by Bobby D. Lux
“Are you okay?” Nipper said, from around the corner. I couldn’t immediately get back to my feet. “You need help?”
“Keep your cover,” I said, as I shook my head while enough air came back for me to get up. I couldn’t bend my leg at all, but was able to drag myself over to join Nipper. “Did anyone see us?”
“I don’t think so. What about Ernie?”
“He made his choice. He wanted to stay at the park.”
“Let’s give him a minute.”
“He’s not coming, Nipper. He said so himself. I gave him a chance and said we were leaving, but he stayed. I’m sorry. I wish he was here, but it’s you and me.”
“I don’t know about this. You look hurt.”
“I’m fine,” I lied. “What’s done is done. We made it. The hard part is over.”
“I wish I could believe that.”
“My leg is fine. I didn’t expect those pugs-”
“That’s not what I meant. The hard part. Somehow I think we’re only just getting started.”
“We should get going,” I said, heading off into the wooded area that surrounded the dog park as Nipper remained planted behind the bathroom. “We gotta disappear. Nipper, we can’t let them find us. It’s time to go.”
I continued into the trees away from the cement bike path that surrounded the restroom. Nipper’s footsteps quickly caught up to me.
“Wait!” Ernie said, having just rounded the corner from behind the restrooms. “You guys aren’t leaving without me.”
“Ernie,” Nipper said, running back to greet him. “What happened? Fritz said you were going to stay.”
“I wanted to stay and play with Saucy. But I also wanted to go with you guys, so here I am. Where’s Fritz?”
“I’m over here. We need to stop wasting time.”
“Ernie,” Saucy said, sticking her nose through the fence. She had pushed her way through the thick bushes on the dog park side of the chain link. “Are you going to be okay?”
“We’ll be fine, Saucy,” Ernie said, poking his head around the corner. “We got a cop with us. What could go wrong?”
“Then can I come?”
“No,” I said, loud enough for just Ernie to hear.
“Not this time,” Ernie said, looking over his shoulder at me.
“When are you going to be back?” Saucy said.
“I don’t know. Um, not too long I think.”
“Just be careful.”
“I will, Saucy. You don’t have to remind me.”
“I’ll miss you,” she said.
“Oh… Uh… Yeah… I’ll uh, uh, me too. Gotta go.”
Ernie ducked his head and he and Nipper joined me. Before we vanished into the woods, I looked back and saw Saucy sitting against the fence with her paw up resting on one of the links and her tailed curled up under her. Behind her, off in the distance, most of the dogs had been corralled back into the park with a few stragglers being led back into their cars with treats. Mrs. Hart had caught Missy and was carrying her back to the Intimidator with her arms extended and her nose up, keeping Missy as far away from her chest as possible. Missy panted and kicked her legs like she was in a race.
That bug was gone and so was I.
“Thanks Missy,” I said.
CHAPTER 16 - What’s Morality When It’s Time To Eat?
The three of us found cover in the remnants of an old campground near the nature center a few hundred yards away from the dog park. An area “closed for the season” according to the posted sign. You could smell all the other animals in the vicinity: rabbits, squirrels, some snakes, all which told me that we weren’t going to encounter many humans, if any at all, around here.
“Now what?” Nipper said, as we rested under a fallen tree whose branches served as a makeshift cover.
“We wait,” I said.
“What are we waiting for?” Ernie said. “I thought we were in a hurry.”
“They’re out looking for us right now,” I said. “We have to lay low until it gets dark. They’re probably checking the route between here and the police station, thinking that’s where I’ll go. We have to stay off the streets for a few hours.”
“You think they know we’re gone?” Ernie said.
“By now, they must,” I said. “I’m sure that Mrs. Hart wanted to leave as soon as she got Missy back in the car and when she went back to find us … oops.”
I felt bad for Officer Hart. I hoped that he wouldn’t take the news of my escape as a personal affront or a commentary on our partnership. He might not understand, but part of me was convinced that he would only pretend to be upset at hearing the news. There might have been a chance that he wouldn’t come looking for me. He’d go looking for Nipper and Ernie because he’d have to. If he knew they were with me though, maybe he’d know that I had something up my sleeve.
“How’s your leg feeling?” Nipper said.
“What’s wrong with your leg?” Ernie said. “I mean, other than, you know.”
“Nothing,” I said. “It’s fine.”
“Fine? He crashed and burned over the jump.”
“Leave it alone,” I said.
“What happened?” Ernie said. “Are you okay?”
“He barely made it over the jump,” Nipper said. I didn’t appreciate how much Nipper clearly enjoyed explaining this. “When he landed he basically just bombed into the ground and it took him forever to get up.”
“You left out the part about the Pugs,” I said.
“Oh yeah,” Nipper said, like it was the most obscure and insignificant of details. “There were a few pugs hanging around the mound-”
“Wait,” Ernie said. “Pugs did that to you?”
“They were at the top of the jump,” I said. “I didn’t want to hurt them.”
“Pugs can’t hurt anything,” Ernie said.
“I didn’t have a problem with them,” Nipper said.
“Have you made your point yet?” I said. “Or do you need more time?”
“What’s my point?” Nipper said.
“What are you guys talking about?” Ernie said.
“I just wanted to know if he was okay,” Nipper said. “Since we’re this big team, or squad, or unit, or some other fancy cop term that us regular folks aren’t privy to. Aren’t we all one or something like that?”
“Change the subject.” I said.
“What do you want to talk about?” Nipper said.
“Anyone hungry?” Ernie said, as he quickly got up and made for the boarded up, hand-painted snack shop near the camp site. It looked big enough to be semi-comfortable for one human to fit into. It was covered in stickers of every level of decay. The back door was padlocked shut. Ernie sniffed and marked around the converted shed while Nipper stood a few feet away and watched. I remained back under the cover. “I am.”
“Is it open?” Nipper said.
“Does it look open to you?” Ernie said, clawing at a loose wooden plank until it was loose enough to jam his nose into. Ernie wiggled his whole stocky body and pushed his head into the space until the wood plank snapped off at the bottom. Once his head was inside, Ernie only needed another few wiggles to wrestle enough of the planks off for him to get into the stand. He returned with a mouthful of bags of chips, candy bars, bubblegum (god knows why), beef jerky, and water bottles. “Oh, here we go. Bingo.”
“Anything good in there?” Nipper said.
“Are you kidding? Do you not see all this stuff?”
“We’re not going to be here too long,” I said, as the two of them brought back enough for the three of us to hide out for a week. “Remember what it was like sprinting after you ate?”
“You never know,” Ernie said. “Take what you can get. Now that we’re out here, I don’t know when I’m eating next.”
“You do know that technically what you two just did is a felony in Grand City.”
“What’s a felony?” Ernie said.
“It’s a crime.”
“Why not
just say crime?” Nipper said.
“Because there’s different types of crimes and a felony is the worst.”
“Getting food isn’t a crime,” Ernie said. “I have to eat.”
“Stealing it is,” I said.
“Who’d we steal it from?” Ernie said, tearing into a stick of beef jerky, wrapper and all. “I don’t see anyone around here.”
“I didn’t do anything,” Nipper said, spitting out his hard candy and quickly burying the wrapper.
“You went with Ernie to do it,” I said. “You watched him, and it’s clear you were acting as his lookout and accomplice-”
“I did not.”
“Did you stop him?” I said.
“No.”
“That’s all a lawyer would need to send you up the river alongside Ernie. Aiding and abetting. That’s a felony too.”
“Then you did the same thing,” Nipper argued.
“Nope. I stayed here, and as you so clearly illustrated, I’m nursing an injury so I couldn’t be of much help or serve as a capable lookout.”
“Whatever,” Ernie said. “No wags off my tail.”
“You don’t care that we could get in trouble?” Nipper said.
“Nope,” Ernie said. “Not in the slightest. Mainly because it’s impossible. The worst that can ever happen is that some fat man comes yelling ‘Get out of here, you mutt’ at you. Sometimes, they try and throw something at you, but they never come close. You don’t go to the pound for getting some food. The only sure way to go to the pound is to bite someone. Even if it’s just another dog they take you. What I don’t get is that, and maybe Fritz can help me here on this one, if you bite a cat, and I’m talking some scraggly, mangled eared, psycho cat. You bite one of those, and why wouldn’t you, you can still be hauled off to the pound. Why is that?”
“Because you can’t hurt another living thing,” I said. “Even if they might deserve it.”
“Hold on,” Nipper said. “Isn’t that what you want to do to this Clay dog?”
“Yep.”
“You’re risking going to the pound?” Nipper said.
“You asked if I wanted to. Of course I want to. I can’t get the image of me squeezing on his neck and thrashing him until he goes limp out of my mind, but I won’t do that. I’m a cop. I’m putting him in the pound.”
“You guys want some jerky?” Ernie asked, obliviously changing the subject. “Looks like I got Teriyaki, um, some barbeque, Cajun, but I’m almost done with that already.”
“Not me,” I said. “Maybe he wants some of spoils? His share of the loot?”
Ernie flung a bag of the Teriyaki over Nipper’s way. Nipper took multiple sniffs and inhaled the savory aroma.
“Not hungry anymore,” Nipper said. He batted the food back over Ernie’s way.
“More for me then. Your loss, Nipper. We’re not getting popped for this so-called heist. He’s only busting your chops.”
“How do you plan on doing this?” Nipper said.
“I’m going to down the jerky and the chips,” Ernie said, “that’s for sure. If there’s still any room left in my stomach, I’m gonna see what damage I can do to that candy and maybe the popcorn.”
“I’m talking to him, Ernie. How exactly do you plan on putting Clay in the pound when, now hear me out and don’t go all crazy on me, but I know you say you’re a cop and that’s cool, but you know, technically, you’re not.”
“Yes I am,” I said.
“Okay, I understand what you’re saying,” Nipper said, “but you’re not. I know, maybe there’s something I don’t get because we’re not as smart as you, but if you’re still a cop, why were you put in our backyard?”
“Nipper,” Ernie said, while a cord of jerky dangled from the corner of his mouth, “let it go.”
“What? He says he needs us, but as he’s made perfectly clear, you and I aren’t cops, so it stands to reason that if he is still truly a cop, then he wouldn’t need us. He could just call in for backup. But no, here we are helping him without even knowing what the actual plan is yet. So, does that make me and Ernie cops now?”
“Neither of you are,” I said, much more excited than I’d let on. I wanted to take to the streets that moment and start shaking down all my contacts for information. I wanted to chase and hunt and bite and tear and tackle and snarl and squint my eyes in fury and smell fear and pin anything down on its back and scream in its face. I wanted to abandon my years of training and be raw, mean, ruthless, and not care about the damage I caused; not worry if I made it back in one piece because, why not, Nipper was right. “And neither am I.”
“Thank you for admitting it,” Nipper said.
But I was going to continue to act like one.
“Let me ask you something,” I said. “What are you?”
“Huh?” Nipper said.
“What are you?” I said. “Easy question, right?
“What kind of question is that, Fritz?”
“You tell me.”
“The two of are going to make my head explode,” Ernie said, as he enjoyed some grape taffy. “Would one of you just answer a question? This is why I tried changing the subject to food.”
“Well?” I said.
“What am I?” Nipper said.
“What did I just say to you two?” Ernie said. “Oh no, now I’m doing it.”
“Anytime, Nipper,” I said, “Don’t worry, I’m not trying to trick you.”
“I guess I’m a dog,” Nipper said.
“You guess?”
“What is going on?” Ernie said. “Now, I can’t stop. Did we eat candy laced with something? There it is again. I should just stop talking, shouldn’t I?” I nodded at Ernie. “Thank you.”
“Yeah, I’m a dog.” Nipper said.
“And what does that entail?” I said.
“I don’t know. Just being a dog.”
“What’s it mean to be a dog?”
“I have no idea,” Nipper said.
“Sure you do. Don’t think about it. What does it mean to be a dog?”
“It doesn’t mean anything. I’m just a dog. I didn’t choose to be one. Not to say I don’t like it. I love it and wouldn’t want to be anything else-”
“I’d want to fly,” Ernie said. “Just to try it, you know.”
“I chose to be a cop,” I said.
“No you didn’t,” Nipper said. Now I was mad. This dog had the nerve to sit there with his lazy hips draped over to the side and his floppy ears and his soft tail and he tells me what I did or did not choose. “You didn’t choose. They chose you. The people. They chose you to be a cop and then they chose when you weren’t one. They choose for all of us. For you. For me. For Ernie. They decide what we do. They decide how we live. They decide where we live and who with. I’m not complaining, Ernie, relax. What we eat? They choose. Where we sleep? That too. You have no control over anything in your life. Not a thing. You want to sleep? Not if they decide they want to play, and by play, they mean annoying you to the point to where you want to tear their fingers off, but you can’t do that either, because they say otherwise. So, don’t sit there and lecture me anymore about what’s right and wrong and how you’re on a different level than the two of us. You’re no different than me or Ernie or anyone else. They just chose to make you a police dog, so congratulations, but don’t go running around holding it over our heads like it’s some sort of achievement on your part. You were in the right place at the right time. That’s it. You know what, I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Let me know when you decide that it’s time for us to go, okay?”
I didn’t agree with Nipper, but I didn’t think he was necessarily wrong. This was something that had clearly brewed inside him for a very long time; the way his voice cracked said as much as his words did. That wasn’t just meant for my ears. It definitely wasn’t meant for Ernie. Maybe it was meant for the world? For everyone and everything. Maybe the words got caught up in the wind and got swept away to a place where something else
could hear them and make sense of them. Something like that is possible. Why not? Different things hear different sounds. Officer Hart had this whistle that he would blow as hard as he could. You could see the veins in his neck burst and extra spittle would shoot from the corners of his mouth as he blew this thing. He closed his eyes so tight that the edges of his face wrinkled like a wadded up piece of paper. That whistle sounded like a million needles jammed into your ear; not just scratching around the tip, I mean as if they were hammered in to where all you could do was lay down, curl up, and hope that the pain went away. You couldn’t even get your paw up there to rub yourself; it paralyzed you. Your brain goes into panic mode and you become a quivering mass of agony. And then the officers just stood there and asked if they could hear anything. They never did.
If we can hear that whistle that people can’t, something out there could’ve heard Nipper. Who knows, they might have been able to do something about it if they saw fit. All Nipper could do was put it out there and see if anyone was listening to him.
I figured out what was getting to Nipper. He’d been a dog park dog his entire life. Even when he was free at the park, there were still fences around him. They were just farther away from the fences he was used to. There was comfort in that. He knew exactly what his world was and where his world ended. If you got comfortable within those parameters, then all of a sudden, when there were no more fences, it made sense Nipper felt that way. I was scared too.