug couldn’t get in there with the pick-up which was supposed to be in four-wheel drive but never seemed actually in four wheel drive. He got the pick-up into in her driveway by some miracle. Doug’s personal black-pick up truck rode over the bank like it wasn’t there.
After she tended to the dogs, she climbed the stairs to talk to Ruby. She knocked and opened the door. “Message?”
“German shepherd rescue wants to talk to you.”
“Fine, which one? Mass or NH?”
“Mass.”
“I’ll call them. I hope they found someone to take Jag.” Lexi took in the sea of tissues, the side table with the open bottle of wine but no glass. Ruby was probably hiding it under the blanket. The TV was on mute. “Ruby do you want to see a doctor, or therapist or something?”
“Fuck off and die. Shut the door.”
Lexi closed the door and ran down the stairs, dogs tagging along behind her. She was still in her stupid coat. Hadn’t had time to get it off and was home for half an hour. She shrugged it off on the kitchen floor. Hungry, she grabbed some bread and made a melted baloney and cheese sandwich in the toaster oven. As she ate she reflected on her job.
She really liked it but the calls were unexpected. One minute you were brushing your teeth then the stupid pager went off. The dogs were getting used to the noise. They heard it, all eyes and ears turned in her direction, some whined until she shut it off. They became upset because she would soon go running out the door. The dogs that needed crating got in the crate waiting for their treat. Mostly she gated a dog in the kitchen, one in the spare front bedroom and left another loose in the house, usually Tonka. Jag was the only crated pup at the moment so she either went upstairs with him or put him in a kennel.
***
The next day was quiet so Lexi went grocery and dog food shopping. The stores were forty-five minutes from her house. On her way home, she stopped for gas and a knee-high yellow collie mix was standing on the side of the gas station. She was out of place and lonely. She pricked her ears and began to follow Lexi around the station. Lexi finished putting gas in the car, pet the dog on the head and went into the station to ask if the dog belonged to them. The attendant said the dog had been hanging around for a few days and he had no idea where it came from.
She finished gassing up her car and felt her pocket to make sure she had some treats. She always had treats in her pockets for the dogs, so much so that her right pockets turned yellow over time from them.
She reached the collie mix and knelt down waiting to let the dog make a decision to get leashed. “Hi, cutie,” she said as the dog laid her ears back, wagged her tail and slowly approached Lexi. She said, “Mind a leash?”
She slipped the lead over the dog’s head when she leaned in for a cookie. Lexi then looked at the mix noting she was female and to see if she required immediate vet care. She didn’t think a car hit the dog, all her legs were functional, but she was full of burrs and a few ticks. While she dealt with the inspection the dog licked her face. Lexi yanked the ticks off and crushed them underfoot then gently removed most of the burrs. “Crap!” She turned to the car. “I got melting stuff in there, you’ll come home with me, k?”
The dog followed obediently along and hopped into the back of Lexi’s wagon. “Please do not eat anything in those bags.” She said. “You’re very feminine so I’m calling you Tiffany.”
Lexi saw in the rear view mirror that Tiffany tipped her head cutely and lay down among the grocery bags. She was really adorable with longish golden retriever colored hair, white around her neck and all four paws were white, she looked to be a border mix of some kind.
More animal control work when she wasn’t dressed for the part. This work was becoming a life changing experience. Where did this dog come from? Why did no one care enough to pick her up or call animal control? Why wasn’t someone searching the streets for her? She was sweet and cute but desperately needed a grooming and bath.
3 Free chapters to read of my novel. 10 puppies tell the stories of their life. Originally published as BACKYARD DOG. All Books/PKFoster, Benzel found here
YOU CAN BUY THIS ENTIRE BOOK: Buy Digital AKA Backyard Dog
Chapter 1
How does it come to this? Why would someone drop three pups off at only six days old? Even more difficult to understand, who would do this?
She softly blew another warm breath into the button black nose, and then rubbed him vigorously. Nothing seemed to work. He’d probably died ten minutes before but since she still felt his little body in her hands she had a need to do something. Anything. Giving up too easily on such a little babywas like admitting to herself that she was in a position over life she didn’t deserve.
Her forefinger drifted against the pup’s silky brown coat ruffling it up. She watched as it slowly flicked back into place. His tiny muzzle was closed; his tongue was resting on his lips, hanging out just a tiny bit. His eyes had never opened. She suddenly realized he had never seen anything at all. Tears fell on the paperwork beneath her elbows as she lifted him up and put his chest against her ear to listen for a heartbeat. Having his fur against her cheek she felt his body was cooler than it should be.
She heard a muffled bark from the kennels but no heartbeat from the pup. She closed the towel and tenderly placed his body on the dog crate to the right of her desk. He looked so little on the expanse of the white crate top. From a quick glance she saw the wall clock over her door read 1 a.m. She snapped off the light, folded her arms beneath her head and closed her eyes, tears formed in the corners and drifted slowly over her cheeks.
The tiny office she occupied at the shelter was crammed with donations of towels, dog toys, bags of cat litter, animal food cans and old newspapers. Her file cabinet was to her left. Crates were stacked in a corner behind her and the one beside her desk housed her dog, Casey, a bloodhound-mix adoption she kept. He slept and gently snored in a relaxing rhythm lulling her eyes closed.
Around three a.m. she stirred in the semi-darkness, the only light in her office now coming above her through the high window in the wall separating her room from the lit entry next door. The light in the entry, where unwanted dogs were dropped off during most afternoons, was always kept on.
She peered over her arm and looked at the towel, yearning to see movement, yet aware she wouldn’t.
“Why?” She whispered.
Within seconds the fluorescent lights in the entry flickered. Surprised, she lifted her head from her arms a bit and forced her heavy eyelids open wider. The lights continued unsteadily for a moment then a soft buzzing filled the air around her. It sounded as if a refrigerator went on, but there was no refrigerator. With her chin nooked in her arms she glanced at the ceiling, then surveyed the dimness of her office from wall to wall but saw nothing that would cause a buzzing noise. She never heard the noise before and cloaked in her drowsiness wasn’t certain she was hearing anything at all.
Her spoken word, why drifted in the thick air above her, wrapped itself in the buzzing, hovered in the stillness for a moment before echoing in circles around her like water rings, outward, upward, finally becoming lost into the chilly night.
The buzzing stopped.
A brief flutter of paper caught her eye; she looked up at the small flyer hanging over her desk. The words seemed illuminated for a brief second.
She hadn’t read that for a long time, she thought, not since she taped it to the painted cement wall when she first occupied the office. She read it wondering who believed in heaven for people, let alone a puppy.
The Rainbow Bridge (sic)
Just this side of heaven is a place called the Rainbow Bridge.
When an animal dies that has been especially close to someone here, that pet goes to Rainbow Bridge. There are meadows and hills so they can run and play. There is plenty of food, water and sunshine, and they are warm and comfortable.
Animals who had been ill and old are restored to health and vigor. Those who were hurt or maimed are made whole and strong again, just as we remember them in our dreams of days and times gone by. The animals are happy and content, except for one small thing; each one misses someone very special, someone who was left behind.
All the animals run and play together, but the day comes when one suddenly stops and looks into the distance. His bright eyes are intent. His eager body quivers. Suddenly he begins to run from the group, flying over the green grass, his legs carrying him faster and faster.
You have been spotted, and when you and your special friend finally meet, you cling together in joyous reunion, never to be parted again. The happy kisses rain upon your face; your hands again caress the beloved head, and you look once more into the trusting eyes of your pet, so long gone from your life but never absent from your heart. Then you cross Rainbow Bridge together. Author unknown
She sighed, a part of her wanted this sort of heaven to exist, if only for the innocent ones needing it, but basically, she thought that people who believed in god and heaven were people who believed in just about anything else; ghosts, UFOs, Nessie. Some people sated their curiosity about life with anything that filled the empty holes of their need. The only reason she’d stuck it on the wall was to comfort the distraught pet owners who came to the shelter to put their elderly or ill animals to sleep. It was on display for them, not her.
Everything around Risa was still, dark and quiet. The six-day old puppies had no past owner to greet at any bridge anyways, was her last thought before exhaustion carried her into a deep sleep.
At 6:30 a.m. Casey barked from the crate beside her desk and woke Risa when the shelter workers began arriving for the day coming in through the door of the entry.
She knew the weekend routine by heart after three years of employment. The workers would begin cleaning dog kennels and cat cages while some of the volunteers walked the dogs or let them play in the fenced area. Others arrived later with their children to socialize the cats in the adoption meeting rooms for a while. It was about to get very populated and she’d better get her ass home before word got back to Don that she’d spent the night, yet again, half-sleeping in her office. Don often asked why she bothered to rent an apartment. She wondered that herself on occasion.
Risa stood and stretched her thin frame to its full five feet four inches reaching her arms up into the stale air to ease away the stiffness in her back. She listened to the murmur of their conversations in the entry, the scuffling of shoes of the arriving crew, and then reached for the pup on the crate. She couldn’t leave him there. The towel covered the cool, fragile body. When she lifted him his head flopped to the right. “Sorry,” she whispered into to his folded ear.
Underneath the puppy was a manila envelope that hadn’t been there last night when she’d placed him on the crate. She tilted her head, her waist-long brown hair cascading to one side, as she pondered the envelope’s existence.
Well, I’m tired, but I know damn well that envelope wasn’t there last night. The door is locked, Don hadn’t come in, and he has the only spare key. If anyone entered the office and put that on the crate Casey would have barked and woken me.
She placed the pup on her desk, reached down and opened the crate door releasing her dog, Casey, so she could take him out for his morning constitutional. The nine year old shook himself, wagged his tail happily and nudged Risa’s thigh. Her hand drifted over his head lightly but her concentration focused on the envelope. It lay there teasing her. How did it get there?
She picked it up, turned it over and saw there wasn’t any writing on it anywhere. She held it up and noticed a faint scent of apples clung to the heavy envelope; either that or her morning hunger conjured up the aroma. She fumbled with the folded latch and drew out a thick book with a deep red velvet cover. The velvet was luxuriously soft, seemed new and untouched. She tossed the empty envelope in the garbage under her desk.
Impressed on the cover of the book was fancy gold script that read, Random Litter Report. Turning it over she saw the back was blank. She ran her hand over the furry velvet, shorter and smoother than the puppy’s coat. Knowing how sluggishly her brain was functioning, she didn’t want to get caught up in an all-day examination of a stupid book; she had to get home sometime today.
“Whatever,” she said aloud. “More paperwork for the overworked and underpaid. See ya later, book!” She flung it back on top of the crate. It bounced once and settled with a soft thud.
“C’mon Casey, out for a pee, then home. It’s Saturday. Two days off.” She grabbed his leather leash from the back of her chair flinging it around her neck and put on her windbreaker because the September mornings were becoming chilly. She flung her small purse over her shoulder and checked to be sure she had her keys then she picked up the pup to put him in the back room freezer with his littermates. The three babies would be taken away and cremated sometime during the week.
She tucked the small body close to her, wrapped well in the towel. She hid him gently under her jacket, so the volunteers wouldn’t see him. Some of the volunteers were very sensitive about animals and she didn’t want to inflict nightmares on anyone else. Nightmares originating at the shelter could be contagious.
Since it was Saturday, there would be only one shelter employee overseeing the other helpers who were all volunteers. No one would need access to her office, so when she left, she made sure the door was locked. Casey followed confidently along behind her.
At the end of the hallway she unlocked the clinic door on the right and left the keys dangling while she went in and headed straight for the freezer across the room. It was softly dark and quiet. The room gave an aura of grey metal. One wall was covered with mostly empty stainless steel cages for sick felines, a stainless steel table stood clean and primed in the middle of the room. Walking around it towards the freezer, she carefully placed the puppy beside his littermates. The other two pups had ice crystals around their eyes and nose, their coats looked perpetually combed and neat, their tiny paws were curled up near their muzzles. A warm tear started down her cheek, she brushed it off roughly and wiped the wetness on her faded jeans. Casey followed her back out of the clinic and wagged his rounded rear as a volunteer walked past them with a bucket and mop. Risa forced a smile for the woman’s benefit as the door clicked closed behind her. She pulled the keys from the lock.
Before leaving for the day Risa wanted to visit a dog recently placed in the holding kennels. She walked towards the back kennels to the left of the clinic. She put Casey in a sit, stay and pushed the swinging door that opened into the center aisle lined with five cages on each side, only two were empty. It smelled of disinfectant, wet dog, urine and poop. The eight dogs waiting back there began barking or whining. Two leaned their chests up against the fencing.
The volunteers had started to clean the room, water spray echoed loudly from one of the outer aisles. The mixed breed dog she came to checkup on hid at the very back of his closed off area. If he could have run into the back part, he would have, but the door allowing access was closed for cleaning. Standing before his kennel she said, “I’ll see you on Monday, Beau, be a good boy.”
She blew him a kiss. Avoiding her eyes, he turned his face to the grey cement wall and tucked his thick tail between his legs. She studied his behavior; the tucked tail, lowered head, how his eyes avoided contact. If he didn’t perk up and adjust to his surroundings in a week or two he would be euthanized. It would be a devastating blow to Risa and Don to have to euthanize him. He was dumped in the middle of a highway one night and barely survived the traffic until an Animal Control officer picked him up and brought him to the shelter the next day.
She and Don had discussed the dog’s shyness believing it was an indication that he may bite in fear; or may never adjust to a new home; or he’d been so severely abused in his past home, he would never trust anyone again. She didn’t want to have to euthanize him. She closed her eyes and sent a mental message to him to hurry and adjust to his surroundings.
Once outside, she walked Casey loose on a path in the nearby woods, then she and the dog greeted a few shelter volunteers smoking outside in the parking lot. She attached Casey’s leash and let him lead her to her compact car.
The morning air was crisp; the sky was dotted with small puffy clouds that drifted by lazily. Leaves zigzagged down from nearby trees landing silently on the brown lawn. Once settled in the car, she pushed a button on the door arm and rolled down Casey’s passenger window a bit so he could stick his nose out and enjoy the breeze. At the highway she cranked the Boston radio station up enough to hear over the traffic noises coming through the window.
Risa preferred driving the thirty minutes of highway to her apartment rather than the shorter, slower route of busier city streets. She didn’t live in a fancy neighborhood, but it wasn’t a dangerous one. She’d lived in the small city of Manchester, NH most of her life. The route home passed the red brick wall of old mill buildings that stretched a mile along the east side of the Merrimack river which cut the city in half, east from west. She lived on the west side of town where the French Canadians, as mill laborers, had resided. Most of the refurbished mill structures on the east side were now rented to small businesses, each with identifying neon signs on the roof. The west side consisted of many low rent apartments, some of which allowed pets. The drive had become monotonous for Risa after three years of traveling back and forth between work and home.
At her apartment, after showering and changing clothes, Risa fed Casey a small breakfast of dried kibble in the kitchen and wrapped herself tightly in a knit wool blanket to keep the chill in the room from disturbing the warmth leftover from her shower. She shuffled into the living room about to sit on the couch, but stopped short.
She inhaled and exhaled a long, deep breath and tightened the blanket across her shoulders to stifle a shiver then stared at the heavy red velvet book on her maple coffee table. It was the book left behind at the shelter.
She couldn’t move. It was eerily quiet, the only sound, a soft ticking from her stupid wall clock in the kitchen. She sat on her dog-haired living room couch and stared at the inert book for a minute then closed her eyes. What the hell was going on? She must be very tired and hallucinating. When she reopened her eyes the book would be gone. Afraid to look, Risa peeked open one brown eye to check if it’d left yet.
Damn. Thing is still here. Crap.
“Casey, I’m crazy, for sure,” she said to the dog curled up beside her since finishing his snack.
She picked up the book afraid it would vanish from between her fingers. To her surprise it didn’t.
Random Litter Report, she wondered, what litter? Where’d this come from? Were hundreds of books going to appear every place she went? Did the book materialize from thin air? Get put there by invisible aliens? How the crap did it follow her home?
Turning it over she almost expected to find tiny legs or wings. Nothing.
“Ack!” She dropped it lightly on her lap and stared at it for what felt like a long time. Due to her exhaustion, her head felt light; her brain, scrambled. She couldn’t put the book into an understandable context.
The warmth under the blanket trickled through reminding her of her drowsiness. It won’t be here when I wake up, I know it’s a freaking hallucination. Ah, yes, punishment for too many sleepless nights. If I ignore it, it’ll go away. She closed her eyes, snuggled deeper into the soft couch cushions, stretched out her legs around the dog and rested her head on a pillow she plumped by shifting it around and tucking a hand beneath it.
Just before she drifted to sleep she felt the imaginary book softly slip off her thighs. It made no noise if it landed anywhere. Of course dreams don’t have any weight, she thought before sleep took over.
The phone, on a table beside the couch, rang loudly two hours later. She looked over the back of the couch at the round kitchen wall clock before answering. It was noon.
“Hello?” She pushed herself up into a sitting position.
“Hi. You spent the night in the office again, didn’t you?” Don, from work asked her.
“What makes you think that, boss?” She asked.
“Boss? You’re as responsible as I am for the shelter.”
“That’s true. Okay, peon, what’s up?” She checked her lap and smiled. The book was gone. Yippee! Gone!
“Very funny. Jennifer told me you had the last puppy in your office last night and I know you wouldn’t allow him die. It goes against your determination. How’s he doing?” Risa envied his soft, low voice. It was a confident voice for calming freaked out, newly arrived animals; she wished her higher voice had the same soothing effect.
Risa released a deep breath, “the puppy died. I tried everything but it wasn’t enough.” She wiped bangs out of her eyes with her forearm and tucked the longer fringes around her ears. “Since we work mostly different schedules you haven’t told me where the three puppies came from. What happened to the bitch?”
“Not sure. A boy about eighteen years old came in with them, said his mother wanted the pups out of the house. He didn’t know what else to do with them. He was told that if he didn’t get them out she’d drown them.”
“Ohh...so original. But don’t spay the bitch to prevent the litter in the first place. Do they know it’s illegal to separate the puppies before eight weeks?” Some instinct drew her eyes downward. She squinted. Was that red under the coffee table? Was it that freaking book?
“He said the female was their pet that got pregnant. I’m sure they know it’s wrong to get rid of the puppies. Do they care? Doubt it.”
She deliberately ignored the red under the table and stared up at the cobwebs on the ceiling. “Are we pressing charges?”
“I tried, even called the police, but the address and phone number the guy left were fake. I don’t know what else to do about it because I didn’t get his license plate. At least the kid said there were only three puppies in the…”
“Why did you really call? I know it’s not to check on my sleeping habits.” Risa heard Casey snoring beside her and wondered if Don could hear the loud grunts, hoping he didn’t think it was some bodily noise she was creating.
“To tell you there’s a meeting, the twenty-sixth at six, and we have two dog evaluations next week. Don’t forget!” He said with just a hint of mirth in his voice.
“I won’t. Just cuz I missed two end-of-the-month meetings in three years doesn’t mean I need to be reminded all the time. You’re trying to provoke me.”
“Who me?”
Risa felt his smirk across the phone lines. The red under the table was irritating. “Did you leave a book about a random litter on Casey’s crate?”
“No. Did you find one?”
“Well duh! It’s thick, red velvet cover. You didn’t leave it for me to read?” She draped her free arm across Casey’s back.
“If I ever left you a book it’d be called ‘Finding My Way Home After Dark.’”
She giggled, “how boring.”
“Ask Jennifer if she left it, she leaves weird books around all the time, especially in the coffee room. See you at the evaluations.”
“One thing before you hang up on me, check the lighting in the entry outside my office, the lights were flickering and buzzing, maybe there’s a short or something.”
In order not to see the book, she raised her hand under her nose and examined her cuticles- messy. She stretched her legs around Casey, grabbed the corner of the purple wool throw and tossed it over her feet.
“Maybe you were dreaming? I talked to Nancy at the shelter before I called you and everything’s fine. You need more sleep,” and sternly, “go to bed.” He abruptly hung up.
Before Risa dropped the phone into the cradle, she stared at it as if it could speak.
“Brat, huh, Casey?” The reddish colored hound dropped from the couch front feet first, prolonging his rear end from hitting the floor. He took a moment to walk his front feet out several steps, stretching his frame. He finally lifted his rump, still on the couch, dragged his back legs out way behind himself, then snapped them onto the floor. He was bizarre. Casey stood in front of her and wagged his tail causing his stocky body to wobble uncontrollably. She shook her head and smiled.
Her dog had come such a long way in the two years she’d owned him. When they first met it hadn’t been under the best circumstances. Always being partial to hounds she kept her eye out for one when new dogs were surrendered at the shelter. When the person in possession of him brought Casey in he said he’d caught a relative beating him. The dog urinated submissively when she reached to pet him. He was cowering at the end of a leash with a choke collar around his neck. The collar was so tight bolt cutters were later needed to remove it. She knew immediately that this seventy pound red dog with his adorable floppy ears; sad chocolate eyes and sloppy jowls had endeared himself to her without more than a peek at her from under his sleepy eyelids.
Initially, he was treated as the rest of the dogs that came into the privately run shelter; placed in the back kennels for an evaluation, then placed in one of the twenty front kennels for adoption after he was given all his shots. He also had the choke chain sores around his neck treated. He would have been neutered if circumstances at the shelter were ideal, but because of a lack of funding, every adopted intact dog was sent out with a coupon to spay or neuter for a discount with cooperating local vets.
She continued to walk him daily during her breaks and worked with him by exposing him to everything she could think of, to help him overcome some of his fears. She took him to malls, walks in the woods, and drives for ice cream. It took a few weeks but he overcame some of his nervousness and became a sweet trusting boy. She realized it would be too difficult for her to allow a stranger to take him home after all the hours she’d spent fussing over him. She had him neutered before bringing him home.
Her mother tried to talk her out of keeping him. She said Risa’s life was too unstable at twenty-one, she’d never find a better apartment that would allow a dog and she was too irresponsible. She didn’t think her mother knew her very well. Casey was the best thing that happened to her since she left home five years ago. He certainly didn’t question her decisions as her mom did. To top it off, he was a great listener, without him she’d be talking to herself all the time, and everyone knew that wasn’t healthy.
She intentionally ignored the glaring red thing under her coffee table and still feeling the effects of three sleepless nights, trudged into the kitchen to slap together a bologna and cheese sandwich then she lured Casey into the bedroom with the last bite. She was finding it almost impossible to eliminate the exhaustion of two six day-old puppy nights, and one late night out with her friends, plus the oddball visions following. She and Casey slept until dinnertime.
Chapter 2
When she woke, Casey was sitting at the side of the bed wagging his tail. “What?” She asked, “out? Again? Are you addicted?”
Casey nudged her with his grizzled muzzle. The slimy wetness of his nose stuck to her cheek and his pleading whines urged her out of bed. She was groggy and took her time flinging the new faux quilted blanket off her. She looked at her surroundings critically. The apartment wasn’t anything fancy. Finding an affordable place on her shelter salary that would allow dogs was difficult and finding one that was fancy too, wasn’t next to impossible, it was impossible. Her three-room apartment was painted orange. She hated it but in three years never found the time or energy required to repaint. The blinds were yellowed from old cigarette smoke and some were broken in spots. When she felt overcome with the urge to redecorate (at least once a year), she remembered her Picasso-like sense of design and that always stopped her from bothering.
The paint-flecked brown bureau in the corner, almost completely hidden by clothes, had been in the apartment when she moved in, other than that, she added the queen-sized bed and a small couch her parent’s let her take from their basement. She rarely used the closet when the bureau and floor had room to spare, a rebellion against the demands of her fastidious mother.
Casey enjoyed nosing her discarded clothes together for a bed, and usually spent ten minutes or more snuffling everything into a pile before napping in them. The few items hanging in the closet were a couple old high school dresses for emergencies, two blouses and four coats; she had a ‘thing’ for coats and indulged once a year if she found something special. Her prized possession was a black leather hip-length jacket with heavy zippers. She also shoved a pair of brown leather shoes, winter boots and two pairs of sneakers in the closet so Casey wouldn’t chew them. He preferred the smell of her feet to his proper, and expensive, chew toys.
“Lets walk before it gets dark, we’ll eat dinner and maybe I’ll make out a shopping list for tomorrow. How’s that?”
She had fallen into bed dressed, so only had to add her sneakers and old army coat to her ensemble, and a leash to Casey’s, who paced in front of the kitchen door while she finger-combed her hair. She grabbed her keys before clipping the dog’s leash to his leather collar.
They usually walked across two streets and around the blocks back home, often stopping at a nearby park to play, but today she was too lethargic to trail Casey around the park while he indulged his passion for sniffing each blade of grass, routing out strange animal scents.
When he pooped she scooped it up in a baggy and dropped it in the park trashcan when they walked by it. She passed a few people with their dogs in the park. Some dogs romped loose in the small park enclosure while others were leashed and pacing out Casey’s usual spots leaving pee-mail for him to re-cover with his own pee next time he visited those areas. Neutering hadn’t stopped the leg-lifting routine. Risa tucked her hands into her jean pockets dangling Casey’s leash from her wrist. The walk was slowed down as they neared her first floor apartment, Casey having a perverse need to identify every minuscule scent he met the nearer they got to the front door. On one walk home she had bent down to see what could possibly take so much nose consideration from her dog and saw nothing on the concrete sidewalk at all. From then on, she minded her own business leaving those invisible details to the dog.
At home in her small, working kitchen, she put a frozen dinner in the microwave. She got a glass of cranberry fruit drink, took a napkin and fork and reached to put them on the living room coffee table. That’s when she saw the red corner under the table.
Shit! If it was a figment of her tired imagination, why the hell was she still seeing it?
She placed her things on the table and reached underneath for the book.
Crap. Same book. Crap. She dropped it gently on the coffee table jiggling her fruit drink.
“How?” She asked Casey. He tipped his head, nudged the book with his nose, and took an extra second to lick it reverently.
“You’re no help.” She turned abruptly going into the kitchen to answer the “ding” of the microwave. She stirred the dinner up and quickly mixed a bowl of canned and dry food for Casey. She brought both dinners into the living room and placed her dog’s bowl beside the couch, hers on the coffee table. “Eat,” she pointed to Casey’s large ceramic bowl.
She dropped herself down on the couch heavily, squeaking the springs. She resigned herself to the existence of the book and after a bite of food, picked it up.
“What do you want?” She asked the red cover. As she opened the first page, a single paper slipped, ready to float to the floor. She caught it. It had been typed and inserted after the cover page. She held it up and read it.
***
Hand delivered to Risa Champagne by Wolf Madison.
Hand delivered? When? How? I don’t know anyone named Wolf Madison. A joke? She read on:
The Rainbow Bridge Committee has been increasingly concerned about the welfare of domestic pets. We have seen an unfortunately high predominance of dogs and cats under the age of one year being sent to us. Many of them either have never had an owner or have had too many owners in their very short lives. To our dismay, we have many unclaimed pets that will never experience the joy of any reunion at the bridge.
We randomly chose the first litter of Helga, to focus our report on. Helga was a year old female German shepherd who delivered ten live puppies on March 20, 1990.
This evening, you, Risa, held a six day-old unnamed puppy. Upon his demise you asked aloud, “why?” You spoke one word yet asked the infinite. Your question may be answered within the covers of this book. It is in each of the puppies’ own words. Read and you will know “why”.
***
“Puppies’ own words? Huh?” Touching the fancy script on the paper, she felt the words, each letter impressed crisply atop the white. How could someone know what she asked last night? She’d been alone. She glanced at Casey.
“You know anything about this?” He continued to eat his dinner without pause, snuffling and crunching away as if nothing dramatic was happening around him. Risa immediately remembered reading the flyer over her desk about the rainbow bridge. Coincidence?
It was weird. Too weird. She stuck a fork of macaroni into her gaping mouth; at least the hanging jaw was useful.
She stared at the book. She witnessed premature deaths of young animals that had never truly been owned by anyone, like...all the time.
She remembered a litter from her first weeks of work at the shelter.
A young couple dropped off seven pit bull puppies. The owners had bred their pets and didn’t want the puppies once they were five weeks old. They were honest about what they were doing and behaved as if it were normal to discard an entire litter. Risa’s unabashed stare of incredulity that day must have gone right over their tiny little heads.
At the time, she wondered, why would people breed their dogs and then discard the product? What was the point of the breeding if the puppies were unnecessary? If puppies were unnecessary why the hell weren’t they spaying or neutering these dogs?”
Astoundingly, this happened frequently. The shelter took in many puppies every spring, but she didn’t know this when she first began working there.
The pit bull litter spent its days at the shelter separated from the rest of the dog population in a wall-to-wall cement puppy room where volunteers socialized them. The pups would not be approved for adoption until they reached between eight or twelve weeks old, depending on their maturity.
Often, when Risa entered the room, three of the puppies hid behind the box designed as their bed. These three growled and snapped at the air. Sometimes they missed the air and nipped each other causing actual fights, resulting in bloodshed, forcing her or other workers to physically untangle them from each other, receiving little nips in the process from their sharp baby teeth.
Since no one had met the sire or bitch, the employees didn’t know the potential aggression lurking in the pup’s genes, but this litter seemed frighteningly vicious. Two of the puppies were extremely timid, rolling over and urinating anytime the door opened. The last two were the largest and clung to each other for security. They charged the opening door and bit the pants or shoes of any worker entering, encouraging their littermates to do the same.
Initially, everyone thought it was mildly amusing to clean the room with a few puppies hanging from their pant legs, but it became a nuisance and worse, their demeanor switched in days from playing to growling, tearing, and biting.
When they were eight weeks old, the staff had a meeting to decide the fate of the pups. Their many efforts to change the litter’s behavior had been fruitless. The violence had in fact, escalated.
At the meeting they discussed the liability of the shelter. They would be held responsible if a child or another dog was attacked by one of these pups some day. The pups were too dangerous. The novice breeders had created monster puppies and cleared themselves of all responsibility by discarding them. There was no way Risa or the others could justify keeping them alive. The decision was made to euthanize the entire litter.
What comes with their decision to euthanize is the responsibility of injecting each puppy while holding their innocent warm bodies; they did not ask to be born.
It was her first time putting animals to sleep, but it was unforgettable due to their young age. Putting a tired, ill dog to sleep was more acceptable, but... puppies.
After euthanizing the pit bull litter it took her a few weeks to organize her feelings. In order to euthanize without totally freaking out she compartmentalized the events. She couldn’t deal with it consciously, so she tucked her angst in a deeper part of herself, a part unavailable to any nitpicking scrutiny. The nights were difficult for her but in her heart she knew the staff’s decisions were based firmly in reality.
So, she knew about puppies dying young. She knew first hand.
If only breeding owners could witness euthanization of their puppies. It was hard to watch.
She knew the shelter’s policies with regard to euthanasia. She must maintain a fine line of emotional involvement. She tried not to show too much concern about a dog slated for euthanization because it spread to other people and exaggerated the behavior of a nervous dog or one that was aggressive.
Too little emotional response raised concerns of other employees, and for good reason. She kept herself as balanced as possible, often teetering towards loss of emotion.
She finished the tart glass of juice in a gulp and picked up the empty food container of macaroni. After Casey licked it clean she tossed it in the garbage in the cabinet under the sink, and put her fork and glass in the sink to wash.
She couldn’t stop thinking about the report. What was it all about? How could pups tell the story ‘in their own words’? Unbelievable. If puppies could ‘tell’ a story there was much more about the way the world worked than she had ever imagined. If she couldn’t touch a thing or move it from one place to another it didn’t exist. Her dad was fond of telling her; believe nothing of what you hear and only half of what you see. She approved of his philosophy but had her own credo; believe in yourself only and even that’s iffy.
Her mother, so steadfast in her beliefs, was the only person on the planet still calling her Theresa, unable to bring herself to bastardize her name as she put it. The bastardization was simply how her older sister, Darla, pronounced Theresa at six years old. Her mother was rigid.
Risa never accompanied her on her weekly forays to church once she was old enough to protest. Mom never missed a Sunday sermon, any holiday celebration, and helped at all the money raising events, even volunteering at Bingo games every Thursday night. She even resembled a cherub having a soft white head of unruly hair that looked like a halo above her round red-cheeked face.
Oh, yeah, Mom would love the Rainbow bridge-heaven stuff and eat it up with relish. Her entire reality was based on an imagined afterlife. The woman’s unquestioning faith conflicted with Dad’s vocal non-belief, even ridicule.
The disparity between her parents confused her as a child but eventually she’d come to lean in her father’s direction. Since Risa had seen no visible proof on her mother’s side and science discredited that version of creation, she sided with her dad. Nothing dissuaded her once she asked; if there were a god, how could he stand by and allow cruelty to animals? Why were animals ignored by god? What could possibly be their sin? Animals had no choices.
In her mind, mankind created God and not the other way around. If any sort of reality existed at all, she believed in facts and what she knew by her own deductions.
The phone suddenly jangled beside her.“Hello.”
“Risa, what you doing tonight?”
She leaned back. It was her sister. “Hey Darla, not much. I stayed up with another one of those puppies last night.”
“Oh no. Did it make it?”
“No.”
“Sorry,” ahe said softly.
“I’m used to stupidity, but this time it takes the cake cuz they were six days old.”
“Six days? God Risa, I could never do your job. You see too many bad things. Why do you do it? And don’t say it’s the money...”
“I love my job, it’s my life. How many people get paid while helping animals? Do you love your job?”
“I like my job that’s why I got a degree in what I like, math. Being an accountant in a quiet office suits me, whereas your job makes you hate people. It’s kind of a catch twenty-two. You’ve always preferred animals over people. You work mostly with dogs and see people at their worst which makes you dislike them more than ever.”
Risa pulled a sterling chain from around her neck and lifted the opal ring out. She began twisting the chain around her finger. “I get fed up with people, but I don’t do my job for them.”
“I still couldn’t do it, I’d want to shoot everyone.”
“Hummmm, there’s an interesting perspective. I see so many young, untrained dogs...just a bit of training could keep many dogs in their original homes.”
“I know, look at Casey he’s a good boy and you’ve been training him since you got him. I love that dog. If you write up your will leave him to me, okay?”
“Get in line, everyone loves Casey. Are you going out tonight?”
“Heidi and Linda asked if I wanted to check out a new band downtown and I thought I’d invite you, you work too…”
“I know I work too much but they need me.”
“The dogs or the shelter? You've got to get rid of the stress by going out. You need to balance your work with fun.”
She smiled. It’d be nice to get out but she wasn’t in a partying mood, she felt too distracted and needed a bit of regrouping of her thoughts since losing the puppies. “I’m going to stay in tonight but I’ll definitely go out sometime tomorrow.”
“Great. I’ll fill you in on the evening when I see you. Read a book or something to take your mind off those puppies.”
Funny she should mention a book. “What book?” She let go of the necklace, sat straight in the couch hoping for an explanation. Maybe Darla brought the book in to the shelter.
“Any freaking book, comic book for all I care, you need to relax.”
There went that idea. “Okay. Have fun, call me.”
“I will tomorrow around lunch.”
She hung up and stared at her snoring dog. He looked so secure to her. He was so trusting. Every dog her family had owned was a family member to her and she could never abandon him in any manner.
A sad smile thinned her lips when she thought of the miserably uncreative excuses for giving up dogs in the files at work: dog is too wild; dog is not housetrained, no time for dog, and moving were common themes. As if anyone would drop the kids off at a homeless shelter when having a hard time finding an apartment that allowed children. Dog hair was a literal killer. Who’d get a dog unaware that dog hair was involved?
Her tolerance ran low she knew that. The real reasons for surrender were never vocalized: no effort to train, no time to exercise, we do not care. We won’t be bothered. Everyone knew the real reasons. Everyone. No one was fooled by the excuses including those making them.
The weirdest most unacceptable behavior she witnessed (rarely) was the people who dropped a dog at the shelter while announcing they were on their way to pick up a puppy.
“What was up with that?” She had asked Don once, who shrugged in resignation.
She washed the dishes that had built up in the sink over the past couple of days, rinsed out Casey’s food bowl, then she stacked everything on the dish rack to dry. She wiped her hands on a paper towel. She knew there were legitimate reasons dogs were given up; owner went into a nursing home or the owner died.
But how could so many owners drop off a pet without knowing its fate? So many dogs were aggressive, under-socialized, timid or born unhealthy from poor breeding practices, some were too old for adoptions. Many dogs and cats waited for new homes in shelter pens for months and months, which often drove them kennel crazy. So many were euthanized, which is a pretty word for killed. There wasn’t anything pretty about it.
She read most of the flyers, newsletters and pamphlets that were regularly sent to the shelter. So many in fact the repetition of reading, over and over; ‘seven out of a litter of ten puppies died before reaching age one’, became unreal. She couldn’t visualize seven out of every ten puppies being actually and permanently dead before age one. It didn’t compute in her head. Not that she knew much about breeders, puppy mills or backyard breeders, or their stats; she only saw the young dogs at her one shelter.
With an air of resigned determination, she walked into the living room and picked up the velvety book. It was there for her, she would read it.
She leaned back into the plump couch and sighed aloud. Perhaps there was something she’d learn, something she didn’t already know. Perhaps she’d read the report and have an inkling of why, because a tiny piece of her wanted to know if it was other than human ignorance.
The book is something she could touch after all. It’s real. She’d figure out where the hell it came from later.
This book would either condemn mankind or prove her wrong.
Night Terrors Digital
1
J
|
ay Hawk Wing thought
it was a nice day, but what the hell did he know. He’d only lived in the Northeast area for four months and
his weekend, unknown to him, was about to turn particularly nasty. The
afternoon sun glared into the semi-cab fading all the colors around him like an
over-exposed photo and made it seem as if the highway scenery contained no
shadows. He became distracted when a small white car pulled out from behind him
into the passing lane. He was
driving the semi truck cab without the trailer and the light feeling compelled
him to drive faster than usual.
His interest peaked as the driver sped by. She had shoulder length curly
blonde hair, wore fluorescent pink sunglasses with rhinestones, of all things,
and a flimsy black haltertop. Loud rock music spilled out her open sunroof,
which his inclinations leaned in that direction, so he peered down.
Jay felt displaced in the Northeast. People drove too fast on the small
snake shaped roads and rolling hills. They were quick, highly accented and
spoke fast enough that he couldn’t figure how it was the same language he knew.
It was Friday afternoon and it seemed that everyone in Boston left work early
to follow him into New Hampshire. He removed his cowboy hat and dropped it on
the empty passenger seat. He hoped all of August wouldn't be this hot and
humid. The combination felt
deadly. He longed for the
wide-open air of breezy South Dakota. Four months in New Hampshire and he was
ready for a long cold winter. For a second, he thought he saw something gray
shimmering on the edge of his vision, but a second look proved him wrong.
His tanned arm rested on the open window. Although the truck was armed with an air conditioner, Jay
opted not to use it as he hated the arrogant smug feeling of being closed in,
the windows locked out the rest of the world as if he were somehow above all
that. He loved the wind, the air
and the noise, became part of it...alive.
The blonde girl in the passing car became a memory of color that
inspired him to crank up the Willie Nelson song on the radio.
Feeling comfortable behind the wheel of his rig was something he
wouldn’t have believed possible eight months ago. Playing along with traffic,
he caught another glimpse of dark shapes fluttering beyond his vision on the
right. Looking carefully around,
he still saw nothing.
Jay thought if it weren't for Tuffy, his younger brother, and his
brother's wife, he’d never be in New Hampshire. He’d never have even thought of
getting a commercial tractor-trailer license back home and wouldn’t be part
owner of a Mack rig. Now he was
renting a two-bedroom house with a wood floor and a basement.
He wasn’t sure what basements were good for ‘cept hiding from tornadoes,
but he was now the proud owner of one.
His new good luck centered around his brother’s marriage to Justine. It was her idea to move east and before
the brothers had accepted that idea, she talked Jay into earning his semi
license like his brother had. So now, they were both truck drivers and Jay’s
life started to improve dramatically.
A flock of dark crows moved in suddenly from the right side of the
truck. They stood out stark black against the brilliant blue sky. Suddenly, they circled back towards him
and drifted lower.
Jay slowed the truck a bit because he was mesmerized by the wheeling
fluidity of the bird’s movements.
It suddenly felt as if the air stopped moving around him. No breeze gusted in the window. Silence muffled the air. His radio quit.
The crows zoomed in towards him. He could clearly discern shiny black
eyes, almost each feather. He was
disarmed by the abruptness and clarity of it. A few birds farthest away, seemed to be transparent
wisps. Ghostly apparitions. Time loosened, then stopped.
His driving efforts and the congested road ahead ceased to exist. The hair behind his neck prickled
distractingly. From the center of the huge mass of crows emerged a silvery
shimmering, like mica dust glittering in sunlight. It dazzled him. A tremendous
winged creature was birthed from the sparkles. Its strange blue eyes locked onto Jay’s own shocked black
ones.
He fell back in his seat unable to avoid smashing into the grotesque
beast and he sucked in a gulp of air as he waited for it to shatter the
windshield over him. It hovered harmlessly before the cab. The wings were extended a full eight
feet before him. His hands squeezed
tightly on the steering wheel.
The creature soared up, up over the cab. Jay was jarred back into reality and faced two lanes of
heavy traffic. His radio blasted
on, forcing him to deal with reality again. His heart pounded as he pumped his brakes. He quickly eased the truck into the
breakdown lane. His t-shirt was
cold and wet against his back. His
knuckles were clenched pale in a death grip around the leather steering
wheel. He consciously loosened
each finger. He was
trembling. What the hell
happened? He turned around in his
seat to scan the sky behind. All
he saw was a steamy sunny day. No
crows, no monster. Nothing out of
the ordinary.
Traffic whizzed past him, he entered the slower lane between traffic.
The car colors floated dreamily by giving him a light-headed dizziness.
He rubbed his eyes hard. This was broad daylight. This bizarreness
doesn’t happen. How was it
possible for crows to surround a truck traveling seventy miles per hour? The unreality was startling. And the
creature; what a horrid apparition; a large fat black thing with wings. Of course, the size was far-fetched and
its evil slit eyes were a mild sight compared to what Jay saw when it passed
over the windshield. The underneath of the phantom creature contained a deep
black hole; a hole resembling a mouth. Nature had only once designed a mouth as
frightening as this one and that mouth belonged underwater on a shark.
The spectacular rows of pointed white teeth buried under the body
horrified Jay. He felt a strong rush
of fear. Some kind of thick black
substance had dripped from that orifice.
Jay focused on his windshield, but didn’t see any black slime left on
it. Everything disappeared: the
crows, the monster, everything.
No matter how exhausted he became, even on a trip this long, from
Marlow, New Hampshire, to Boston, on to Nebraska and back, never had he
hallucinated anything. Ever. He pulled his side mirror in a bit to
check his eyes. They weren’t bloodshot, he had no dark circles lingering
underneath. His black eyes reflected back clear and intelligent, shocked
perhaps, but the long black hair and tanned face were thankfully familiar.
He straightened the mirror, collected himself then concentrated
earnestly on his drive home.
An hour later, he left Route 93 and drove up 89. It wasn’t until he hit Route 77 that he
understood what he saw. He had a vision. He was stunned. He’d never had a vision in his life and
he’d only heard stories about them from some of the elders of his tribe. It was
a blessing of the Great Spirit yet it mortified him.
Jay knew, as part of his Sioux culture that visions took the form of a
riddle, a premonition, or an insight into some problem, but he had a bad
feeling about this. Something
wasn’t right. It was too
real. Something bad was going to
happen. He felt it. He silently prayed for time. Time to figure it out, time to accept
what he’d seen, and time to survive what may be in store for him.
2
S
|
ix drivers trailed
reluctantly behind the rust infested, spotty green pick-up truck. Each driver’s
hopes lit as they neared a scarce patch of yellow dotted lines, but hopes were
continually frustrated by on-coming traffic.
An over-forty, partially bald salesman was directly behind the old
farmer in the clunker. The salesman’s
face was an angry blotchy red, he kept pounding his steering wheel in
exasperation. The last time he’d driven so slow he had been in his
driveway. If he couldn’t pass the
pick-up soon...well, he’d die of frustration. He let out a huge sigh and pushed
radio buttons for entertainment.
The farmer in the pick-up kept an eye on the driver behind him. The bald
guy’s tiny puckered-up mouth hadn’t stopped twitching since they’d left Concord
fifteen minutes ago. This amused
John Martin, as hurrying was no big concern of his. After you passed sixty-five
years old it didn’t much matter where you were at, so long as you were. Living was important, oh yes, it was.
A dyed brunette driving an older model Mercedes was last in the line of
cars. She sat passively. She’d driven behind the old man before
and knew him. He was the original owner of the land her condo was built on and
that she occupied for the last three years. He should have quite a bundle of
money, she was thinking, too bad he was so attached to that rickety piece of
shit truck he drove. She sucked deeply on her cigarette, humming to a Belafonte
tape. She knew old man Martin was a terminally slow driver and she struggled to
relax. The old man appeared to
find the gas pedal at random moments.
She imagined his manure laden muck boots stomping furiously in search of
the gas pedal. Finding it, he was jerked forward. Fearing the sudden momentum, he’d release the pedal, only to
lose it in the dark bowels of the floorboards once again. She pictured this happening
repeatedly till he finally got home. What he needed, she thought, was cruise
control, something that allowed a constant steady flow of gasoline to reach all
the important parts. But of course, she mused, he drove thirty-five because
that’s how fast his brain functioned.
The salesman in the Volvo, who had unwittingly taken a left turn eight
miles back instead of a right, began a constant horn-honking tirade in an
attempt to scare the old man and the obscene truck off the road.
John Martin sighed, trying to remember the days when he had some place
to hurry to. He pulled the truck onto the dirt shoulder of the road and
wrestled the ornery stick shift into neutral. His tension was palpable. Driving would be more pleasurable if no one else was on the damn
road. He removed the Blue Seal
Feeds baseball cap for a second to wipe the August humidity from his wrinkled
forehead. His little brown shaggy-haired mutt, Peewee, wagged his tail
believing the ordeal over, but sat and panted when he comprehended that the
truck was still running, and no doors opened to freedom. He laid his ears back
dejectedly.
John watched the line of cars pass quickly by him. He received cold stares, a flipped
bird, and noticed a few obvious curses muttered at him behind air-conditioned
windows. If his wife, Catherine
were still alive, she’d be shocked by the rude behavior, but with more and more
newcomers to town, John had come to expect it. He sure didn’t know everyone in town by name anymore. Most of the ones he did know were resting
in the graveyard on Center Street.
The last car passed by him.
The woman simply nodded.
John recognized her and knew she lived in one of the condos abutting his
apple orchard.
As he sat unperturbed on the now quiet road, he noticed a dark shadow pass
overhead and thought the day was turning cloudy. He squinted to focus and
noticed a thick black mass of birds passing high over his truck. The old man’s
clear blue eyes followed their hectic flight. He’d been noticing more and more crows flocking to the
area. He knew a bit about
crows. He knew they didn’t
generally flock together, nor travel in groups of a hundred unless they were
forming a roost of thousands, which he’d never seen before. Crows also didn’t
migrate in winter and this being August, there was no earthly reason for them
to gather at all. He watched
suspiciously as they maneuvered like a huge black ocean, undulating and
widening until it seemed they were a massive rolling sky above him. The hair on his arms tingled.
He spoke to his scraggly little companion, “Ain’t it weird,
Peewee?” The nine-year old dog
wagged his tail in response. “This is somethin’ bad here, this is. Crows are
scavengers. Seems they’re settlin’ in Marlow waiting for something big to die.
That, or maybe lots of small things.”
The idea frightened him enormously. His eyes blinked rapidly. His palms were hot and damp.
This was his third or so sighting of these ominously large flocks of
crows. A disturbing number of them
were nesting in his apple orchard.
Had to be quite a number of them in there if he continually saw them
among the 220 acres of apple trees.
He worried that his granddaughter would set her tent up to camp out
there among the aggressive birds.
Often he’d seen crows gathered on a roadway, dozens of the greedy
omnivores, tearing apart a newly slaughtered carcass, hopping about like kids
at a picnic.
John had been trying to reach Jeff Albright for a few days now, to alert
him to the mess being made to the apples, but he was probably on vacation. The orchard had turned into a thick
nesting site for the birds. It
seemed like some ungodly secret was festering in there.
He was relieved that the orchard was no longer his responsibility since
he began leasing to Jeff. His
relief at being semi-retired made him smile. Now he could fool with the cider mill whenever, if ever, he
liked. He could spend more time tending his ponies and caring for the five
hundred acres of field and garden on the rest of his farmland. He glanced over
at Peewee sitting patiently and gazing out the windshield.
“Oh heck. I’m just settin’ here practically in a nap and them steaks I
got in back will rot in the heat, and won’t be no dinner for the girls
tonight. Damn.” John fought with the shift, ignoring
the beauty of his surroundings as he had for the last thirty years. He continued up Route 77 passing over
the new flood control dam, taking a right onto Timberlane Road. He approached the three-year-old condos
that sprang up from the ground ahead like strong gray hunks of New Hampshire granite. He marveled at the way they were all
bunched together as if they feared their wild country surroundings. He took another right, and about twenty
crows darted across the road ahead of him to enter the apple orchard. There were hundreds massed in there
like a thick black fungus growing on the trees. He’d never seen anything like it. He was puzzled as to what drew them to the orchard.
As he continued towards the farmhouse he spotted the Conroy boy, wearing
patched filthy jeans and lugging a rifle as he walked much too casually up the
dirt road. The rifle was as tall as the boy. John slowed as he reached the teen.
“Here, you. What’re you doin’ walkin’ around with that gun? It ain’t huntin’ season. That ain’t till fall, this here’s
August.” John said from his
window.
The unkempt thirteen year-old slit his pale gray eyes and stared deep
into John’s. “I’m havin’ some fun with them crows. Mind ya own fuckin’ bidness.”
Stunned, John stared back at the boy, “Ain’t no respect. You stay offa my property boy, or I’ll
call the cops.” The irony was, that damn heathen child had freckles and
dimples, John thought. He drove
quickly, dirt and gravel flying, before the teenager had anything to add.
John spotted Sunny’s white compact car in his driveway, “Look Peewee.”
He pointed to the car, “It’s Sunny.
Sunny’s here.”
John stopped beside his mailbox to reach in and pick up the mail. He
handed the ads to Peewee who was proud to carry them for John. He parked beside
his granddaughter’s car and became increasingly amused as his dog stood up in
the seat, then began to wag the back end of his body almost vibrating himself
to the floor. When John opened the door, Peewee hopped over his lap, mouth
drooling on mail, and headed to Sunny’s car, but then caught her scent in the
meadow behind the farmhouse. The dog dropped the junk mail and dashed off
through the open gate, his back end listing to the right in a half-wag. John swore the dog was grinning ear to
ear.
He carried two light grocery bags from the back of the truck and made
his way to the porch where he retrieved the door key from a bureau beside his
rocker. He laid the bags on the
bureau. Sunny, his granddaughter, recently had locks installed on his doors,
but still, if it weren’t for her sordid stories, most of them about her
temporary and weird boyfriends, he’d never bother with locks. He hadn’t much
worth stealing and up till the last six years or so, knew most everyone in
town. He went around where the dog dropped the advertising and added it to his
handful.
After putting the groceries away in the kitchen, he plopped down at the
old oak table in the dining area, and lit his favorite pipe. He stretched his
bony arm across the table for the small local newspaper he’d bought. The mail,
likely bills, was less important.
Although headlines blasted across the front page, the more interesting
story he spotted was one about a meteor shower expected over New Hampshire
sometime after midnight. According
to the article, the meteors would flair with colorful tails, like fireballs of
light. Although meteor showers aren’t rare this time of year, the reporter
admitted concern because these meteors appeared to be in a formation. This was
unusual, almost unheard of. The reporter expressed dismay that due to their
size it was possible they wouldn’t burn up entering the earth’s atmosphere. The
writer noted being struck by a meteor wouldn't be pretty but was very rare. The
general sense John got from the story was his only worry was being bonked by
one but finding it could be valuable.
A smaller article John found in another section of the paper mentioned
that people in Marlow continued to complain about an over-abundance of
crows. Aside from suspected
electrical disturbances or hidden food supplies for them, there appeared to be no
explanation for the unwelcome intruders. John wasn’t surprised by complaints he
too, was concerned about their congesting Marlow.
After reading some of the paper, John sorted through his mail that
consisted mostly of flyers and junk. His house was fully paid for so he had few
bills. Basically, his money was spent on taxes, utilities, maintaining the
three bedroom farmhouse, and food.
Since his wife died ten years ago, he ate randomly, cooked sporadically,
and usually for his granddaughter.
He was proud of Sunny. She was tough and reminded him of other members
in his strong Canadian family. John was born in Quebec and had fourteen other
siblings, all of them survivors, but they were poor. He despised the poverty
and the clinging younger children so he left home when he reached age thirteen.
He often wondered if anyone in his house was aware of his absence.
He had done well in the United States as a farm laborer, which is how he
happened upon Mr. and Mrs. Warren. He picked apples in their orchard for them
one fall. The Warrens previously
owned his farm, it had been their home for fifty-seven years until they moved
to Florida in the nineteen fifties. John worked for Mr. Warren for six years.
The Warrens were childless, and John being homely, sweet and starved for
affection, quickly fit in as a family member. After they left town for Florida, they held his mortgage
allowing him to pay for it over the next eight years.
John eventually married a local girl he’d met at church. Together, they
raised a family of three boys, mostly on the proceeds from the apple orchard.
The Martins were married almost thirty years, until Catherine died of cancer in
1986. At first, it was painfully
lonely without his life-long companion beside him, but his children and
grandchildren kept him active and involved in their lives.
He pawed at the mail till he uncovered a letter from his youngest son,
Sunshine’s father, Raymond. Ray
was a long-haired pot smoking commune hippie. He was over fifty now, and it was beyond belief, John thought. He at first assumed that Ray would
outgrow the hippie life-style he began in the late 60’s. The boy was doing
drugs, had dropped out of college after only two years, changed his name to
River, married a girl renamed Fern, then he and his wife moved in with a bunch
of San Francisco hippies. Eventually, all these hippies bought some land in
Virginia where the bunch of them still lived, doing organic farming and
screwing each other all over the property for all John knew. Bunch of vagrant
drug abusers, he figured. At least Ray’s twenty-nine year old daughter,
Sunshine had intelligence. Sunny was true to her name lighthearted and always
smiling. She was welcome company for him, hanging around on occasional
weekends. She lived and worked in nearby Manchester, so became a frequent
visitor. He was damn lucky she
enjoyed the cold New Hampshire climate she was a southern girl after all. Her childhood visits to John and Catherine
over her vacations and summers had paid off happily for John, as she loved the
Northeast with a passion and opted to live here.
His son’s letter was short and newsy, about all a drug addict (as John
assumed he was) could formulate and put to paper. He refolded the letter, inserted it in its envelope and put
it aside to answer later. He gazed
out the kitchen window where he could just barely make out the Sunny’s orange
tent laying in the field. He was pleased to see she hadn’t set up the tent too
near the crows. He watched lazily,
wondering if Sunny brought her apartment-mate Kim along with her this trip.
***
Dorothea arrived at her condo a full ten minutes before the old
man. Following that skinny hick
farmer at the end of a line of other impatient drivers would ordinarily induce
her nervous chain smoking, but today, the excitement of her weekend get-away
continually banished her tension.
She hastily glanced around her condo. The sun filtered brightly through
the blinds laying stripes that crazily across the walls. She was all packed, had her plane
tickets on top of her suitcase, and had just dropped her destructive Russian
Blue cat, Hunter, for the weekend at a boarding kennel.
She often took short trips, and looked forward to each one with the
anticipation of a child. She
fussed around her home, washing the last of her lunch dishes. When she finished
drying and putting them away, her doorbell startled her.
Armand, a neighbor, was slouched at her door holding four books of hers
he’d borrowed a couple weeks ago. He was bare-chested having on only a pair of
designer jeans worn very low on his waist. Very low. His chest was hairless and
smooth.
“Hi, Miss Dorothea,” He greeted her, “I’ve returned the books,
see?” He held them up for her
inspection. She disregarded the
books and wondered briefly how it was possible the Creator meant this young
healthy body only for another man.
This kid was gorgeous. Huge
blue eyes, softly curled blonde hair, strong nose. Looking was harmless, she
reminded herself, and being fifty-two didn’t qualify her as a corpse yet. She sighed and smiled at the boy,
wrinkling the lines in the corners of her stark green eyes. “Thanks, Armand,
and how is Glenn? Does he still
have that summer cold or have you cured him yet?” She asked.
Armand smiled sincerely at her but his distrust of women emanated from
his pores. He looked down at his
Reeboks. “He says the books are
good. He like the Clive Barker.” He smiled shyly, exposing perfect white
teeth.
"Armand, it’s very hot and humid, why do you look so fresh this
afternoon?” Kidding him usually put him more at ease.
Feeling bolder, he leant on the wall, hip extended in an exaggerated
manner. “I had a shower and swam
in the pool today.”
Dorothea picked up her pack of cigarettes and slowly drew one from the
pack. “Want some more books for Glenn?
I have plenty more. Are you boys going to the pool party tonight?” She asked.
Armand, conquering his distaste for her sex, faced the intense green
eyes. “No books, Glenn is much better, so we’ll both be at the party. Glenn was so bored today he painted his
fingernails many colors. So unique.
Stripes, dots, stars, everything, his toes too.” Armand was more animated and seemed
pleased to impart the information. “He’s very creative.”
Dorothea smirked, “No shit. He’ll have all the yuppies stuttering and
tripping all over themselves. Wish
I could be there, but I’m off to the airport, then on to Atlantic City.” She
lit the cigarette and Armand flinched his eyes in defense.
“What’s in Atlantic City?” He stood back a foot or so to avoid having
the treacherous gray smoke burn his baby blues.
“It’s only the gambling center of the Northeast. Ask Glenn to dress you
up and take you out there some weekend you’ll love it. Plus my friend Annabelle
lives there.” She swatted at a mosquito trying to enter the doorway, and Armand
backed away a step. He held her
books out and she took them gently.
“I’m sure Glenn is waiting for me, so, see you Sunday?”
“He’s always waiting for you, Armand. I’ll definitely be home a Sunday. Richer too, I hope.” She smiled and closed the door, amused
by the thought that the two gay men would certainly cause a stir at the pool
party Saturday night. Glenn was
chubby and loud he really didn’t need the added attraction of having spruced up
his fingernails and all. What a picture she conjured up of the two homosexuals
socializing with the very straight bitchy Barbie doll and her husband. She
wished she could be there. She’d love to bet money on odds Barbie, after her
initial encounter with Glenn, either dropped her glass, preferably on her twit
husbands’ foot, or vomited. Ditto on the foot scenario. She chuckled smugly to
herself. Those new neighbors, Barbie and her husband, or the ex-city people as
she called them, were the most arrogant snobs. The two of them would be flustered and uncomfortable
throughout the annual party. She
almost hated to miss it, but this weekend deal to Atlantic City was something
she wasn’t accustomed to passing up, even for a condo party. The tickets were
barely over a hundred bucks, free hotel and some chips.
She dismissed it all with a flick of her ash in the coffee table ashtray
and reached for the phone in the living room to call her friend Rose. She
announced that she was on her way over, and then they’d begin their trip to
Gambling City, USA. but Rose seemed to be all wound up about meteors.
“We’ll miss the meteor shower.”
She scolded.
“Big deal,” Dorothea answered, “I’m fifty-three, and if I haven’t had a
meteor shower yet, I sure don’t need one now.” She stubbed out her cigarette.
“This one is predicted to be heading right over Marlow. It’d be a shame
to miss.” Rose sighed. Dorothea
pictured her bright red mouth poised much too close to the phone.
“I’m tellin’ you, Rose, I don’t give a crap about meteors. I’m going
gambling and to hell with Marlow.
Annabelle is expecting us. Be ready, I’m on my way over.” She slammed the phone down and loaded
her car up with her traveling gear. She headed her car out the driveway to
begin her weekend adventure of glitter and gambling.
It was unfortunate, but as Dorothea had earlier predicted, Marlow was going to hell, and she left town in time to miss it.
***
Jay maneuvered the semi cab up winding Route 77 towards home, not that
he considered Marlow home yet.
He’d only left the reservation in South Dakota four months ago. He was often torn between missing South
Dakota, and the excitement of his new surroundings. Everything was so new and strange to him, he felt as though
he’d been dropped on another planet.
He wondered if his brother felt the same way. Tuffy had been driving a tractor-trailer for three years in
New Hampshire in contrast, the plastic on Jay’s truck license was still cooling
off in his wallet.
His younger brother spent most of his life as a bronco rider traveling
with rodeos until he met a certain vacationing red-head. Justine was the person
who encouraged him to get his truck license and move to her hometown, Marlow.
Tuffy didn’t fit the sedate truck driver image Jay envisioned. The man had fallen off so many broncs
and bulls he’d broken his nose three times, his left arm once, a collarbone and
carried a multitude of scars that crisscrossed his body. Jay was humorously
pleased that his brother could get from point A to point B without winding up
in a cast.
When he exited the highway back in Concord Jay alerted to the large groups
of crows. These crows were real as
opposed to the ones on the highway.
They weren’t this abundant in the area when he’d left three weeks ago.
He felt increasingly uncomfortable about their large numbers especially in
relation to his recent vision.
Perhaps he didn’t understand the atmosphere of New Hampshire. He and his
brother were a long way from the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation, in more than
miles. For all he knew, crows
commonly roosted here.
When they left the West they parted with family, childhood friends,
customs, and tribal events. Jay also left his ex-wife Mariah. She had long
silky black hair, black eyes, and sweet soft brown skin. They were married at
seventeen and lived together on and off even since their divorce.
The most heart-rending decision he’d ever made in his life was leaving
her. Mariah stubbornly refused all help for her alcoholism, and any suggestions
of it. All his previous attempts to separate from her had been
unsuccessful. She was disastrous
around their two boys because she suffered blackouts and violent drunken
tantrums. It hurt him deeply that he wasn’t ever able to help her. He’d tried
his best for two years but finally admitted the futility of it. He had to leave her, he’d finally had
no choice, but it felt like abandonment. She forced him by her choices to make
his own.
The white world he now occupied was terrifyingly different from the
reservation. The concept of a 9 to
5 job was alien to both brothers, also a Sioux Indian tended to stick out like
a Rolls Royce in a small New England town. Jay had long straight black hair,
occasionally braided and well past his broad shoulders. He often adorned his braids with beads
and eagle feathers. Being different was now a way of life. He wasn’t accustomed to feeling foreign. He was in alien territory and was
unsure how to adjust to it after thirty-seven years on the reservation.
Jay knew that if it weren’t for Tuffy’s smooth talking wife, they’d
still be struggling in South Dakota.
Jay would be feeding his kids rabbit, or selling pot, or even worse,
looking for a nonexistent job. Since leaving home he had become more
self-sufficient and independent even in the four short months since arriving.
He was renting a house, took exceptional care of the boys, and made a living he
could cope with. His only doubts centered around leaving Mariah behind. Her
alcoholism caused her to be uncontrollable and violent and the subsequent
divorce, although unfortunate, was inevitable. He knew eventually the alcohol
would kill her.
The crows along the road seemed to become more abundant as he kept
traveling west towards Marlow. It was puzzling. A niggling worry started in the
back of his mind. He was aware of their disgusting habit of waiting on highways
for free meals. The birds devoured
dead things and seemed to be heading in the same direction as he. Approaching
town, he became more apprehensive as the flocks became thicker with birds. A few times he came close to cutting
down their numbers as they were tending to gather in and around the road. Was it the heat or his nerves that
caused his hands to slip on the steering wheel? His eyes darted back and forth across the road following the
birds’ flight.
He tried to recall an old Sioux legend, something he remembered that had
to do with crows. Crows and death.
He’d heard it once and then only as a child. Actually, the residue of
memory he did have created a kind of blackness, and terror, whether justified
or not. Was there a crow-god or learning story of some kind? If only he could
grasp this childhood memory but it was lost to him.
The last four miles became tedious. He worried about his boys and his brother’s family. He didn’t want to upset anyone and
decided not to mention the illusion?
Sighting? Vision? He
wouldn’t mention it to anyone, at least not until he understood its meaning, if
he ever did.
He slowed and turned the rig left onto Route 114 proceeding up the road
his brother lived on. When he
arrived at the small ranch house he parked the Mack in the gravel driveway,
turned off the engine. He watched with trepidation as the crows clustered in
the surrounding trees like a black shroud covering the woods. What did they
want? They seemed to be waiting
for something. A shiver shot
through his body. The crows were
loud and their noise absorbed all other sounds. It was eerie.
Well, at least I’ve arrived in one piece, he thought anxiously. Those damn crows left him feeling so
disoriented. He resolved not to
mention his vision to his family they would dismiss his experience as a mild form
of insanity. Perhaps it was. Best to remain silent, even though the disquieting
hallucination echoed around inside his head like the hollow ruckus of crows
around him.
***
The vast blackness of space encompassed and absorbed the genetically
engineered creatures. They were
wrapped tightly in their thick protective wings and traveled as slick black
balls. They waited for the gravity
of an hospitable planet to pull them into a new world as had been prearranged
thousands of years ago.
Their thought processes were inert during the trip. It was a long
journey, and a cold one. The energy saved by remaining in the coma would help
when they were relocated. Energy
was needed to open their wings, find food, hunt and kill it if need be. They
were patient during the trip. They were created to eat anything known to the
scientists and what they did was meant to be recorded.
Unfortunately, the equipment to decipher their progress had long
since been destroyed.
They were sent to seek a new world with the possibility of habitation
sort of dumped into space to seek and find, but the project was now defunct.
Their planet was depleted by overpopulation long ago and destroyed.
The creatures were aimed
towards a planet with water and oxygen; both were necessary. They shot freely
through space churning dust along the way, heading for the new planet. Many of
them had died along the way, or drifted off course, hundreds in fact, others
were sent elsewhere. Only a very few were left.
Their mission was long over but they didn't know their recorders
would send information to a centuries dead planet.
As we continue to search for any
remains of the alien craft, I shall begin a journal. My wife and I spend most of our time in Roswell, N.M. searching for anything the army or
other inquisitive visitors may have missed. We made a grid and walk it together
daily for miles and weeks. I am
determined not to leave without evidence of something from this landing site.
~Morgan Berry, Magician
Softcover here: Softcovers
Digital: Deadly Magic Digital
MARCH 26
T
|
om Becker
believed he was standing at the edge of the Ammonoosic River in the White
Mountains of New Hampshire, tugging on his fishing line. He would have said that the sky was
crisp and clear, the mosquitoes weren’t too vicious, and the trout were hungry
but cautious.
It was odd that only the day before, at
work, he had mentioned to a fellow insurance agent that he’d rather be fishing
in the Ammonoosic River and here he was now, doing just that. He hadn’t planned on a trip to the
White Mountains; couldn’t remember arriving, actually. The last thing he could remember
distinctly was the mirror.
Was he
supposed to work today? Had he
been to work? He focused intently
on the vista of woods surrounding him and the deep shadows they cast over the
river under a high smothering sun.
The air was pleasantly scented with evergreen. The sky was an eerie
turquoise blue. Too clear and
fresh, unbelievably so. The white
birches across the river were rigidly still; like a clever photograph, they
appeared to be two-dimensional.
Not a leaf stirred. The
surrealism of the woods and river frightened him. Water bubbled in a steady rush across the worn rock
boulders, but Tom didn’t hear it.
Not a sound disturbed the air that seemed to press on him with claustrophobic
intensity.
When he’d
been here a few weeks ago, in early March, everything had been so
different. He and his son Joey
drove up on a chilly Saturday to fish. Old brown leaves from autumn blew across
the road like a pack of rats on a grain run. The air had been windy and fresh. Joey proudly hauled three
trout home that day, and Tom had caught two. The sky had been hazy with clouds, as if snow threatened to
burst upon them, the water tumbled and thundered over the rocks at their feet,
birds chirped nearby and darted overhead, and the leaves fluttered like
spangles at the least wisp of a breeze.
Before
leaving, Joey had pointed to a raccoon that watched them from behind a pile of
rocks. The coon had been bold enough to scrabble through their belongings
before Joey had noticed it.
Now, nothing
was alive anywhere around him. Things seemed dead and still.
Suddenly his
line went taut. He tugged gently,
but the line was snagged on something, something deep in the river. He pulled on it steadily, now with more
strength, bending the pole. He was going to lose his hook. He stretched
backwards, reaching for the red tackle box behind him. Had it been there all along? He hadn’t noticed it until now. He’d had that metal box from the day he
got his fishing license when he was twelve; a gift from his dad. Still gripping the pole in his left
hand, he tentatively opened the rusty latch with his right.
The inside
squares and paraphernalia of the tackle box slowly materialized as he watched.
Shocked by the apparent ten-second delay his vision experienced when he opened
it, Tom blinked and willed his eyes to focus on the compartments again.
Everything was placed exactly as he remembered. He became rigid and backed slowly away from the suddenly
unfamiliar toolbox. What the hell was happening? He was going home.
Get the rod and reel…
His
jackknife was in its usual longer compartment on the right. He reached into the box and lifted the
knife out. His hand trembled. His
mouth was parched. The smooth
wooden handle felt solid and cold.
Real. It felt real. Was it?
Was he crazy? He dropped the
forgotten fishing pole on the ground, mesmerized by the jackknife. When he
pulled open the larger, wider blade with his thumbnail, it gleamed and flashed
keenly in the harsh sunlight. It
was sharper than he remembered, so sharp he was afraid he’d slice a finger open
if he touched the honed edge.
Tom handled
the knife carefully, not brushing the blade with his fingers, holding it
outward to the right and pointed away from his body. He walked slowly, as if unsure of his footing, toward the
fishing line, prepared to cut it free.
Tom slashed
at the line. He felt a solid
density and the knife hesitated, as if meeting a fleshy resistance.
It shouldn’t
take more than one sweep of this razor-sharp knife to cut a fish line, he
thought. He slashed at the nylon
again, this time more forcefully. Now he was breathing heavily and sweat
trickled under his arms darkening his tan dress shirt. A thick wet feeling
seemed to vibrate up the knife. He quickly withdrew it and stared at the blade
in stunned disbelief. It was
covered with fat streaks of blood.
A fleeting wave of dizziness passed through him. His left hand, empty a half breath ago,
now was clutched tightly around a hard pearly oval object. He loosened his grip
on the thing trying to drop it, he couldn’t. He’d never seen anything like it before, and he could swear
that he hadn’t been holding it a second ago. At least he didn’t think he had been. Everything was so weird. Suddenly Tom’s
arm thrust outward involuntarily, as if someone or something moved his arm for
him. A hot moist mush enclosed his fist, and simultaneously his fingers opened
wide inside the thickness to release the pearly object in what still seemed to
be empty air over the red toolbox. His fingers felt hot. Hot and wet. He
regained control of his hand and yanked it back towards him. Clutching his hand close to his body,
he noticed that his hand and arm, like the knife, were covered with blood. Where had all the blood come from? Thin
air? He stood; feet braced apart, and shook his head, desperately trying to
orient his senses.
In a new
frightening clarity, Tom stepped out of the strange fantasy and crashed into
reality. With heart stopping swiftness he realized he wasn’t fishing in the
Ammonoosic River. His eyes bulged in terror and drool escaped the corners of
his open mouth. As Tom stood, feet
frozen in place, inside the murky Pinewood Bar and Grill clutching a bloody
steak knife, Eugene Hurley fell off a nearby stool amid a tangle of other bar
stools and landed with a loud crash.
Tom stared
at the obese man on the floor at his feet, then looked in horror at the long
knife gripped tightly in his own right hand. Both his hands were red, slick, and sticky. He glanced around the room in a sudden
panic, finding witness after witness in the hot dimness of the bar. He dropped
the knife to the floor and wiped his hands across his chest, leaving two wide
red trails on his tan shirt. Around him, patrons were screaming.
Someone
threw utensils and plates toward him.
A tanned dark-haired woman sitting at a barstool locked her green eyes
on his brown ones dispassionately.
Oh my god,
oh mygod, what have I done? How?
Wake up! He stumbled for the exit
as pandemonium continued behind him.
He pulled open the heavy pine door and bolted outside. He hesitated,
standing on the sidewalk a moment as if waiting for the nightmare to end. He
was suddenly very thirsty.
His heart’s
quick, uneven pace shook his ribs like a danger signal. The bright afternoon
sunlight seemed to pierce painfully through his eyes to his brain. The hot outside air sent a quick shiver
through him, and he began to run, not seeing where he went. He zigzagged through the long
unpopulated streets of Pinewood with no destination, running from himself, from
the reality of what he’d done. Terrifying images ricocheted inside his head
like a hard cold bullet overwhelming his senses. His one last thought skittered
rhythmically; when’ll I wake up?
When’ll I
wake up?
The torment
ended when Tom Becker was stopped dead by an International tractor-trailer.
Blinded by panic, he had sprinted onto the highway and in front of its grill.
Did the town
folks of Pinewood see the sky quickly darken, the shadows loom larger? Had Evil
stirred its twisted form in the insignificant town of Pinewood when Tom Becker
became a crimson carcass streaked across Black River Road?
***
MARCH 27
After the
accident with his truck, the driver was driven to the police station by local
police officers.
The truck
driver, eyes bloodshot from fatigue, had been in the police station for several
hours. He nervously finger-combed his greasy black hair so many times it stood
up like quills around his head. He’d sat in the station long enough to memorize
every crack and cobweb.
The police
station was situated in the cellar of the town hall. The Pinewood Town Hall,
located in the center of town, was the oldest and tallest building for ten
miles around. Two large white
columns boldly proclaimed the three storied clapboard structures’ importance to
anyone who passed along the roadway, a scenic route leading towards Vermont.
Four people worked full time in the town offices that were used primarily for
registering vehicles and pets and transferring property. On the main floor, the
floorboards creaked, windows seeped cold air in the winter, and men and women
shared the lone restroom beside the selectmen's airy one-room office.
The two
rooms that constituted the police station were dreary and dark. Two windows,
the sort common to basements-small and hidden by cobwebs offered no view to
relieve the room’s dusty monotony.
Confiscated beer, instead of prisoners filled the single jail cell. The
trucker, Bob Markey, had stopped looking at them hours before. He sat at a huge
oak table with his head in his hands. Christ, I been here almost four hours
already, I’m beat. I don’t know nuthin’
more. I remembered all I can.
He looked up
so exhausted that Officer Gregoire had to stand directly in front of him to get
his attention. The dark circles
under Markey’s eyes confirmed that he’d only had a few hours sleep in the past
few days. Between crisscrossing the northeast and then meeting up with the
Becker guy in the middle of town, Gregoire imagined the nightmares Bob was
headed for whenever he could get to sleep again.
Blood had
splashed up in an arc across the rig’s windshield. The heavy thud of the
victim’s body had scared him. The thick skid marks went on for 50 feet or more.
Tom Becker lay on the street twisted and bent in directions Bob Markey could
never have believed possible.
Questioning him, Officer Gregoire had learned that he hadn’t served in a
war or anything like that. The poor kid’s eyes were dull as wax paper; he
probably had body parts and brain material imprinted on his retinas, burned in
not only by the horror of the sight itself but by the knowledge that he had
killed someone.
All right,
Bobby, let’s go over the statement here one more time, and then you’re free to
leave. Gregoire read silently through the first few paragraphs. “Tom didn’t
appear to see anything around him, and he never saw your rig? That right?”
The kid
nodded and said, “He ran like his life depended on it. He didn’t see nothing,
as if he was blind or somethin’.”
The trucker passed his hand through his hair twice and shook his head as
if perplexed.
Officer
Gregoire said, “I’ve got
statements from other witnesses as well, so you’re not facing any charges. It’d
be nice to know why a quiet, hard-working family man such as Tom, would stab
someone, then throw himself in front of a truck. He’d never been in any trouble
before, no record, not even a speeding ticket.” He glanced at his wristwatch then looked back at the
trucker.
“No one was chasing him. His behavior is
beyond understanding.” Bobby
sighed.
“Well, my
job is to put this puzzle together so it makes sense in this report. It’s a hell of a way to commit
suicide.”
“Tell me
about it.” The driver sat up straighter, yawning.
As Gregoire
glanced unseeing into Bobby’s partially toothed mouth, he realized how
exhausted the trucker was and lowered his shoulders as if all pretenses of
authority were done with. “Okay
Bobby, hit the road. I have your info if I need to speak to you again.”
Hit? Bad
choice of words. Bobby thought. He stood up,
pushing the metal chair back carefully, and stretched. “I’m not waiting for you
to change your mind, I’m gone.” He
grabbed his worn baseball cap from the table and left the room quickly, not glancing back.
As Officer
Gregoire sat on the interrogation table holding the signed statement, he closed
his eyes in thought. The story
made little sense. The Bar and Grill was busy on Fridays at that time of early
evening, with the supper crowd beginning to fill up the booths.
More than
one witness told him that Tom Becker seemed to be in a trance.
He had been
standing at the bar, quiet and unresponsive when suddenly he snatched a steak
knife off a nearby dinner table, stabbed Eugene three times, and plunged his
arm practically to the elbow up under the ribs and into Eugene’s guts.
The
restaurant was an old two-story 30x60 foot barn, converted in the late 60’s
into a restaurant and bar, although being forty miles from a city population,
it passed from one unsuccessful owner to the next over the years and had slowly
deteriorated, becoming a dimly-lit bar mostly patronized by regulars. However
dark and dingy, the building itself had become, the townspeople recognized good
cooking when they found it.
The chef at
the Bar and Grill was a local kid who had graduated from a fancy chef’s school
in New York, and his patrons had become accustomed to great food in a less-than
appetizing atmosphere.
Of course, a
lot of dinners had gone uneaten the night Tom Becker flipped out.
Unrevealing
as Gregoire found the evidence up to this point, it got even stranger, because
the two men didn’t know each other. Eugene was a Pinewood native and Tom a
relative newcomer, having moved from up north four years ago. The men had never exchanged a word in
the bar, or anywhere else as far as he could ascertain. Following the stabbing,
Tom ran out the front door and smack into the path of the semi doing forty in a
thirty-five. It was as if the man
had completely lost control of his body for a deadly half hour or so.
Officer Gregoire had already spoken on
the phone to Mrs. Becker. He slid
her unsigned statement to the top of his pile. Laura said that her husband left home about five-thirty
without a word to her. He simply walked out the front door. She mentioned that
it was a weird, stiff-legged sort of shuffling walk and she added that on
reflection, it was as if he didn’t want to go, but was being gently prodded.
Laura said she wasn’t Tom’s mother, didn’t pester him about his comings and
goings and saw no need to ask where he was off to. She trusted him. He was a
good man, and he loved his family. She told the officer that they’d recently
purchased a new boat, a Criscraft. Gregoire had seen the 20-footer in the
driveway the few times he’s driven past the house; it was a fine-looking craft.
Tom hadn’t even put it in water yet and had been excited about the upcoming
weekend because the family was going to test it out on lake Winnipesaukee. The
boat was going back to the dealership now. It certainly seemed that Tom had no reason for killing himself. No reason. It was a pure and simple mystery.
Officer
Gregoire hated mysteries. He never read them, never watched them on TV or even
allowed himself to believe in a mystery.
His cases were solved neat and quick as possible. Simple people- simple
solutions. Far as he was concerned, people created their own troubles, and
greed or hatred is the most common motives. No mystery there. This one time however, he was stymied. He could go over Tom’s morning until he
was an old man and still not find one telling clue to his odd behavior.
This morning
he had his two officers moving around getting statements and Gregoire was also
looking forward to the ME’s report some time in the future. After lunch and
having some reports come in, he was glancing thru the statements trying to get
a broader picture.
Yesterday,
Tom awoke at six-thirty a.m., same as every day. He ate a bowl of cereal- ‘Cheerios’, Laura said-then her
husband left for work, same as every day. At the insurance office where he’d
worked for four years, his fellow employees stated that he had acted normal,
conducted business as usual, and left work at four thirty. Tom returned home at
five. Laura was fixing supper, but Tom had a snack, an apple, while waiting for
dinner to finish. He removed his suit coat, fixed a loose screen door handle,
fooled around in the attic for a while, and then walked out of his simple
everyday non-traumatic life into a world shrouded in inexplicable violence.
Definitely not the same as every day.
The contents of Tom’s stomach were being analyzed, but sure as sunshines that
apple wasn’t drugged - no, Tom had flipped out. Gregoire had seen it before; too much pressure, stress,
bills.
Bad economy
whatever. It could even be heredity had something to do with it. No one knew
for certain what went on inside a human brain, and he wasn’t about to make wild
assumptions.
He patted
the report pages together, stapled the thick pile, and dropped it onto the oak
table. It could be years before he
got a handle on this mess! He wondered if he could fob this case off on the
state troopers. Either that or fill in ‘suicide’ or ‘accident’ as the cause of
death, then bury it all in a deep file drawer where he wouldn’t ever see it
again.
He sighed
loudly as he stood up. In ten minutes, he was off work for the rest of the
day. It felt like the longest
shift he’d ever done. He was hungry and tired. The routine shift from last
night and today turned abnormally tedious and dreadful - and without answers. He was unhappy with the whole incident.
He hoped that his wife Lisa would be up, because if he didn’t get to sleep for
a while, well, a man couldn’t ask for much more.
2
As we continue to search for any
remains of the alien craft, I shall begin a journal. My wife and I spend most of our time in Roswell, N.M. searching for anything the army or
other inquisitive visitors may have missed. We made a grid and walk it together
daily for miles and weeks. I am
determined not to leave without evidence of something from this landing site.
~Morgan Berry, Magician
W
|
ithin hours of
Tom’s demise, the small community heard what happened at the Bar and Grill, but
no one really understood what had happened.
Pinewood was
a town of 3,000 homes covering about 50 square miles. A small-town atmosphere still survived, despite the latest
yuppie invasion (with grace and style). The few old-timers who still owned the
largest farms weren’t seeing a great profit, and anytime they received a fair
offer on their land, most of them took the money and left to live high in
Florida. Some of the stubborn ones stuck it out, selling produce by the side of
the road or keeping sheep and cattle, but these weren’t wealthy people. They
passed their children’s clothes on to friends and daughters the way others
passed on favorite recipes.
Nothing went to waste. Some
clung to the land, afraid of a move to a city swarming with street gangs and
gun battles. To these farmers, guns were for destructive creatures, like fisher
cats or rabid animals; they didn’t use guns on people. They still didn’t lock
their doors. They were the backbone of Pinewood and held together like a large
far-ranging family. They shunned the new younger families that had migrated
into town during the last ten years or so. They were of the; ‘you gotta live
here 20 year before they say good mornin’ variety.
For the next few days, major and minor
discussions about the odd happenings in the restaurant buzzed through town at
the grocery, corner stores, library and gas station. Anyone who had met Tom Becker couldn’t believe the rumors,
and those who didn’t know him thought the story had gotten confused in the
telling. It was too preposterous to have happened in Pinewood. The police hadn’t investigated a murder
since 1948, when Irwin Beane shot his wife while cleaning his rifle (so he
said), then tried to cover it up by burying her in his north field.
MARCH 28
Immediately
after the stabbing at the bar, Eugene (often called Gene by his friends) Hurley
was rushed by ambulance to the nearest hospital, ten minutes away in Carlisle.
Eastwood Hospital was a small, three-level brick structure with 25 beds per
floor and a separate 10-bed maternity ward. The basement housed a storage area,
X-ray, employee lockers, and the morgue that was used for teaching when bodies
were donated for such study.
Eugene,
propped up by pillows in his bed, guzzled chicken sandwiches and pudding. He
expected to be in some pain and discomfort, but had recently determined that he
was going live, for a while anyway, unless the new rash he recently developed
could kill him.
Kyle sat in
a plastic chair across the room watching his best friend, Gene scoop chocolate
pudding into his huge mouth. Kyle
said it was a real treat to witness this. He also said that Gene was certainly
the only patient in Eastwood’s history to eat the hospital food with gusto and
obvious enjoyment. Kyle apparently thought that Gene would eat anything. On more than one occasion, Kyle had
asked him if he planned to divide himself and spawn two-average sized adult
males.
“Geez, you
look starved!” Kyle chuckled.
Gene paused
and focused on his friend “Yeah, well, this food is so bland I gotta eat twice
as much to feel like I’ve eaten anything at all. Besides, they don’t feed me
all that much.”
“So you’re
losing weight?” Kyle was talking
mostly to distract himself. He was afraid of hospitals, but his wife pointed
out to him that Gene was his best friend since grade school and all and Kyle
wouldn’t appreciate it if he, himself, were alone in a hospital, so here he was
spending time with Gene.
Gene knew
Kyle felt suffocated by the recent memories of his dad’s heart attack and the
electrodes and tubes, the beep-beeps and that whole nightmare. Kyle squirmed in the hard plastic chair
uneasily, as if he were watching the heart attack over again.
“I’m gonna
see the x-rays later today.” Gene
said noisily, between bites of food.
“X-rays of
what?”
“The goddamn
hole that Tom Becker put in me, that’s what!”
“Well,
didn’t the doctor tell you it’s going to heal?” Kyle asked.
“Becker’s
knifing missed all the important body parts, said the docs. He probably
couldn’t reach anything important through them layers of food you’re
packin’.” Kyle smiled, his blue
eyes sparkling boldly from his pale pimpled complexion.
“Very funny,
dickhead.” Gene reached gently up
to place the empty pudding bowl onto the bed tray. “That killer shoved his hand inside a me. Inside! God only knows what he had in his fist.
I felt this coldness, I swear the feel of it filled up my brain before I passed
out and fell off the bar stool.”
“What? You
think maybe Tom Becker hid a million dollars inside you or something?” Kyle tried to grin as he shifted
nervously in his chair.
Eugene
glared at him, transforming his meaty head into a fleshy replica of Porky Pig.
“Well then,
what’d the doctor say about that?”
Kyle began to tap his finger on the chair arm.
“Nuthin’.
They said they didn’t see nothing on the X-ray. That’s why the X-rays are
coming to me. I want to see what’s in there myself.”
“What the
hell you know about X-rays, Gene? You won’t see nuthin’ a doctor can’t see.”
Kyle’s logic
was lost on his friend. “That son of a bitch put his fist inside me, and I
wanna see those damn X-rays!” Gene bellowed.
Pity swept
over Kyle, his blue eyes never looked directly at him and he kept finger
combing that mess of greasy yellow hair on his head, or what was left of it.
Gene could see the pity and knew that was why Kyle wouldn’t look directly at
him. His haggard face darkened -even his best friend didn’t understand. “Well,
I’m not crazy. I’m not! Something
is inside me, something weird.”
Gene plopped
back onto the pillows. His belly swelled the sheets up high, from Kyle’s point
of view; it looked as if a huge white whale sported a miniature human head.
“It’s nuthin’ Gene. You’re getting all
crazy and imagining stuff. Hey,
you shoulda seen what happened at work yesterday.” Kyle became more animated
and moved his hands as he talked.
“You know the secretary? The red-headed one?”
Gene nodded
only half listening.
“Well, she
come out back to the warehouse, had on a skimpy red skirt and all, looked reealll
good. Well, Cam walked right up, grabbed
her and kissed her. Right there on the loading dock in front of
everybody!” He was trying to cheer
his buddy up, rouse a smile from him.
“What’d she
do?” Gene played his part and feigned a little interest. He rolled a corner of
the sheet between his thumb and forefinger.
“Kicked him
in the balls!” Kyle sniggered
loudly, “Cam said it was worth it.
Boy, it was great! I think
they’ve got something going anyway.
You know Cam, he wouldn’t do that unless he was sure of the reception
he’d get.”
“Yeah? Why’d she kick him, then?”
“Guess she
has a wicked sense of humor.” Kyle grinned baring huge crooked white teeth.
“Hope Cam
does,” Gene muttered. “I’m gettin tired, Kyle. Whyn’t you go on back to work,
tell everyone thanks for the flowers and candy, okay?”
Kyle leaped
up from the chair, clattering the metal feet on the linoleum. “Sure. You take it easy, get some rest, and
I’ll be back tomorrow.”
Eugene
nodded and watched Kyle leave. He wanted peace and quiet so he could
concentrate. If only he could think through the haze of medication dripping
into his arm. He knew there were reasons for things and he was damned if the
reason for the stabbing would come to him. Why? Why him?
That is the
important question needing an answer. He never did anything, anything he could
think of to Tom Becker or anyone in the man’s family. As his eyes squinted in
concentration, his thick eyelids slowly dropped shut.
Eugene
slept. His dream began in the Bar and Grill. He was eating dinner. Unbearable pain shot into his side, a
coldness reached for him and spread over his body, he fell off the bar stool...
