Through it all, I kept wondering when Lise would come back to get us. Or if she ever would.
Ned smashed the shovel against the kennel door’s bottom. The ice that had locked it in place chimed as it fell to the ground, shattering into a hundred glassy shards. He yanked the door open, grabbed the handle of the bucket sitting in the corner and grunted.
“Well, shit. Frozen solid.” He hauled it out, then smacked a metal bowl down beside my dog house. Kibble rattled in the bottom.
I hung back, wary.
“What the hell’s the matter with you?” he said. “Come here if you wanna eat. I ain’t gonna hurt you.” He nudged the food dish forward an inch with his foot.
Hunger overruled my sensibility. I dove for it. But before I could vacuum up the first piece, Ned swung his boot at the bowl. It skidded across the crusty ice, slammed into the door with a bang, and overturned. Half the kibble fell in a loose pile. The rest of it scattered beyond the outside of the kennel. Before I could react, he landed another kick between my ribs and stomach. Yelping, I scurried into the corner. He guffawed as he went out through the door and then swung it shut. Not until he was out of sight and I had my breath back did I go for the food. I gobbled up every nugget within reach, rooting with my nose beneath the bowl to flip it over and find a few more.
Returning, Ned removed Bit’s bucket and placed her bowl down. She was wise enough to stay inside her dog house and wait for him to leave. I hid while he took mine. As he tromped away, blocks of ice swinging from each gloved hand, he made a point of grinding the food scattered on the ground outside into the snow. He disappeared into the barn.
I reached a paw through one of the kennel links nearest the bottom, but I could only get my leg through partway. In the end, I managed to pull just two nuggets inside. The rest were either too far away or had been crushed to dust beneath his heel.
A pale sun climbed high in a watery sky laced with pastel clouds. Its brightness, what little there was, was deceptive, for it shed no warmth on the frozen earth below. The snot had frozen at the edge of my nostrils. The leather of my nose was dry and cracked. My pads were split and bleeding. Pea-sized balls of ice clung to my feathers and britches on the backs of my legs and rear, making little clacking sounds whenever I moved about, which wasn’t often anymore. My attempts to get someone’s attention from inside the house had fallen on deaf ears and sapped all my strength.
In the next kennel, Bit groaned. We were both still hungry and might have been thirsty as well if we hadn’t learned to bite at the ice and let it melt in our mouths.
Finally, I gave up watching and went inside my doghouse, rooting around in the straw until I had dug a deep nest. There I hunkered down, able to see most of Ned’s comings and goings as he went from the barn, to the shed, to the house, and back out to the barn. He didn’t return to our kennels with fresh water.
I must have dozed off, because the sun was sliding low when I heard the garage door go up and Estelle’s big blue Buick back out. Rolls of white exhaust billowed from the tailpipe. It was Ned who got out of the car. He shut the door and went inside. A few minutes later he reappeared with two suitcases, which he tossed in the trunk. The moment he slammed the trunk closed, Estelle stepped out the kitchen door.
“You sure about this, ma’am?” Ned said, in a suspiciously polite tone.
“Never been more.” Estelle hoisted her oversized purse on her shoulder and clung to the handrail as she descended the stairs. “I thought maybe if I unloaded the farm animals and just let you lease the land, I could handle things. But being here by myself ... the loneliness is just eating me up, Ned. This ice storm is what did me in. Going on three days now without power. Roads so bad I didn’t dare go out on them. What if I fell and broke my hip? Nobody’d ever know. I’d just rot in the big old house until the mail piled up.”
“I’d check on you, Mrs. McHugh. D’you need me to run some errands for you? Do some more chores around the house?”
Estelle put her hand out, and Ned laid the car keys in them. “I can’t even get you to show up regularly, as it is. Your mama and me, we go way back, God bless her soul, but you got enough on your plate with your own place.” She opened the passenger side door, tossed her purse inside and waddled around the back of the car. “I’ll be back in the spring for the rest of my things — and to help Sheridan Bexley get the place ready for auction. Breaks my heart, leaving this place, but my sister has a great condo down in Naples, Florida and —”
“Ain’t you gonna miss seeing your grandkids?” Ned stood before the driver’s side door, blocking her path, like he didn’t want to let her leave.
Her chin sank. She tugged at the lapel of her coat. “Haven’t seen my dear little Hunter since Lise took off for Covington. My friend Marcella is a friend of Lise’s friend Grace’s mother, if you follow that. Said Lise was having some trouble with her pregnancy. Minor stuff, she swore, but the doctor told Lise to stick close to home — meaning up north, not here. Poor Hunter has his own problems. Her mother’s not been well, either, I hear. Had one of those mini-strokes. And her father’s in a home with Alzheimer’s.” She looked around, her eyes skipping past the kennels to the barn, then over the fields. “Lord, and here I am going south. Never thought I’d see the day. Tears my heart right out of my chest, it does.”
Awkwardly, Estelle shifted to her right, trying to wedge past Ned, but he stood firm, his fists crammed deep in his coverall pockets.
“For crying out loud, Ned, I need to get in my car and go. Is there something you need?”
He drew his hands from his pockets, looked down at his palms. His gaze flitted my way. “Just that ... the dogs need some more food and, well, I hafta come out here every day. They ain’t like cows. Cows you can just throw down some hay and let ‘em drink out of the creek and they’ll be fine for days, or even weeks, but them dogs, they —”
“There’s a check on the kitchen table. Should cover things for a while. In the meantime, I think Mr. Penewit is gonna come take a look at the girls this weekend. Ray had promised him a pup once for helping out when we had that big flood, but the timing was never right. I told him he might as well take those dogs off my hands. Heaven knows Lise hasn’t taken enough interest in them to come and get them. I think that whole bit about not being able to have dogs where she is is a lot of nonsense, but what do I know?”
She shuffled past him, got in her car and backed into the turnaround. Ned barely scooted out of the way in time to avoid having his boots crushed beneath her tires — which would have served him right. Estelle wasn’t fifty feet down the driveway when she threw the car into reverse, stopped next to Ned, and rolled down the window.
“Thanks for warming up the car for me, and bringing my suitcases down from the attic and all.”
He shrugged. “Weren’t nothin’.”
She started to roll the window back up, then paused it halfway. “Almost forgot. I think there are mice or something in the garage. I moved an old bucket in there a week ago and found a pile of shredded newspaper. Ray always kept too much junk around. I warned him it would attract varmints.”
“Yeah, I saw a hole in the drywall in there the size of my fist. Rats, more likely.”
Even from a distance I could see her eyes get huge. “Rats, really? You think so?”
“I’d bet on it.”
“You’ll take care of them? I don’t want any damage to the property before it goes up for auction.”
“First thing tomorrow.”
“Good. You have my number if anything comes up, right?”
“Sure do.”
“And don’t forget to water the dogs. I was just too afraid to go all the way out there with the ice, but I could see from the kitchen window that they were all right.”
See us? Could she see us shivering and hungry? If she had noticed one of us frozen to the ground, would she have bothered to venture out even then?
At least wild coyotes could dig dens to wait out the winter. Our kennels were on a pad
of concrete. The only way out was through the door. Why not bring us in before the storm ever came? Bit and I had been used to being in the house. Even the barn or the garage would have been better than being stuck out here.
“Don’t worry,” Ned reassured her. “I got it all under control here. Enjoy Florida.”
“Too darn hot for me, but it’ll be good to be with my sister. Haven’t seen her since the reunion three years ago. Bye now, Ned.”
As Estelle rolled away in her big car, on her way south, Bit came up and leaned against the kennel panel next to me. If I pressed myself really close, I could almost feel the heat from my mother’s body. Almost.
chapter 9
Ned Hanson never brought our water buckets out that day. I might have been thankful for the snow, but the snow was cold and eating it only made me colder. Even when the wind died down and the sun came out, it became harder and harder to stay warm. I had almost forgotten what it felt like to lie over the register in Lise and Cam’s old house, the hot air tickling my belly and heating me to the core. Those days seemed so long ago — even to me, a dog not yet a year old. But, a lot can happen in a year. Sometimes, even more can happen in a day.
Three more days went by again before Ned came back. By then, I could sense that my belly had shrunk, the skin pulling tight up into my ribs. I hadn’t felt my toes for over a week. Sometimes I had to look down, just to check that they were still on the ends of my legs. The first day after Estelle left, I paced in circles, trying to warm my bones. But that only made me more tired. I’d barked and barked the first two days, hoping to alert a distant neighbor or passerby on the road, but now even that was too much effort.
When a truck clanged down the driveway, I emerged from my doghouse, hopeful it was the other man Estelle had spoken of. But it was only Ned. I almost went back inside my flimsy shelter, when it occurred to me I ought to pee while I was out. I hadn’t peed in ... I couldn’t remember. I squatted, straining to empty my bladder, but only a few drops came out, staining the dirty snow a dark orange. Layers of my excrement were frozen beneath the ice. I was ashamed of the filth, my fur even smelled of urine and poop, but what could I do? If I had been allowed out, I would have done my business in a corner of the yard, like Lise had taught me. Ned could seldom be bothered to clean up after us, so it had piled up until there was hardly any place I could step that hadn’t been soiled. At least in the last few days I hadn’t had much inside me to get rid of. Like now.
Over Ned’s shoulder flopped a sack of dog food. It wasn’t our usual kind — the supply that Lise had sent with us had long since run out. The sacks Ned brought with him were often torn and taped. Remains, he called them. Sacks damaged in transit or by careless customers at the store. Sometimes chewed into by mice. So we got whatever was available. Once it had even been cat food. Tasty, but the diarrhea afterwards had almost made it not worth it.
He ducked into the barn. A minute later he came out and went back to his truck, where he fished out a plain brown sack. On his way back to the garage, he pulled a small bright yellow box from the sack. His grungy baseball cap turned backwards, he came out of the barn, rattling the kibble around in our metal bowls. Bit came out of her house, but I stayed inside. Even when he opened my door and slapped the pan down, I didn’t come out. No sense risking getting kicked. Or having my food spilled again. I’d waited three days already. I could wait three more minutes.
Bit could hardly help herself, though. She danced on her toes and did a couple of little leaps, she was so happy to be fed. This time she was smart enough to keep her distance, at least. I cringed as the door creaked open and Ned stomped inside Bit’s kennel.
Belching loudly, Ned dropped the bowl in the corner. “Yup, cheap beer and tacos. Breakfast of champions.” He rubbed his stomach in a circle and belched again. Just as he stepped out of Bit’s kennel and lifted his hand toward the latch, the sound of a donkey braying came out of his front pocket. He pulled his cell phone out. “Hey, Garth, you jackass! What’s up? ... Naw, it’s your turn to bring the case. Mine to bring the smokes. Marcus is bringing the food. Those girls still coming? ... Oh yeah, what kind of videos?” He turned in a circle, his pinkie stuffed in his free ear as he picked at some wax. His eyebrows waggled. “Yeah, man, that’s what I’m talking about. Gonna get me some. Now you remember that I got my eye on the redhead. Keep your hands off her, you hear? Else you’re gonna feel a rifle barrel jammed against your spine... Shut. Up. I ain’t kidding, you dumb asshole. Try me.”
He ambled away toward the house, his coat flapping open in front, the laces on his shoes loose and trailing over the muddy ground, as he rambled on about beer and girls.
Mud? Oh, the snow had melted. Funny, I didn’t feel warmer.
In the time it took him to go into the house and come back out lugging buckets of fresh water, Bit had licked her bowl clean, but I still hadn’t come out of my house. My brain was in a fog. It was like watching everything through a veil of cobwebs. I should have been excited about the food, but I could barely muster the energy to lift my head and watch as Ned put the buckets in our kennels, then went and got in his truck.
He left without incident. I had food and water. But somehow, it didn’t seem like enough.
Yawning, I stretched my legs. I knew I needed to eat, but my stomach hurt. I forced myself to sit up, then stand. My heart was racing so fast, it felt like I’d just run down to the pond and back at breakneck speed. But all I was doing was standing there.
A wave of dizziness swept over me. I sat down until it passed, closed my eyes for a moment. When I opened them again, I saw three little yellow birds with tufted crests perched on the edge of my bowl. I tried to bark at them, but it came out as nothing more than a breathy huff.
“You’re losing it, girl,” one of the birds spouted, puffing up her feathers. The other two flapped their wings in agreement.
I blinked, hard. What the ...? Their chirps morphed into clicks. No, they weren’t birds anymore. They were three golden hamsters hanging over the edge of the bowel, crunching on my kibble. They chattered in squeaky voices, laughing, and pointed at me with their tiny claws. More hamsters squeezed beneath the bottom bar of the kennel and jumped into the bowl. How dare they eat my food?!
I lunged forward in attack mode. My paws slammed into the bowl. It flipped up in the air, twisting on its axis, a wobbling disc of silver against a broad blue sky. At its apex, it hovered, kibble raining everywhere. Then it plummeted straight down before landing with a bone-clattering clang. The sound rang and rang in my ears like a gong that wouldn’t stop.
Furry lumps with red beady eyes scattered before me as I snapped and snapped and snapped, gobbling them up one by one. I swallowed without chewing or tasting. Until the ache in my stomach returned.
My guts twisted in agony. A cramp gripped my middle. Pushed up my throat. A heave rolled through me. I gagged. Moist nuggets spilled over my tongue in barely eaten blobs. I vomited again. And again. Piles of it. Kibble. Not hamsters or birds. No fur. No feathers. Just ... dog food.
I sat there awhile, staring at my dinner, a chunky puddle of bile spreading steadily outward. I didn’t feel well. No longer hungry, I backed away from it.
Then I heard Bit’s soft whimper. She was standing just outside my kennel, her black nose pressed to the links.
Outside? How did she get outside?
The latch. Ned had forgotten to flip down the latch on her door.
Bit pawed at my door, but it wouldn’t give. She stared up at my latch for a long, long time, the wheels turning in her head. Finally, she backed up a step, then sprang upward, over and over. With each leap, she gained height. She bounced off the door with her front feet, reaching her paws as high as she could.
But it wasn’t enough. The latch was too high. She quickly began to tire.
Go, Mother. Just go, I wanted to say. Run as fast as you can, as far as you can.
But of course, I couldn’t. All I could do was wish myself on the outside with her, wish for Lise
to come and take us home, wish for this misery, this limbo, to end.
I folded to the ground, the bottom of my rib cage sinking into a stinking puddle of melted snow and urine. There was nowhere I could sit that wasn’t damp and dirty. I no longer cared.
The sun slid low, dipping behind the woods to the west of the small pasture. Shadows marched across the farmyard. Along with them, Bit retreated.
—o00o—
The silver light of dawn spilled over distant hills. On the bark of the broad oak that stood in the center of the big pasture, a pearlescent sheen of frost glimmered, each gnarled branch reaching outward likes the grasping fingers of an old man. A thin snow fog lingered above the ground, the air as breezeless as the inside of a house.
I remembered how it was, to be inside. Warm, dry, fed. I remembered being happy and loved, too. Belly rubs from Hunter. Playing ball. The way Lise used to dribble the warm, leftover gravy from dinner over my food. The quiet mornings spent with Cam by the fishing pond and all the times he took me to ride along in the truck.
Then Cam died. And everything changed.
On the top bar of my kennel, a robin sang a morning revelry, her rosy chest puffing with rapid breaths. Of course she was happy. She was free to come and go. All she had to do was spread her wings and fly.
A gray form emerged from the barely open barn door and floated through the breaking mist. It was Bit, looking far more energetic than I had felt in weeks. She paused before my kennel, gazed at me forlornly for a moment, then pawed at the links.
I lifted my head in greeting. It was all I could do. I was so, so cold. So very tired.
Whining, she trotted away toward the garage. Halfway there, she stopped, looked back at me as if I might suddenly be following her, then went inside the building. How careless of Ned to have left so many doors open and unlocked. There were valuable tools and machinery inside still. Ray would have been irate. I’d seen how he kept his wrenches lined up by size on the pegboard in the garage, the neatly ordered shelves with all their bottles, glass jars and boxes, and the garden tools hanging along the wall, grouped by purpose. Ray had taken pride in his home and his farm. And now Estelle had abandoned it all and left it in the care of Ned Hanson? He would have been so disappointed.
Say No More Page 9