Dog Farm: A Search For Religious Tolerance In A Dangerous World

by Curt Cagle

  Chapter 1

  Cooper was a Border collie, full of vim and vigor. He herded everything in sight. He was almost two years old, which explained the reason his energy level was so high. He was native to the farm. His dad was a Border collie and his mother an Irish setter-German shepherd mix. Cooper must’ve taken his traits from his father, because to look at him, you’d think he was full-blooded.

  The southern side of the fence had met with destruction over the years. That end of the property was wooded and several trees had fallen onto it over the years. The fence measured six feet tall, but its chain-link construction was no match against the force of the fallen trees. No matter though, it was rare for a dog to wonder that deep into the woods.

  Cooper had just directed a rabbit back to its hole in the meadow when he heard something. He had heard it before, but never this close. He knew the languages of dogs, but these barks were different. These yelps and yips were difficult to interpret. The words were strange and thick with an accent. He walked through the yellow blooms of the meadow with his head at about the same level as the flowers. He wanted to spy on whatever sort of dog it was that made the strange sounds. At the edge of the meadow, where the hill sloped down to the woods, he got his first glimpse. It was a dog of some sort. Cooper bent down into the grass to conceal his secret investigation. He watched while a group of dogs walked cautiously out of the woods. They were of similar size and shape to each other, with only a little variation in color pattern. They smelled different as well; with a hint of something that reminded him of a deer after it had run for a while. He watched intently. They were fine looking dogs, athletic and svelte. The sun was going down and he knew that he would be expected back at the farm, but he was mesmerized by these newcomers. One of the larger ones yelped again and the rest followed suit. After a few minutes they began to scatter out. Some went back into the woods and a few others walked along the edge where the grassy field merged into the trees.

  The first stars were out and the toads were singing a chorus at the pond when one of the smaller dogs from the pack began to walk toward Cooper. The wind was in Cooper’s face, so that the other dog didn’t pick up a scent from him until he got very close. Cooper wasn’t scared. He was bigger than the gray stranger. After all, that’s the way it worked back at the barn. The bigger dog was the boss, with few exceptions made for those who sometimes got their way through skilled barking. Cooper’s instinct to herd everything got the better of him when the visitor came too close. He jumped to his feet and barked. “Hey, what kind of dog are you?”

  The other dog jumped back and brought its body low with a growl. “I’m not a dog!”

  “Yeah right. Well, you’re not a bird. I’ve seen plenty of them. You’re not a rabbit or squirrel either. You look just like a dog. So, if you’re not a dog, what are you?”

  “I’m a coyote.”

  “Never heard of that,” Cooper admitted.

  The coyote began to relax a bit and stood tall and straight. “What about you? What’s your story?” The coyote asked.

  “I’m a dog, a Border collie to be exact.”

  “I figured as much. You live around here?”

  Cooper looked back toward the trail that led home. “Back at the barn.”

  “Okay, I know where you’re talking about. I’ve seen it from a distance at night.”

  “My name’s Cooper. You got a name?”

  “Of course I have a name. It’s Peace.”

  “Peace? That’s a weird name.”

  “There’s nothing weird about it.” Peace turned to leave.

  “Hey, I’m sorry. That was rude. Can’t help what your name is, I suppose.” Cooper said. Cooper trotted over alongside Peace as they began to walk slowly down the slope. “You care if I ask you a question?” Cooper said.

  “Could I stop you if I wanted to?” Peace asked.

  “Sorry, my dad says I don’t know when to shut up. But I wondered what you and your pack were saying earlier. It was hard to understand.”

  He stopped and eased back onto his haunches. “We were praying in our ancient language.”

  “Oh… Oh, cool. You do that a lot?”

  “Everyday. Maybe I can teach you sometime.”

  Cooper was always up for new things and nodded his head, “Sure, sounds good.”

  A barred owl gave a ‘hoot’ from its perch in the tree above the pair. Cooper’s eyes grew wide and he looked up to the sky. Dozens of stars were already visible in the clear evening air and the western horizon had only remnants of color.

  “Oh no, dog gone it. I’m going to be in big trouble. I’ve got to go.” He took off toward the barn.

  Peace yelled, “Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, maybe,” Cooper yelled back and put his legs in high gear. He had blazing speed when he wanted to, and this was one of those times. The creek in the middle of the meadow was no obstacle. He jumped long into the middle of a shallow section and splashed once before he sprang across the remainder in a flash. He was home in no time and slowed to a trot as he came into the barnyard. Most of the dogs were already down for the night. There were scores of doghouses scattered around the barnyard and inside the barn. Many were vacant, since the peak of population at the dog farm had long since passed. Cooper walked into the barn and over to the corner where his family made their home. Everyone appeared to be asleep, so he quietly went into his doghouse and made a few circles before lying down. He breathed in deeply and exhaled with a loud huff through his nose while he rested his chin on his paws.

  A deep voice came out of the doghouse beside him. “You were out late. Care to explain yourself?”

  Cooper whispered back, “Sorry, Dad, I lost track of time when I met a new friend.”

  “What was it this time, a raccoon? A turtle?”

  “No, a coyote.”

  “What?” His dad screamed. His mom and sister were jolted from their nap in the adjacent doghouses. “We don’t run with them! Do you hear me?”

  His mom spoke up to calm things down. “Take it easy Patches, you’ll wake up everyone.”

  “Look Clover, there ain’t no way a pup of mine is gonna be running with a coyote. It ain’t right.”

  “Now Patches,” Clover said, “your dad said the same thing to you about Foxes and now we have red and gray foxes in and out of here constantly. Times change and dogs have to change. You know I’m right don’t you?”

  Cooper listened to the discussion from the furthest point in the rear of his doghouse, but his sister, Bubbles, sat with her paws out of the opening of her house, with her ears perked high.

  “I don’t like it,” Patches said. “They’re trouble wherever they go. They always want to fight. If they’re not fighting the other animals then they’re fighting among their own kind. It’s dangerous to have them so close.”

  Clover walked out of her house and sat down beside Patches’ house. He was pacing back and forth like a caged tiger. “Honey, stop growling and come sit down beside me.”

  “It’s dangerous,” he said one more time, but then came over and complied with Clover’s request.

  She began, “Where’d you hear these tales about them fighting everyone?”

  He looked down at the ground, “From the rats.”

  “And what do we know about the rats?”

  “They lie a lot.”

  “That’s right. So why do you believe the stories they tell?” She asked.

  “The crows said it too,” he argued.

  “And what do we know about the crows?”

  He took a deep breath and scratched and itchy spot on his ribs. He admitted, “They exaggerate.”

  “That’s right,” Clover said, “you see where I’m going with this? Don’t jump to conclusions. I’m sure there are a few bad coyotes just like we’ve had bad dogs living around us before. You should let every dog stand on its own merits.”

  “Coyotes aren’t dogs,” Patches demanded.

  “Well, maybe not, but they’re can
ines, so we come from a common ancestor. That alone ought to be enough to tell you there’s some good in ‘em.”

  Patches plopped his head down between his front legs to the ground in front of him. “I hate it when you use logic to win arguments,” he said.

  Cooper slowly crept forward until his head was even with the door opening. “Does this mean that I’m not in trouble?”

  Clover looked to Patches and smiled. Patches said, “I guess not.”

  “So, I can see my new friend again?”

  “Out there, not in the barnyard. Understand?”

  “No problem, Dad.”

  “Thank you, dear,” Clover said, “now let’s go to bed.”

  Clover and Patches went back into the doghouses to get some rest. Little sister, Bubbles, who had been smiling in the beginning, now just scowled. “He gets away with everything.”

  The next morning arrived to the calls of songbirds as usual. Most of the dogs were slow to awaken. Some stretched and yawned, while others gnawed on sticks. Suddenly, alarm barks were heard from the far end of the meadow, in the vicinity of the pond. Everyone perked up their ears and listened to the alarm. It was incoherent and panicked. The words were jumbled and didn’t make sense, but everyone heard the word, ‘Dead’. Several of the dogs began to bark back and asked for a repeat of the message, but Patches said, “Come on, Son,” and took off running toward the pond.

  Cooper was right behind him. He was impressed with the speed that his dad maintained, even though he thought, “I can run faster.”

  They were at the pond in less than two minutes. “What’s wrong? What happened?” Patches yelled as he put the brakes on at the pond.

  A young Jack Russell terrier came running to them to explain, but no explanation was necessary. They could see for themselves. At the edge of the water, three dogs and a single adult coyote lay dead.