“I’m flattered, really am, but she’s spayed.”
“Kind of a shame, but I understand.” Clancy locked the side door to his trailer, dug into his pocket for his keys. “Well, I’m headed up north to Michigan. Another big trial next weekend. Busy time of year. Usually spend most of the summer on the road.” He climbed into the cab of his truck. Brooks sat up to peer past him at us. The key clicked in the ignition and the engine purred to life. “See you at Nationals in two months?”
“Naw, can’t leave the farm.” Cecil looked off into the crowd that was still filtering from the stands toward the barns and the midway.
A smile alighted briefly on Clancy’s face, then vanished as he let up on the brake. “Bye now.”
“Good luck.”
A family of eight strolled in front of Clancy’s truck. He grumbled a few unheard curses, waited until the row was clear, then pulled out.
Cecil clutched his left arm, kneading it for a few seconds. My nose sought out his hand, hanging limply at his side.
“I’m ready to go home, too. Maybe we’ll stop and get you a hamburger on the way?”
I barked my agreement. I would have preferred French fries, though.
A teenage couple walked by, their hands in each others’ back pockets. In the boy’s obsession with his mate, he failed to notice the trail of popcorn he was leaving behind. I vacuumed it up as we walked along.
“First, though,” Cecil said, the pupils of his eyes reflecting the bright colors of the Ferris wheel, “I promised Bernadette a ride.”
—o00o—
The glass of the unlit bulbs of the Ferris wheel sparkled a brilliant white in the late afternoon sun. Somewhere a cow bellowed. Pigs oinked in greedy protest. Geese, ever contrary, honked. The laughter of children on the Tilt-a-Whirl spilled through the air. Bells dinged at carnival games. Not far from us, the roller coaster went ‘clunk-clunk-clunk’ as it climbed on its tracks. Its nose dipped. Hands shot in the air. Screams ripped the atmosphere as it whooshed downward. I flattened my ears, the vibrations of its descent tingling against the pads of my feet.
We turned into a horse barn. Cecil patted the lump in his pocket. Bernadette stood halfway down the row with her friend Merle and a man I assumed was her husband Jasper. The men, when introduced, shook hands. Cecil led me inside a stall, heavy with the scent of hay and fresh manure. He unclipped my leash and bent close.
“I won’t be long,” he whispered to me. “An hour, at most.”
His promise should have reassured me — Cecil was always a man of his word, honest to a fault — but instead it dropped like a lead shot through my gut. I’d had this feeling before. But when?
He stroked the fur along my backbone. “Wish me luck.”
I swiped a paw on his pants leg. Don’t go!
Once again, he didn’t hear me. He stood.
Jasper locked the stall from the outside, and they went off. The shadows inside the barn grew long, until my little corner of the world was cloaked in darkness. I dozed off and on, the day’s events streaming through my memory, playing over and over like a film on a loop. As memory melted into dreams, the past came back to me: that bleak winter at Estelle’s, how my toes had been numb for months and my belly tight with hunger, how Ned Hanson had kicked me and later buried my mother in the manure pile. Then further back: to the day of Cam and Ray’s funeral, and the day that they died. And somewhere in there: Hunter’s arms draped around my neck as he cried softly into my fur while we waited for Lise to find us.
“Hunter, this way. We’re late.”
I scrambled to my feet, shook myself fully awake. The sides of the stall were high, but an old trunk and a half-used bale of hay had been left in the front corner adjacent to the sliding door. I hopped up on the bale, then the trunk, and stuck my head between the wide bars.
The center aisle was empty, the overhead suspended lights casting intermittent circles of yellow light on the packed sawdust. A wiry haired brown and white terrier slept on the lap of a young girl in tight white leggings and a dusty black blazer as she dozed in a folding canvas chair next to one of the stalls. Across the aisle, a chestnut pony nickered and bobbed its head at me. I woofed softly in reply. Further down, two older women seated on portable stools played a game of cards over a barrel.
In the stall behind me in the row outside, an old black horse snorted to get my attention. Nibbling at the top edge of the stall, he gazed down at me with rheumy eyes. Gray hairs confettied his long muzzle.
I sat, lifted a paw in greeting. He nickered softly, as if to say, ‘Welcome to the neighborhood, kid.’
Didn’t want to tell him I didn’t plan on staying here long. As soon as Cecil came back, I was going home. There were still chores to do and if we had to do them by starlight, we would.
I turned around, ready to descend my little staircase and go back to sleep until Cecil came back for me. He had said it would only be an hour, but an inkling of worry had begun to gnaw at me. I wasn’t sure how long an hour really was, but he’d made it seem like only a short time and it had to be more than an hour by now. It wasn’t like him not to get home in time for evening chores.
The old black horse moved. Just past his sagging flank, the crown of a tawny-haired boy floated. Recognition tugged at my memory. He turned, gazed blankly at me with light blue eyes. Stopping, he raised himself up on tiptoes, so I could see his face more plainly. There was something familiar in his gaze, in the gentleness of his mouth, in the line of his nose. He blinked, reached out to stroke the ragged mane of the old horse.
“Hunter, c’mon!” another boy called.
Could it be ...? I tried to remember what he looked like. It had been so long. No, it was some other Hunter. My Hunter was not that tall, his face had been rounder, his fingers shorter and chubbier. Besides, the Hunter I knew had moved far away. He hadn’t been around here in many years.
As he hurried off to join his friend, I sat and watched everything, unable to sleep. The Ferris wheel twinkled above the barn roofs as it rotated slowly against the night sky. The crowd was beginning to dwindle. The girl across the aisle woke, brushed the little dog from her lap, and left as it bounced along beside her. Her figure flashed between light and darkness until she turned the corner.
Then other flashing lights came into view, bright red orbs twirling above a white van as it trundled between the rows of cars parked behind the barn. The sound of a siren burst, then went silent, then burst again. The two ladies at the end of the stalls snagged a passerby.
“What’s going on? Some kid fall off one of those crazy rides?”
“Maybe someone got run over by a hog or a bull, Martha? Happens all the time.”
“No, some old guy. Just keeled over.”
“Heart attack?”
“That’s my guess. They’d just gotten off the Ferris wheel when he collapsed over by the candy apple booth. The guy there did CPR until the ambulance came.”
“Is he going to be okay?”
“Don’t know. Never came to. Doesn’t look promising, if’n you ask me.”
“My, my. Tragic. Just tragic.”
“Hope it wasn’t anyone’s father or husband.”
“I’m sure we’ll read about it in The Messenger tomorrow, if anything terrible happened.”
“I hope not.”
“Me, too. But the truth is, Florence, we all gotta go sometime. I’d rather drop dead at the county fair, a red pop and a bag of kettlecorn in my hands, than waste away in some old people’s home all drugged up, with tubes snaking out of me and a urine bag hanging from my bed rail.”
“Amen to that.”
chapter 19
Cecil didn’t come back that night. Or the next morning. The girl from across the aisle showed up early to brush her horse. The little dog wasn’t with her. She was about to leave when I stood on my hind legs and gazed over the top of the stall with pleading eyes.
I really have to pee and even though this place reeks of urine, I’m not sure I’m supposed to
do my business in here.
She extended her fingers, let me sniff them. “Do you have to go to the bathroom?”
Outside, yes.
“Okay.”
She unhooked my leash, slid open the door, and took me over to a patch of grass next to a flagpole. Ah, the relief. When I was done, she retrieved a shovel from inside the barn and disposed of my waste, then put me back in the stall. Not that I wanted to go back in there, but at least I could tolerate it awhile longer now. A man wearing a black zip-up jacket and a badge on his chest walked by.
“Do you know whose dog this is?” she asked him.
He looked into my stall and shook his head. “Nope.” He took a black box out of a pouch attached to his belt, flipped a switch on the side. Crackling noises came out of it. “You want me to radio to the head office and see if anyone’s missing one?”
“Sure, I guess. It’s just that she’s been here since last night and no one’s been around this morning. I can take care of her for now, but I have to be in the ring by nine.”
He put the black box to his ear, flipped another switch. “Hey, Charlie, has anyone reported a missing dog? ...What kind? Border Collie, I think.”
Australian Shepherd, you idiot. I do not have a tail. And if you bothered to look more closely, you’d see that I carry my head upright, not down between my shoulders.
“No? You sure? ... All righty, then. Well, if anyone calls, there’s one here in, uh, Stall 12, Horse Barn 3. Say, heard there was some excitement on the midway last night ...” He drifted toward the end of the stalls on his way out. “That right? Who was it? ... Really?” He stopped, looked back at me. I sank back down below the door and, after circling a few times, tucked myself next to the bale. “Do you know what kind of a dog he had with him?”
His boots pounded on the packed sawdust. I hunkered lower.
“Say,” he said to the girl, “you mind keeping an eye on him?”
“Her, you mean?”
“Sure.” He studied me for an uncomfortably long string of seconds. “I think I’ve figured out whose dog it is. Or was, actually.”
The look he gave me was like a fist to my gut. They were talking about Cecil. And the news wasn’t good.
“No problem. But like I said, only for a little bit. I have to bathe Isis and get ready for the ring. My mom will have a cow if I’m not there fifteen minutes ahead of time.”
“That’ll work just dandy. Thanks.”
A minute later, the girl put a square Styrofoam container on the floor of my stall. In one side was a half-eaten burrito made of scrambled eggs and sausage. I inhaled it before she even had time to open a bottle of water and pour it in the other half. I licked my lips, wanting more.
“Sorry, that’s all I got for now. Someone’ll come back for you soon.”
I hoped so. The boredom was killing me, not to mention the worry.
—o00o—
The someone that stared down at me was the last someone I wanted to see inside that stall with me. The stink of tobacco clung to Tucker’s clothes. As he slid his hands down his thighs to grasp his knees, I could see the yellow cigarette stains on his fingertips and the way his lips were permanently pinched together. He wasn’t old, but he was worn and used, inside and out.
He thrust out his hand. I retreated against the back wall. Bits of straw clung to my fur. My mouth was bone dry. Last night had been warm and the day was getting unbearably hot. The girl hadn’t returned and so I’d been without water for over half the day. People had filed down the aisle endlessly, a few pausing at my stall to dribble baby talk to me, but all had moved on, mindless of my needs. At some point, I had awoken from a nap to find a handful of popcorn scattered in the mixture of dirt and sawdust. I ate it, but the kernels stuck in my dry throat and I ended up retching.
Again, Tucker reached for me. “C’mere, girl.”
I curled my lip at him. Don’t touch me, you tapeworm.
He snatched his hand back, sank to his haunches. “You’re a lively one. Truth be told, I trust you about as far as I can throw you — and the thought of doing that has crossed my mind. Now, come a little closer and you and I will walk out of here. Don’t you want to go home? Or maybe you want a dog biscuit first, huh? Puppy want a biscuit?”
Liar. I growled at him.
He twitched in fear. I could smell it in his sweat, hear it in his voice, see it in the way his fingers trembled as he reached up beside him to take hold of an old horse blanket hanging over the stall door. Slowly, he pulled the blanket between the metal bars. He draped it across his lap.
What exactly was he going to do with that thing? Sit down on it and stare at me until I befriended him? Not a chance in —
He crinkled a white paper bag beside him. “Maybe you want some barbecued ribs? Or would one of them breaded tenderloin sandwiches be to your liking? Why don’t you come over and have a look, see what I got in here?” He pulled out a greasy golden potato wedge and waggled it next to his knee. “How ’bout some French fries?”
My mouth watered. I loved French fries. Possibly more than air. Loved the goldeny goodness, the crispy outside, the starchy inside, the warm coating of oil, but most of all ... the salt. I ate them for the salt. Savored every crystal cube as it smarted on my tongue.
Once, when I was a puppy, I got my head stuck in a fast food bag, trying to lick the salt out of the bottom. I may have also once knocked the salt shaker off the table, trying to get it open. Trouble, the cat, had gotten blamed for that one, while I innocently emptied the entire contents of my water bowl. And there were all those times Hunter had shared his fries with me under the table.
Don’t do it, Halo.
Tucker tossed a fry onto the ground, halfway between us. If I could be quick enough ... I dove for it.
That was when he threw the blanket over my head.
Before I could wrangle my way out of it, he had the thing wrapped around my head. I flailed my snout left and right, biting at the blanket, hoping to puncture tender flesh with my teeth. But every time I thrashed he pulled the blanket tighter. I kicked and clawed, snapped at the darkness, yawped and wailed. The stiff, smelly cloth tightened around me. Through the muffled layers, his curses poured over me. “Goddamn mongrel. Jeezus, you nasty bitch, I’m gonna —”
Where’s Cecil? Bernadette? Why didn’t they come to get me?
Saliva foamed in my mouth. I gasped for air and inhaled a lungful of dust and horse hair. Panic set it.
“— think you’re gonna bite me? No way in hell, you l’il sh—”
The blanket tangled around my legs, flipping me onto my side. He pressed his weight over me, held me down as I continued to struggle. My heart pounded, its rhythm so rapid it made one continuous sound. ThumpThumpThumpThump ...
Fight! I told myself. Don’t let him take you!
“— didn’t like you the first time I saw you. Wolf eyes, that’s what you —”
But I was getting tired. I needed to breathe. Needed ... air.
Let him think you’ve given up. Let him trust that you have succumbed to his physical superiority. That he has outwitted you. That you submit. And then, when he’s not looking, then bite him and escape.
Against my instinct, I willed myself to relax. I let my legs go limp, let the tension drain out of my muscles. His body was crushing my ribs, pushing what little air was in them out. I held my breath, hung onto it, until my lungs screamed at me to inhale again. When I exhaled a little puff of air so I could gulp in a breath, my ribs collapsed further, wringing the life out of me.
The sounds of the fair faded, giving way to the gentle pulse of blood in my ears. I thought of yesterday. Of the trial. The glow of pride in Cecil’s face as the judge handed him the ribbon and the prize money. The touch of his hand as it grazed the top of my head.
Good girl, Halo.
Then Cam’s voice, faint but clear. That was a very good dog.
Lise’s words, overflowing with relief. That was a very, very good girl.
I am! I am a
good dog, I said. But no one heard me.
And that was when I felt the sharp pin prick in my loin. The sting of icy poison being plunged into my veins.
The last thing I heard was Tucker Kratz’s caustic laughter as I tumbled into a bottomless hole.
chapter 20
Tires vibrated over asphalt, jarring every joint in my body. Pins jangled, hinges rattled, and the constant clang of metal melded into a discordant percussion. Again and again, darkness was broken by a blaze of white light, followed by a thunderous hum as semi-trucks sped by. Every time the horse trailer I had been placed in was sucked into the vacuous void of their wake, the old trailer fishtailed several feet before being jerked back onto its trajectory.
Bile burned my throat, spilled over my tongue, and dribbled from my mouth until I was soaked in a growing puddle of it. Tight leather straps dug into the back of my head. Metal wires, woven into a stiff basket, encased my mouth. A muzzle. So, Tucker was afraid of me, was he? I had restrained myself from biting Ned Hanson. If given the chance, I wouldn’t exercise the same self-control in regards to Tucker Kratz.
I tried to keep my eyes open, but the sleeping medicine Tucker had injected into my muscles was strong. So strong that I didn’t know if a few hours or a few days had passed. I was too drained to gauge hunger or thirst, too numb to feel fear or anxiety. The only thing I could sense with any certainty, besides the constant jouncing of stiff rubber tires on a potholed road, was the cool surface of the rusty metal floor on which I lay.
Why was he doing this to me? I knew when I saw him that he had no intention of taking me home. I had recognized something surreptitious, something sinister behind his eyes. We dogs can tell the good people from the bad. Words mean nothing if actions belie them. It’s all in the eyes, the tone of voice, the mannerisms. Dogs know these things in the same way we know hunger, thirst, and fatigue. We feel it, somewhere deep inside, in the pith of our souls, just as we feel joy or grief. We sense it in the same way we do danger. It is the ability to gather small, almost imperceptible cues, compile them instantaneously, and act without deliberation. It is a gift that has preserved our kind for millennia.
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