Dark River Road

by Virginia Brown

  Chantry met his eyes and nodded. Hope made his heart beat faster. “Try me.”

  “All right. Got Mrs. Tidwell’s sick cat in that last cage on the bottom. The cage needs cleaning pretty bad. There’s the disinfectant. See how clean you can get it.”

  Chantry got a bucket and the disinfectant, a scrub brush and some rags and approached the cage. It stunk something fierce. His stomach rolled. A fat white cat squatted in the middle of a wad of newspaper, eyes slitted and glaring up at him as if daring him to even try. He knelt in the front, and slid open the latch slowly. The cat hissed, sharp teeth showing. He waited a minute, then started talking softly to the cat. It wasn’t having any of it. The minute Chantry put his hand in the cage the cat slashed him quick as anything, four red stripes of blood welling up on the back of his hand before he could jerk it back fast enough.

  “Shit!” he couldn’t help yelping, then glanced over his shoulder. Malone wasn’t in sight. He turned back to the cage. The cat hissed again, looking menacing and pretty proud of the fact it’d gotten rid of that hand. This wasn’t going to be easy. Smears of poop went up the steel walls and lay in clumps on the floor. A litter box was virtually untouched, but newspaper was wet and soggy and shredding with urine and feces. Mrs. Tidwell’s cat hunched in the middle of all of it.

  After a minute of eye to eye contact, Chantry tried again, but the cat leaped at him and set the litter box on its side, spilling clay litter all over the bottom of the cage. It mixed with the wet newspaper and clumps of poop. Chantry looked at the mess, then he set the bucket in the middle of the big cage between him and the cat. He blocked the opening with his body in case the cat tried to escape, but it decided it didn’t like the plastic bucket and backed into a corner. Grabbing a dry towel, he wrapped it around the cat to keep the claws busy and managed to get it into an empty cage, then set to work cleaning up the mess and scrubbing.

  By the time he finished, the cage was clean, the litter box refilled, fresh water in the bowl, clean newspapers put down, and he had four more claw marks on his arm where he’d gotten careless.

  Malone stopped behind him. He eyed the cage, the cat, and Chantry for a minute. Then he nodded. “Show up after school and half-days on Saturday. Four dollars an hour.”

  “Three-fifty and a fifty percent discount on the best dog food you sell.” Chantry met Malone’s eyes, saw something flicker there, and wondered if he’d gone too far. Then Malone nodded.

  “Done. There’s some hydrogen peroxide and Neosporin by the sink. Use it on those scratches.”

  The vet walked away and Chantry let out the breath he’d been holding. He had a job, and he’d be able to get Shadow good food. And he had a plan. If life really was about making his own future, he’d give it a shot.

  Mama wasn’t as pleased as he’d thought she’d be when he told her about his job.

  “Your school work should come first, Chantry. A high grade point average will get you into almost any college you choose to attend.”

  He didn’t say what was on his mind, that college would take too much time and keep him tied to Cane Creek too long. He just said he could do it all.

  “My grades are good. I can do it.”

  Mama gave in finally, but she still worried that he wouldn’t be able to keep up and told him if his grades suffered, he’d have to give up the job. That only made him more determined to do it all, especially when Rainey said it was a waste of time to even talk about sending him off to some damn college.

  “Let him get a job like Beau and Rafe done. They’re makin’ good money doin’ iron work off up in Missouri, and stayin’ with my kin saves money to boot. High rise work pays extra if you got balls enough to walk those beams. Takes a man to be a rod-buster.”

  Chantry didn’t say anything. He just stood in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room where Rainey sprawled out in his worn recliner with a beer in one hand and the remote to the TV in the other. Mama kept the house clean and neat, furniture always polished and the floors swept up, even the old rug, but there was no style to anything. It was just plain second-hand furniture, some of it covered in throws bought at the dollar store. Only the TV was new, bought with money made off the pups.

  “I do not intend for my son to have to do that kind of work,” Mama said stiffly, and that brought Rainey’s head snapping around to look at her. She didn’t back down. “Chantry has a good mind and should not have to use his back to earn a living. An education will ensure that he is never hungry or lacking.”

  “Like you?” Rainey’s laugh was mean and put bright color into Mama’s face. “Yeah, I see how much good your education’s done you. Livin’ here in this old shack that comes with your piddly-ass job, buyin’ cast-off clothes and havin’ to crawl to old man Quinton every time you want to get that kid some medicine.”

  “That kid is your own son,” Mama reminded him tightly. “If you had a job with good benefits, perhaps he could have the necessary surgery that would prevent him having to be on medication for the rest of his life.”

  Chantry stepped back into the hallway. This was gearing up to be another long argument. It was a familiar one these days. Especially since Mama had found out her insurance only covered a small portion of the medication required to keep Mikey alive. He thought about his plan. He’d figured it all out one night, that he’d get a job and spend only what he had to, save up the rest and when it came time to sell Shadow, he’d have enough money to pay Rainey for him. He’d read up on cattle dogs and Catahoulas in particular, and figured he had about a year, or maybe less before he could put him in some trials and increase his value. If he saved every penny he could from the job at the vet’s, and worked extra in the summertime with Dempsey, then he’d have at least a thousand dollars put back. When it came time, he’d give it all to Rainey and get the papers for Shadow; then he wouldn’t have to worry anymore about him. Not like now, when money got tight and Rainey looked at the dog like he thought about trading him off like he had Belle. Belle was better off with Mr. Crenshaw. Rainey’d thought he’d got the best end of the deal trading her for that old Dodge truck sitting outside in the gravel drive, but Chantry had seen the small smile of contempt on Crenshaw’s face and knew better.

  Rainey’d forget the bargain he made with Chantry next time he was out of beer or whiskey if he could, and he needed to be ready with another plan. A contingency plan, he’d heard Mama call it once. That’s what life with Rainey was all about. Contingency plans. Emergency plans.

  “Chantry?” he heard Mikey say sleepily, and went into the bedroom they shared to see if he was okay.

  “Hey sport. What are you doing awake so late?”

  “I dunno. Got woke up.” Mikey’s hand flapped toward him, and a faint smile curved his mouth. He looked like one of the angels Chantry had seen in a painting, his face round and pale and so pretty he should have been a girl. Mikey’s light hair curled in soft ringlets if it got long enough, but he made Mama keep it short so no one would think he was a little girl. There was something strong inside Mikey, even if his body couldn’t keep up.

  “Go back to sleep,” Chantry said. “It’s just the TV.”

  Mikey blinked, eyes almost like a wise old owl’s. “I wish I wasn’t sick all the time. I wish I was like you.”

  Chantry’s throat got tight. He looked away. A square of light came through the half-open door, and he focused on the way it looked against the bare floor for a minute.

  “You will be,” he said finally. “We’ve just got to get you the right medicine. That’s all.”

  “Hey Chantry. Can I help you with Shadow? I wouldn’t get in the way. I promise.”

  He looked back at his brother. “What do you mean?”

  Mikey struggled to sit up, levering his body up on his elbows. “You’re gonna train him to be a cattle dog, right? I’ll help. We can take him down to the park and let him practice on the geese.”

  Chantry laughed. “On the geese? Heck, Mikey, they’d peck him to death. Those geese are
mean as snakes.”

  “Then he’d learn not to get too close, right?”

  He looked at Mikey in surprise. “Yeah. Maybe.”

  The next Saturday after he got through cleaning cages and feeding dogs and cats at the vet’s, Chantry and Mikey took Shadow down to the park in the middle of town. He’d helped Dempsey mow the lawn so many times he knew every place the geese had their nests, but this time of year there weren’t any babies. Soon the wild geese would fly away like they did every year, lifting off in a wide vee like an arrow and going to wherever it was they went for the winter.

  A lake sat in the middle of the park, with benches around it and reeds and cattails along the shoreline. Geese and ducks floated in the middle or pecked for food among the reeds, and on occasion, huddled greedily near anyone foolhardy enough to bring old bread out to feed them.

  Chantry had a healthy respect for the geese. They nipped pretty hard, and once an old gander had gotten him down on the ground, beating his big wings and pecking him so hard in the back of his head it’d drawn blood. If Shadow could herd geese, he could herd anything.

  At nearly four months, the pup had that gangly look to him, all legs and attitude. Chantry didn’t expect much this first time, just wanted to see what the pup could do. Some dogs had it in them to naturally herd. Some had to be taught. He’d read up on it, but he didn’t have much free time or the equipment required to really train him. He’d have to improvise.

  “Sit here,” he told Mikey, and lowered him to a bench not far from the lake. “We’ll see what he does.”

  He knelt beside Shadow and unsnapped the lead from his collar, but kept a firm hand on him. Shadow fixed him with a steady gaze, his clear eyes attentive. Black floppy ears pricked up a little like he knew something new was about to happen. As a blue merle Louisiana Catahoula Leopard dog he had a blue-gray base coat with black and liver spots, white fur on his chest and toes, and his legs were dark. Fully grown, he might get to seventy or eighty pounds and stand over two feet high at the shoulder. Right now, he was all pup.

  “Okay boy, here’s what you’re gonna do,” Chantry said and pointed to several geese at the edge of the lake. “Fetch.”

  Shadow already knew how to fetch a stick. He’d have to learn how to fetch stock, bring them around from pasture to pen despite obstacles like fences and open gates. Catahoulas used a different approach to herding, more of an intimidation technique. Large animals like cows would be the eventual goal, but for now the gaggle of geese would do.

  Already intrigued by the feathered prey, Shadow bounded forward. Bred to handle wild cattle and boar hogs in rough country, Catahoulas were also used in hunting coon, bear, or anything else a man might want. A few geese should present no real danger, even to a pup.

  Diving right into the middle of the geese before they could scatter, Shadow let out an excited bay that was still high-pitched instead of the deep call it would be one day. Angry hisses returned the greeting. A big gray-feathered goose darted toward him with long neck out and thick bill meaning business. Shadow stumbled over his big puppy feet trying to get out of the way and went down, rolling while the goose stabbed him sharply a few times. Yelps rent the air.

  “Oh help him, Chantry,” he heard Mikey call, but he stood still and waited.

  Another goose darted in, pecking fiercely at the pup. Shadow got to his feet, clear eyes rimmed in white and looking wide as dinner plates in his blue face. Some people said dogs don’t have expressions, but if ever there was an expression of surprise on any canine face, Shadow had it now. He backpedaled a few feet, hind legs slipping into the water. A third goose joined the fray. Water splashed, feathers flew, and in a couple of minutes, Shadow emerged from the water with new resolve. He darted at one of the geese and it half-flew, half-ran out of reach. He went after it. Chantry watched closely in case it looked like the pup would go in for a kill. That’d be trouble.

  But Shadow retreated just enough, coming around fast enough the goose didn’t catch him again. In stalking mode, he drove it forward a couple of feet, then darted toward another goose, going back and forth between them until the geese decided to quit for the day. Chantry relaxed. Maybe Shadow hadn’t managed to fetch or herd, but he’d acquitted himself pretty good for a first time, he thought.

  “That your dog, son?”

  Chantry half-turned, looked up to see Dale Ledbetter watching him. “Yessir.”

  “Aren’t you Rainey Lassiter’s boy?”

  “He’s my stepfather.” He’d never admit to more kinship with Rainey than he had to do.

  Mr. Ledbetter nodded, eyes going back to Shadow. He wasn’t a big man, medium height with light brown hair, but he had an air about him that commanded instant respect. Chantry called the dog to heel and he trotted up obediently.

  “How old is that pup?” Mr. Ledbetter asked. “I’d heard Lassiter had some Catahoula pups for sale a while back.”

  “Nearly four months.”

  “He’s pretty small for that.” Ledbetter eyed Shadow critically. Chantry bent to snap the lead to his collar, and then stood back up.

  “He’ll grow.”

  “Reckon he will at that.” Ledbetter looked thoughtfully at Chantry, then down at Shadow again. “He’s got double cracked glass eyes. Any deafness or eye problems?”

  “No sir.”

  “Sharp dog. I’ll be keeping an eye on him. I like to see a good dog work.”

  “Yessir.” Chantry took a step away, uneasy with the way Mr. Ledbetter was looking at the dog, like maybe he thought about trying to buy him. Rainey’d forget their bargain quick as scat if he got any kind of offer. He twitched the end of the lead between his fingers. “He’s the runt. Mr. Crenshaw bought the mother. I hear he’s going to breed her. Ought to be good pups.”

  Mr. Ledbetter looked back at him. “So I hear. Good bloodline. Glad to know Crenshaw has the dog now.” There was an unspoken criticism in that, but since Chantry agreed, he didn’t say anything. “Lassiter plan on training this dog?” Ledbetter asked after a moment.

  “No.” That was true. Rainey didn’t plan on doing anything but raking in money. “I’m just messin’ around with him. He’s too little to be a good stock dog.”

  A faint smile pressed in one corner of Mr. Ledbetter’s mouth like he understood Chantry’s reasons for downplaying the dog. “You know the old saying, ‘It ain’t the size of the dog in the fight, it’s the size of the fight in the dog.’ Reckon we’ll just see about this dog, huh, son?”

  “Yessir.”

  “Give your mother my regards.”

  Mr. Ledbetter walked away, back to where his family sat on a quilt on the ground beneath some old trees, having a picnic on a Saturday afternoon. Dale Ledbetter owned the local Ford dealership in Cane Creek, and his family had come to this area somewhere around the same time as the Quintons. But where the Quintons tried to own everything around, the Ledbetters just quietly did what they wanted and kept pretty much to themselves. Dale Ledbetter had been mayor a few years before but decided not to run again when old man Quinton backed another candidate. Mama said it wasn’t that Dale Ledbetter was afraid of losing, just that he wasn’t interested enough in another term of constant backbiting to put his hat in the ring. Now Philip Sheridan, Cinda’s father, was the mayor of Cane Creek.

  “What’cha wanna do now, Chantry?” Mikey asked, and he sat down beside him on the bench. “Wanna see if Shadow can do it again?”

  “Not today. This is enough for the first time.”

  Mikey just nodded, and his eyes went to the playground where children laughed and shrieked on the swing sets and slides. He had a wistful look that cut straight to Chantry’s gut. He thought about how selfish he was being to save money to buy a dog when Mikey needed so much. It’d be better if he helped Mama pay for the doctors. But maybe by the time he had enough saved Mama would have figured out a way to pay for everything, or the state bureaucrats would change their mind and pony up the rest of the money instead of send Mama those short letters sayin
g she made too much money to qualify for medical aid. He’d seen her cry over the last one, but she’d stopped real quick when she saw him standing in the doorway.

  “Where there’s a will, there’s a way,” she’d said then, and folded the letter and stuffed it in her pocket. If it hadn’t fallen out and he hadn’t read it, he might not have known just why she had that tragic look in her eyes. But it had and he had, and now he felt even worse that he still hadn’t done the right thing and given Mama any money to put in savings.

  She hadn’t asked, didn’t expect him to help, and somehow that made it worse, too. Mama never expected any help. And she damn sure didn’t get any.

  Maybe when he got his first full week’s paycheck from the vet he’d give it to her. Then he could still keep saving for Shadow, too. There would be registration fees for the GCSA to pay so he could enter Shadow in the trials. He hadn’t decided yet what class. Nursery was for any dog thirty months or under, and by next winter, Shadow should be ready to enter. The Gulf Coast Stock Association annual fees were only twenty dollars, but he’d have to pay for each class entered. There were cash prizes for some, but what mattered most to him was the number of points. At the end of any calendar year, the dog with the most points would be declared the High Point Dog of the Year. That’d make the dog much more valuable. He could breed a valuable dog, make extra money.

  After a little while of watching the other kids play, Mikey sagged against him and Chantry said it was time for them to go home. He didn’t argue, but climbed onto his back like he was told and put his thin arms around Chantry’s neck to hold on.

  “Don’t go too fast, Chantry.”

  “I won’t.”

  Mikey’s leg braces cut into his arms some as he trudged across the park, but he didn’t pay it any attention, thinking instead about the work he had to do to get Shadow ready for any kind of competition. It’d be hard holding off Rainey when he got a wild hair and wanted to sell the dog for whatever amount he could get. Mama was right about that. Only the promise of two thousand dollars he didn’t have to earn would keep Rainey’s eye on the goal.