Loose the Dogs

by P. D. Workman

  “You have to let it go, Frank. This was not one of those dogs. It wasn’t. There are hundreds of dogs across the country that look like that. You can’t know it was the same one. Chances are pretty remote, aren’t they? The county doesn’t have the money to go shipping dogs all the way across the country. Those Johnson dogs would still be local, relatively close. You just think it was one of the Johnson’s dogs because you’re afraid. It’s your worst fear. But it’s not true. The Johnsons’ dogs only did what they did because they were starving. They were trapped, and there was only one source of food. They’re not killers.”

  “You don’t know that. We don’t know they’re not killers,” Frank said adamantly. “And we shouldn’t be guessing!”

  Chapter Eight

  SHARON AWOKE IN THE night as the dogs were moving around, wrestling with the covers.

  “Shhh, girls,” she reprimanded. “You’ll wake Barry up! Lie down! Stay! Or I’ll get up and put you in your kennels.”

  The dogs lay down at her order and Sharon closed her eyes again, shaking her head. The dogs were just too spoiled!

  When Sharon got up in the morning, Barry was already up. She had a bath and brushed her teeth, and went back to the bedroom to dress. As she was picking up Barry’s clothes from the floor, she stopped, frowning, to see what had spilled on the carpet. She turned on the overhead light and put on her glasses and scrutinized it.

  “Barry?” she called out. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine, honey,” he responded cheerfully.

  Sharon frowned at the stains on the carpet. “Barry? Are the girls okay? There’s something on the carpet.”

  She could hear him shuffling in his slippers to the bottom of the stairs to hear her better.

  “What’s on the carpet? Did one of them wet?”

  “It looks like blood.”

  “Blood?” he repeated, shock in his voice.

  Sharon heard him head for the back door. She put on her own slippers and headed down the stairs to help out.

  “Gilda! Goldie! Come, girls!” Barry called urgently.

  They must have been playing, because it took a few minutes for him to coax them in the door. As usual, he wiped their feet at the door.

  “There’s a little blood on their paws,” he said, wiping them. “But I don’t see any cuts.”

  He looked all over their bodies, at their butts, and at their mouths. He pushed their lips around.

  “Some on their teeth… but I don’t see any broken teeth or cuts. The doctor just cleaned them a few weeks ago.” He stood up. “Show me this blood. Is it just a few specks?”

  Sharon shook her head. She took him back upstairs. He made it up the stairs much faster than usual and stood panting at the top like he’d run a race. He followed her into the bedroom. Sharon pointed to the bloody spots on the floor. Barry cast around, looking for where it had come from. He moved over to the bed and picked up the discarded quilt, and then pulled the bedsheets across the bottom of the bed straight. The sheets were bloody.

  “Here,” Barry pointed out. “It happened here…”

  “They were making noise last night. Do you think one of them bit the other one?”

  “They didn’t have any bite marks!”

  He pulled back the sheet, staring at the blood underneath the sheet, on the bottom sheet stretched tight over the mattress.

  “It almost looks like…”

  He struggled to look down at his own feet, but his paunch was in the way, and he was wearing slippers.

  “Barry?” Sharon said weakly.

  “It just looks like…”

  He sat down on the quilt box at the end of the bed, slipped his feet out of his slippers and held one foot out in front of him where he could see it. Sharon gave a shriek and grabbed the wall for support. Barry turned his foot this way and that, his brain curiously disconnected from his emotions.

  “What happened to my toes?” he asked blankly.

  “They ate your toes!” Sharon shrieked. “Oh my—they ate your toes, Barry!”

  “But how? I don’t… I don’t understand!”

  “You lie down. You stay there. I’m going to get an ambulance! Don’t move!”

  Barry tried to bend his knee to lay his ankle across his other knee for a better look, but his old bones and joints would have none of that. He was forced to stare at his toes from a distance, wondering why they didn’t hurt. How could the dogs bite his toes and he hadn’t even woken up? It looked horrific. He felt sick to his stomach. Barry put his foot back down, into his slipper, and he rested his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands.

  “I don’t know how this could happen,” he said to himself.

  Sharon almost seemed to have forgotten him. She was talking on the phone to the emergency operator, running around, unlocking the door for the ambulance, going to see to the dogs. Barry could hear her locking them into their kennels. But they couldn’t even have finished their breakfasts yet. They’d be whining in a minute, complaining to be let back out again to eat.

  At the hospital, Barry lay in bed, waiting for the doctor to come and talk to him and resolve the confusion. Sharon was reading a book in the chair next to him. She couldn’t wait anywhere without a book. Barry preferred to watch TV, but there wasn’t one available, so he lay there and stewed instead. How could his dogs have hurt him? He loved them and pampered them to excess. They hadn’t shown any sign of being vicious. He spoiled them, it was true, but they hadn’t had any behavior problems.

  Finally, the doctor arrived. He stood at the end of Barry’s bed and smiled a greeting.

  “How are we feeling then, Mr. Munsch?”

  “Well, I feel fine… except my dogs just attacked my feet!”

  “It is a bit of a shock, huh?” the doctor asked.

  “That’s an understatement. I can’t understand what happened. They are gentle dogs. They’ve never acted up.”

  “Well, I don’t think this was a disciplinary problem.”

  “Really?” Sharon asked. “What happened, then? How could the dogs do this? It’s disgusting… It’s horrifying!”

  “Barry, how well have you been controlling your diabetes?”

  Barry looked at his wife sheepishly. She looked grim.

  “Not very well,” Barry admitted. “My numbers aren’t good. It’s hard to stay stable.”

  “Not managing your diabetes can have serious consequences.”

  “Yes, I know. I’ve been lucky so far.”

  “How have your feet been?”

  “Until now? Fine.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Well, yes. I haven’t seen anything out of the ordinary.”

  “How do you explain the fact you didn’t feel the dogs biting your toes?”

  “Umm… I don’t know.”

  Sharon interposed. “What do you think happened? There was something wrong with his feet?”

  “He has ulcers on his feet. I think his toes got gangrenous. I think they were dead. You didn’t feel anything because the diabetes is causing numbness in your extremities. You didn’t feel the ulcers or the flesh rotting.”

  Barry felt ill. “My toes were dead?”

  “Some of the ulcers on your feet are pretty severe. You didn’t notice?”

  Barry looked toward his feet, his view blocked by his body.

  “I um… Can’t see my feet most of the time. Not from this position. Not when I’m standing up. I don’t really… look at them.”

  “And you didn’t notice?” the doctor asked Sharon.

  “No. He’s always wearing slippers or socks and shoes. I don’t see him in bare feet. His feet get cold…”

  “I see. Well, from now on, you are both going to have to watch fingers and toes for any ulcers or loss of circulation. And we’re going to have to get your diabetes under better control. Are you willing to do that?”

  “I’ll try,” Barry agreed soberly. “I knew bad things could happen, but… I guess I just didn’t expect them to happen t
o me.”

  “It will happen to you. All those bad things will happen to you if you don’t take care of yourself. So please, do something. Take care of yourself.”

  “I’ll try to help him,” Sharon said.

  “Good. A doctor cannot be responsible for day-to-day care.”

  Barry nodded. “What about the dogs?” he asked.

  “What?” the doctor asked. “They were taken by animal control. They need to test them.”

  “But I get them back, right? I need those dogs back.”

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea. They may not be vicious, but… you can’t take the chance of this happening again. Or of them eating flesh that’s not already dead. There is plenty of talk about this kind of thing in the medical community, but there’s still not a lot known about the phenomenon. There’s no guarantee they won’t eat living flesh.”

  “They wouldn’t hurt me.”

  “I don’t think you can be sure. I wouldn’t recommend getting them back. And if you get another dog, please kennel it at night. We don’t want this to happen again.”

  Barry shook his head. “I can’t just give up my dogs.”

  “You’ll have to. I don’t see any other option.”

  After the doctor was gone, Barry motioned Sharon to come closer. He held onto her tightly. Tears escaped his eyes.

  “What am I going to do, Sharon?” he asked. “I love those dogs.”

  “I know, honey. But we can’t keep them if they’re a danger to you.”

  “We could kennel them at night. Then nothing would happen.”

  “You’ve spoiled them too much. You know how they react when you kennel them. They’d keep you up all night. You wouldn’t be able to sleep with them whining and crying.”

  “It would only be for a few days; then they would get used to it. I can put up with them crying for a few days.”

  “I still don’t trust them,” Sharon said, shaking her head. “What if you fall asleep during the day? What if you’re watching TV and you just don’t notice? Please, Barry. Be sensible. I know how much you love those dogs. But they’re going to have to go to someone else. We can’t have them in the house where they might be a danger to you. You have to let them go. To be somewhere they would be happy.”

  “I’ll be miserable without them.”

  “You can get over it. They are just dogs, Barry. I know you don’t want to hear that. But it’s true. They are not our children. They are still dogs.”

  “But they’re my dogs.” He sobbed, and wiped at tears. “I love my dogs.”

  Chapter Nine

  “HI,” FRANK SAID. HE could hear dogs barking in the background and tried to ignore them and just focus on the person who had answered the phone. “I need to talk to Jim Burton.”

  “Jim is busy at the moment. Can I help you out?”

  “I’m with the police department. I need to follow up on where the Johnson dogs were placed for adoption.”

  “Oh,” her voice was cautious. “Well, yes, you do need Jim. Can I have him give you a call back, officer?”

  “Yes. As soon as possible. We may have run into some problems.”

  “Okay. Can I get your name and number?”

  Frank gave his name and phone number, and recited his badge number for good measure, just to impress upon her that it was a matter of urgent business.

  “I’ll have Jim give you a call back as soon as he can,” the receptionist promised.

  Frank hung up. He stared at the phone for a few minutes, waiting for it to start ringing, but of course, it didn’t. Jim was busy.

  The noise of the dogs barking in the background of the call had wound him up. He tried slow breathing to calm his anxious body.

  Slow down the breathing. Slow down the heart. Relax the muscles. Recite a mantra.

  You are safe.

  You are safe.

  You are safe.

  Frank slipped the phone into his pocket. He took it out, made sure the ringer was on and put it back into his pocket again.

  About half an hour later Jim Burton called him back. Frank had just started to relax, and the sound of the phone ringing sent his pulse rate through the roof. He took a couple of calming breaths and picked it up.

  “Frank Horchuk,” he snapped out.

  “Uh, yeah. Officer Horchuk. This is Jim Burton from the animal shelter returning your call.”

  “Thanks for calling me back so quickly, Mr. Burton.”

  “How can I help you? Stacie said it was something to do with the Johnson dogs.”

  “Yes. I need to know whether the dogs were adopted locally or whether they were sent to other jurisdictions.”

  “They were sent to other shelters outside the city. We felt it was better for them to be out of the area, away from any prejudice because of their backgrounds.”

  “I see.” Frank was having problems catching his breath. “I’ll need a list of where they all went.”

  “And this is part of an investigation of… what?”

  “It is part of the ongoing investigation into what happened to the Johnsons.”

  “But that’s been settled. I don’t understand why you need anything else. I wasn’t asked for anything else before.”

  “Mr. Burton, it would be much easier for all involved if you could just email or fax me the list. Do you have a pen handy? I’ll give you my email address.”

  “Yes—no. I have a pen, but I’m not sending it to you without confirmation. I don’t understand why you need it or what it has to do with any current investigation. Why does where they went impact anything?”

  “Because we want to do a follow up on them,” Frank said sensibly. “Make sure they’ve settled in with their new owners. That everything has gone smoothly with the transition.”

  “So it wouldn’t be a problem for you to give me a warrant. Showing I’m allowed to give you confidential information.”

  “Confidential? How is where the dogs have gone confidential? They don’t have any expectation of confidentiality,” he teased.

  “No,” Burton agreed, his voice catching a bit, in a laugh or a sob. “But the people who have adopted them have that right. And we aren’t required to turn documents over to the police without a warrant.”

  “So that’s it. You won’t give me the information.”

  “No, sir. I’m sorry. But we try to maintain a proper protocol here. We never reveal adoptive families to anyone. They have a right to privacy.”

  “Certainly, but…”

  “If all you’re doing is following up, then it shouldn’t matter if it takes you another day to get me a warrant, does it? It’s just a matter of following proper procedure. It’s just a formality.”

  “Right,” Frank agreed. “Well, I’ll be back in touch.”

  He hung up his phone and stared at it. Not willing it to ring this time, but trying to envision the man who was holding him up on the other end. What kind of stupid bureaucrat would refuse to tell him where the dogs had gone?

  Why would they hide this, unless they had a reason to hide it? Maybe they already knew there was a problem.

  Maybe they had already connected the death of the baby to one of the Johnson dogs.

  Frank just knew there was a connection. An innocent man did not act like Jim Burton was acting.

  Shirley watched the dogs carefully as they were trained to attack and release. At first, they were to attack objects or dummies. Then they moved up to people dressed in protective gear so the dogs couldn’t actually hurt them. She watched for any sign of too much aggression. Or fear.

  Shirley watched their ears and other body language for any sign they were not cut out for this work. It was amazing how much you could read about a dog by watching his ears.

  “That’s right,” she encouraged. “Make sure he’s got a good grip, but don’t let him wrestle or tear away. Christine, has Bandit got a tight hold?”

  Christine examined Bandit’s hold on the man’s well-padded arm and nodded.

  “He
’s good. Break, Bandit. Break off.”

  Bandit released the man and sat back on his haunches, smiling a doggie grin and slapping his tail to the ground.

  “Oh, you like this, do you?” Shirley asked. “Make sure he doesn’t think it’s tug of war or a game. This is a job. Attack and break. He has to be willing to do both instantly on command. No hesitation and no playfulness.”

  Christine nodded in agreement and continued the training.

  Frank sat down at the table and picked up the mug of coffee Janice had put down before him. He closed his eyes and took a long swallow. It burned, but he needed it badly.

  “Bad night?” Janice asked.

  “I feel like I didn’t sleep a wink.” Frank rubbed his eyes. “All night I just… you know.”

  Janice shook her head. “I want you to see somebody. You have to get some sleep, or you’re not going to be able to perform your job. You look like death.”

  Frank shook his head. “I’m fine. It was just one night. I’ll sleep better tonight because I’ll be more tired.”

  “You’d better put some ice on your eyes because those bags are going to be a huge tip-off.”

  “They’ll look okay after I shower. You worry too much.”

  “You’re one to talk.”

  Frank grinned sheepishly. “Yes, dear.”

  He picked up the newspaper and tried to focus on the headlines. “Anything in the news today?”

  “I haven’t looked at it yet. I don’t know.”

  Frank flipped through a few pages. His eyes focused on the word ‘dog,’ and he tried valiantly to ignore it, but found his eyes drawn back to the article. Just to double check. He scanned the article and then read it more carefully, frowning. He closed the paper slowly, not looking at his wife.

  “What is it?” Janice asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Frank shrugged and sipped his coffee again, hoping the caffeine would clear his head. “I’d better go shower,” he said. He took the coffee mug with him upstairs.