Four-Footed Angels

by J. T. Livingston

  Amanda’s eyes began to tear up at the thought of how many animals were being abused across the nation. “We need to hear it, Tyler…what’s going to happen tomorrow night?”

  Tyler pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes for a moment before answering. “Most of the fights in the South abide by what is known as Cajun Rules.”

  “What? They actually have damn rules for killing these dogs?” Bertie cried out.

  Tyler nodded. “Yeah…the rules were created in 1952 by the late G.A. “Gaboon” Trahan…he was actually a police chief in Louisiana. He created a list of 19 rules that cover all aspects of professional dog fights…the last rule even specifies that a referee must organize a rematch if a bout is broken up by the police.”

  “Can you highlight some of those rules for us, Tyler?” Doug asked quietly. He kept his fists clenched together in order to contain the anger that was building up inside him. It had been many years since he had unleashed his anger upon anyone, so it was probably a good thing that Max had denied him permission to attend the fights scheduled for tomorrow night.

  Spartacus’ ears perked up and he looked over at Sam. “I’m not sure if I want to hear this…”

  Sam moved closer to him and leaned his head down. “It’s probably a good thing that Tyler is describing what’s going to happen…that way, you won’t be caught off guard. I had planned on telling you about it later, anyway…chin up, Champ…I told you…I’m not going to let anything bad happen to you.”

  “What about all the other dogs, though…” Spartacus sighed and flopped down on the tiled floor.

  Tyler began pacing back and forth. “Okay…the fight will take place on the Abbott ranch. There’s a large, secluded clearing in the backwoods. People will have to park their cars in another secluded area and walk about a half-mile to the fighting area. Some of these fights can go on for hours and can be pretty gruesome events, so most people will bring their own lawn chairs. Little John doesn’t allow any alcohol at the events and everyone is checked for weapons before they’re allowed to enter. Some professionals even allow children to attend these fights, but I guess that’s one good thing about Abbott…nobody under the age of sixteen is allowed to view the fights…and they have to be eighteen to place any bets…we’re not talking about fifty-to-hundred dollars bets either…the minimum bet for tomorrow night’s lowest-ranking fight is set at five thousand…”

  “Jesus Christ!” Bertie yelled. “Five thousand dollars to watch two dogs try to kill each other? Now I know these damn rednecks are as dumb as they act!”

  For once, Max didn’t stop to chastise Bertie’s use of foul language. “That is a lot of money…”

  Tyler nodded. “Yeah…and, like I said, that’s just for the preliminary fights. The minimum betting usually increases with each advancing fight. Fighters across the U.S. will be bringing their best dogs to this fight. The highest bets will probably be on the last two fights of the night.”

  Amanda crossed her arms tightly beneath her rib cage. “You’re talking about Sam and Spartacus, aren’t you?”

  Tyler nodded. “Spartacus is scheduled for the tenth fight. Since he lost his last fight against Czar, I heard that Abbot will probably pit him against a relatively new champion…that’s a dog that has won three fights…from North Carolina. Czar is the standing champion in this area; Abbott wanted to pit Czar against Sam, but the rules state that the two fighting dogs cannot have the same owner, so he’ll pick champions from other states for the two of them to go up against. I’m guessing he will save Sam for the last fight.”

  The night grew late as Tyler went on to describe, in detail, about the size of the ring, the roles of the referee, owners, handlers, and timekeepers; the required weigh-in and washings of the fighting dogs; how the winner is determined; and…what usually happens to the losing dog. It was eleven-thirty when he squeezed his eyes closed and shook his head. “It’s late, folks, and I really need to get these two back to their cages so that we can all get some rest before tomorrow night. I just want you all to know that I will be with Sam and Spartacus the entire time and will do everything within my power to keep them both safe.”

  “When will the authorities step in?” Max asked.

  “I don’t really know…all I know is that they will be there…some may be part of the crowd, others may be hidden,” Tyler said. “It’s important that they get as much of the fight on videotape as they can…not only the dogs involved are video-taped, but the spectators, too. The owners of these dogs will be punished, but…so will everyone else who is there watching the fights. That’s why they’ll probably wait until the very end to make the bust.”

  “What time does it begin?” Doug lifted his head. The anger was still evident in his facial expression.

  “There’s no set time yet…that information may not be known until one or two hours before the fights are scheduled to begin. Most of them on Abbott’s ranch take place just after dark…” Tyler answered back. “I’m guessing that folks will probably start arriving around seven, inspect the dogs that are scheduled to fight, place their bets…first fight should be ready to go by eight. It could be a long night…”

  “I want to be there…” Amanda gushed. “I need to be there…for Sam…”

  “NOOOOO!!!” came back the simultaneous and unanimous denial from the angels and Tyler.

  Amanda flinched and bit hard against her bottom lip. “Just try and stop me…” she thought as she glared back with blatant defiance.

  Buster felt the tension in his master’s arms and jumped down from her lap. He nuzzled in close against Sam’s side. “Geez…I’m mighty glad that I’m too young for this particular adventure!”

  Sam licked the pup’s head and said, “Pups younger than you have given up their lives to this terrible sport, Buster…so, I’m mighty glad you won’t be involved either…”

  34. The Day of the Fight

  Amanda had tossed and turned the night before, hoping her parents would come to her in her dreams, but they had not. Instead, her dreams had been filled with gory visions of Sam and Spartacus being torn apart inside a 16-foot by 16-foot ring, with canvas flooring. The yelping and whining from the discarded animals in her dream finally shook her awake at six o’clock. She knew she would not be able to go back to sleep, so she showered quickly, dressed in her oldest, most comfortable jeans and tee-shirt, and took Buster outside, behind the café, to do his business.

  She was so deep in thought and worry that she never noticed Doug sitting on the back porch step.

  Doug watched Amanda and Buster quietly for a few minutes before he stood up and walked over to the wood line where Buster was already chasing butterflies. “Good morning, Amanda,” he spoke softly.

  The sound of another human voice unnerved her; she was not expecting anyone to be outside this early in the morning. The sun was just beginning its slow ascent to the east of the café. She jumped and turned around. “Geeeezzz, Doug! You scared the holy crap out of me!”

  Doug titled his head before shaking it in denial. “There’s no such thing…”

  “What?” Amanda puzzled while placing a hand over her heart and catching her breath.

  “There’s no such thing as holy crap…it’s all just…regular…crap…” his fist covered his mouth to suppress a fake cough and to hide the grin that threatened to spread across his face.

  Amanda wrinkled her brows together and shook a finger at him. “If Bertie was here, she’d punch you for that one! What are you doing out here so early? You don’t usually check in until later in the day.”

  Doug could not keep the grin suppressed. “I know, but, there was a crowd waiting in the parking lot this morning, so Bertie opened up a little early. I decided to help out for a while…at least until she ordered me to take a break. I just stepped outside for a quick confabulation,” he said, looking upward toward Heaven.

  “Confabulation, huh?” Amanda teased as she took his hand and led him back to the steps. She sat down and patted the spot
beside her. “That’s an interesting word…”

  “It means…” Doug began.

  “I know what it means, Doug, but most folks today would just refer to it as a chat,” her voice held a tease-like quality to it.

  “Well, young lady…you have to remember that I died in 1953, and in 1953…it was a common word in my family’s household. My Dad, especially, loved to say it. He said he liked the way it rolled off his tongue.”

  “You know,” Amanda smiled. “I know a little about Bertie’s background, but, you’ve never talked much about your own. Neither has Max for that matter, but Bertie filled me in on his Gladiator status.”

  Doug smiled and shrugged. “I’m an open book, Amanda. What would you like to know?”

  “Well…” Amanda began slowly. “One thing has always intrigued me. So…it’s like…Max has been dead a gazillion years and even Bertie died over a hundred years ago. You say you died in 1953, and that was like…” she wrinkled her nose as she did the math in her head, “only sixty years ago…”

  “And you figured that out without a calculator…I am impressed, young lady!” Doug laughed.

  “Don’t make fun of me…what I’m getting at is…if you’ve only been dead for sixty years, don’t you ever worry that you might run into someone who…you know…might recognize you?”

  “That was a concern for Martin, yes…”

  “Martin is the mentor guy…in Heaven, right?” Amanda’s curiosity was heightened.

  “You could call him that, yes…” Doug smiled down at her. “You have to remember…I was only twenty when I died. This body that I was given in Heaven,” he placed his hands on his chest, “Well, it’s not the same body I had when I was twenty…and, it’s true…there could be an eighty-year old classmate or comrade out there somewhere who might still remember what I looked like in 1953, but the chances of that happening are pretty slim; slim enough that Martin decided to take a chance on me for the assignment to the Heavenly Grille.”

  “What about your parents? Did you have any brothers or sisters?” Amanda was eager to learn more about Doug’s past.

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, I did have parents!” Doug grinned.

  Amanda took a page from Bertie’s book and punched him hard against his shoulder. “Dang it! Bertie was right…that’s like hitting a concrete wall!”

  “Sorry,” Doug said as he took her wounded hand and kissed the top of it. “I was born on January 1, 1933…my parents were Joseph and Camille…”

  “Last name?” Amanda queried.

  Doug shook his head firmly. “No…angels do their best to never use last names…they no longer really matter to us, and it’s probably best if you mere mortals were not privy to that information. Anyway, let’s see…I was the youngest of three children…I have two older sisters, Emily and Rachel.”

  “Were y’all close?” Amanda asked. “That’s one thing I always wished for…a brother or sister; I think it would have made losing my parents so much easier if I had not been an only child.”

  Doug nodded. “I know what you mean…yes, the three of us were very close. Our entire family was close; there were no rebellious teenagers in our family. The Korean War was going on when I finished high school, so I walked downtown one Saturday afternoon and enlisted in the Army. I saw two years of heavy action, and was scheduled to return home at the end of July 1953.”

  “What happened…or is it too painful to talk about?” Amanda touched Doug’s shoulder.

  He placed his hand on top of hers and shook his head. “No, those memories are not painful for me at all. It was…July 16, 1953…and it was the last day of battle for what history has written about as the Battle of Pork Chop Hill…the enemy did not kill me…friendly fire did…”

  “Oh, no…” Amanda slapped her hand against her mouth.

  Doug bowed his head and closed his eyes. “It was a young soldier by the name of Charlie; he had only been on the ground for four months and had not seen any real action. My platoon got caught in the cross-fire between the enemy and another American platoon. Charlie panicked when I stood up to run after another comrade who had been shot. He tried to run after me, but he slipped and fell. When he fell, his finger pulled reflexively against the gun’s trigger, and…I was shot in the back…the bullet pierced my lungs.”

  Tears were streaming down Amanda’s cheeks. “I’m sorry I asked, Doug…it must be hard for you to have to relive that…”

  “No, not at all, Amanda…not at all, because, you see…my life did not really begin until the day I died. Heaven…it’s…”

  Max cracked open the back door and smiled at the duo leaning against each other. “Why don’t you save that story for another time, Doug? Good morning, Princess. If you don’t mind, I need the two of you to come inside and help Bertie out…I’ve never seen so many people here so early in the morning…lots of strange faces, too…”

  Amanda wiped away a tear and allowed Doug to help her up. She smiled at Max and said, “Good morning, Max…sure thing, I’ll be glad to help out.”

  “Strange faces?” Doug pondered. “I wonder if some of them are here for the fights tonight?”

  _____

  The crew at the Abbott ranch had all been assigned their specific duties to ready the ranch for the upcoming fight; so, by noon, Tyler found himself all alone in the training area with the dogs. He suspected that Little John might be at the cabin, and, he knew that Clint was overseeing the set-up for the arena. He had overheard Clint instructing some of the crew on how to set animal traps in the woods that surrounded the fight area. Yellow taping would be put up and spectators would be told to stay within the confines of the marked areas. Bubba and the rest of the crew were all busy doing the manual labor needed for the night’s fight, which also included the unpleasant duty of disposing of the bait animals.

  Tyler looked around to make sure he was alone with the dogs. He looked at their empty water bowls and quickly grabbed a hose and began to fill all their bowls with cool water. It was one thing not to feed them for two days leading up to a fight, but Tyler knew that the dogs needed water. He watched as every bowl was quickly drained, erasing evidence that Tyler had broken any rules…all bowls, except for one.

  Tyler walked over to Sam’s cage and bent down until he was looking the large black pit squarely in the eye. “You need to drink the water, fella…please…”

  The dog appeared to be smiling at him again and Tyler fell on his butt when Sam’s eyes glowed a brilliant gold.

  “My, God…it’s true, isn’t it? What Amanda told me about you…you’re not a real dog, are you? That’s why you don’t need food or…water.” He watched as Sam’s eyes returned to their normal color. “Man, I’d give anything if you could talk to me…tell me that everything is going to go according to plan tonight…that Spartacus will be okay…”

  Spartacus was in the cage next to Sam and barked excitedly when he heard his name.

  Tyler reached inside the cage and rubbed the back of Spartacus’ neck. “I’d give anything if you didn’t have to fight again, Spartacus. I can’t believe that God saved you once only to send you back here to die tonight…”

  Tyler never heard Sam’s cage door open, but he immediately sensed the presence of something behind him. He spun around sharply, still on his knees, and fell backwards on his butt again when Sam moved slowly toward him. “How the hell are you doing that!” Tyler practically shrieked.

  Sam stopped and lay down at Tyler’s waist. He lifted his head and saw the perplexed look on the young man’s face and grinned again, showing all his teeth this time. He stared intensely at Tyler and decided to transport his thoughts to the man who might one day marry Amanda. “We are all creatures of God, Tyler Foster…and He will be here beside each and every one of us tonight…you have to know that Amanda will not listen to what she was told…she will do everything in her power to be here tonight, and…you must protect her…will you do that, Tyler Foster…for me?”

  Tyler could not swallow the lump
that had formed in his parched throat, so he just nodded in dumfounded agreement.

  Sam stood up and stretched each of his hind legs in turn. “That’s good…I knew I could count on you…now, why don’t you fill up all these bowls one more time…”

  35. Friday Night Fight Begins

  The rest of the day went way too quickly for Tyler’s liking. He had managed to get away for a couple of hours and went to the café to check on Amanda; he needed to know that she would do as she was told, and stay away from the fight that night. He knew that he would have his hands full with what he needed to do; Amanda would be a distraction that he simply did not need tonight. After sharing a late lunch with her and discussing his father’s plan in more detail, he felt relatively reassured that she would remain at the café until the fight was over and Tyler returned to her.

  Amanda, on the other hand, spent the remainder of the day helping the angels around the café, and doing her best to block out her thoughts and plans so that Max could not read her mind. It was best if the angels did not suspect her of any intentions to get involved. She felt like she had pulled it off when she untied her apron at six o’clock and told the angels she was going to take Buster for a long walk, shower, and get some rest before Tyler returned to them. She told them to let her know, immediately, if they heard from Tyler before she did. She knew they would be busy with the dinner crowd by the time she was able to slip away without them seeing her.

  _____

  Little John made his final inspection of the fighting arena and surrounding areas at five-thirty, and called his main contact to notify all fighters and spectators of the exact location and time for the fight. He drove to the training area and walked among his prized champions, dragging his truck keys against their cages as he strolled past each one. Teeth bared and the dogs lunged at the intrusion; Little John smiled in satisfaction…until he came to the cages that held Spartacus and the newest addition. Spartacus did not snarl and bare teeth as the other fighter dogs had done; instead, he inched as far backward in his cage as he could get, tucked his tail between his legs and cowered in fear. Little John shook his head and said, “Tonight will be your last fight, and I pity the fools who place their bets on you…”