by David Kersey
Marlene let us out of the secret room before John reached us for two reasons; Mozetta had claustrophobia so badly her jibberish about gettin’ up on outta here ‘fore she die like a fly tugged on Marlene’s heart strings, and the second reason was I leaked in too many spots to be socially acceptable.
Once let out the front door, I raced to the shrubs flanking the porch steps and let go for a personal best record of a minute fifteen seconds.
My buddies sitting on the car park were laughing and making fun of me when I approached them with the news that the hayride was not going to happen. That went over with a thud. But then I explained to them that tomorrow night at the same time we would have the hayride. All of them turned to go back to their haunts mumbling about what a raw deal life sometimes hands out.
It was standing room only in the living room of the farmhouse when the Feds arrived. All of us “family” plus two of Chip’s patrolmen. I sat next to John, Cassie curled up on Marlene’s lap, Bblackie sat next to Tillie with his tongue wagging.
“We have him contained down in the basement,” Chip explained to the two agents. “We were told to stand down by you folks so we’ve just been waiting for you. Be careful, we overheard him yell something about a mortar. He hasn’t fired it yet.”
“You’ll need this,” John explained to the agents, their guns drawn, as they were handed a Coleman lantern.
“We need you all the clear out of here. We’ll take over from here,” demanded one of the agents.
John handed them a light bulb and the five gallon pesticide sprayer. “You might find these will come in handy.”
We stood outside the farmhouse to take in the proceedings, then watched the two agents run out of the house to wretch up liquefied donuts. It must have been a mess down there. Guess you might call it a sting operation. Within fifteen minutes the area in front of the barn was filled with black cars. More agents, six more. Then a TV news truck arrived, followed by another news truck. When the ambulance arrived it couldn’t get close to the house. It reminded me of a scene from ‘Close Encounters of the Third Kind’, with the high powered light stands set up for live on the scene broadcasts. Of course the Federal agents were taking credit for the apprehension of the ‘cross killer’.
Eventually a gurney rolled through the crowd carrying a body completely enclosed in a black bag. We assumed it was Minnick rather than one of the agents.
In the days that followed one can imagine the hubbub that ensued in the little town of Warren and particularly Bucks Canine Training Camp. Chip’s picture appeared in national broadcasts and Sixty Minutes had scheduled a segment with him. There was a public outcry for Chip to run for Mayor. He told us he was considering it.
Television cameras were on hand the next evening to film an ATV carrying an assortment of animals. Marlene thought it would make for good PR. Actually the TV people lucked into the hayride scenario. They were there to cover the story of the re-emergence of the bulldog ants. That caused quite a stir nationally. By the way, John was confident this time that the ants were totally gone from his property but he imagined there were probably small cells of the ants here and there across the country.
Charles arrived Tuesday afternoon to a joyous reunion. He did in fact decide to retire from the Army. Once he saw the facility that his mother had going for her he knew he had found a calling. Cassie and I wondered if Tillie might have played a part in his decision.
The guest house was finished in a week or so and furnished with used, rummage sale, consignment type odds and ends since the guesthouse would also be used for canine training in a residential setting. Both Charles and Tillie had their own separate rooms there. It was anybody’s guess what might have gone on in there between the two, but I can say that she totally forgot about Chip.
Bblackie taught Thelma Lou a word to speak. It was “ruffer”. One day he called Cassie and me over and said, “Watch this. Hey Thelma, how is today going compared to yesterday?” She replied with her new word. But you know, that’s exactly how I started the arduous process of speaking almost six years ago now.
Bblackie was blue when Thelma was sold to a steel corrugating outfit down state. He moped around for a few days, that is until Frumpy arrived, then he was all happy again.
Guido arrived in late April ahead of schedule. That was great fun for me for we immediately took up with the wrestling, the type of relationship I never quite attained with Bblackie. Guido was extremely interested in continuing the speaking process. So far the only word he can say is barf. It’s a start.
The training facility received a grant for fifty thousand dollars to obtain cancer volatiles. That too was a start. Marlene spent time with me in that discipline, trying to imprint the various scents in my head. I had some of them down pat.
When the warmer weather of spring arrived Cassie and I moved back into my doghouse. We much preferred fresh air to the recycled air of the house which carried with it the horrendous breath of someone in the house. And you think dog breath is offensive, geezow, but that’s alright, we love you anyway.
By Memorial Day there were two army vets living in the farmhouse, Rizzo and Williams. They were nice fellows that fell in love with their canine companions. One of them, Rizzo, was particularly handy and fixed up some of the wood rot in the farmhouse and barn.
Also by the end of May there had been twenty seven canines arrive since the grand opening party that occurred on April Fools’ Day. Some of them were already placed in new work assignments and gone. It was like a doggie hotel. In and out, some staying only a week before placement. Marlene was extremely happy with the business and was once caught with her feet propped up on the desk.
As for my typing skill, it still sucks, but I’ve added another twenty words or so to my vocabulary. Cassie is gaining on me in that regard. You know, cats may be superior to dogs! Or is it females are superior to males? Too deep for me, maybe you know? If you don’t, let me know when you find out. But I digress and would be remiss if I didn’t share what happened one weekend in April.
Cleveland newspaper columnist Frank Cagnetti and his wife Claire arrived on Friday evening in their motorhome. Cassie and I sat that evening in the basement and listened to the humans speak of irony, that the ants, once the terror, became the demise of an individual engaged in a one man war with himself.
On Saturday everyone, I mean everyone, including Rizzo and Williams, Tillie and Charles, Frank and Claire, Sylvester and Mozetta with her cane pole, and Marlene and John spent that glorious spring day fishing around the bank of the big pond. Cassie and I sat on the southern bank and watched fish after fish loaded onto a stringer. Cassie had a hard time sitting still. She loves fish.
And then Claire’s pole bent over double. We listened to her scream, probably from fear more than elation. All reeled in their own rigs and watched the struggle. She had hooked the “monster”. Suddenly, in the middle of the pond, the monster broke the surface in a swirling eddy accompanied by a whooshing sound, and then the line broke. John shouted, “My God, that’s no catfish, that’s a muskie! Did you see the ridges on its back?”
“What the hell?” Frank exclaimed. “Look at that!” All eyes focused on us, probably because Mort, Penny, Raspy, Randall, Methusaleh, Stammer, and Oliver had assembled next to us to watch Claire’s battle. We were lined up on the bank shoulder to shoulder.
“Yyuuuppp, tthhaaattt’ss aa mmuussskkiieee, aallll rriiggghhhtt.”
“Actually, there are no muskellunge south of the Canadian border. That was a catfish.”
Randall slugged Raspy across the snout and we all had held our bellies in laughter.
That evening, after the fish fry, the entire entourage of fishermen gathered in the basement. Frank could not get over the animals, some natural adversaries, lined up like ladies on the front row at a PTA meeting. “Ok, John, you tell me what in hades was that all about?”
John, hesitant, nevertheless suggested that over time some of the estate’s denizens had learned to assemble, more for self-preservati
on during the ant attack than anything else.
Tillie, having felt the effects of her first ever half glass of wine, volunteered, “They talk with each other too, for sure, just like Bblackie does.” She then raised her hand over her mouth, realizing she had stepped over the line.
Frank raised an eyebrow in John’s direction.
Marlene stepped in. “Frank, one of the reasons we established the facility is top secret. We can’t say much more than the government is interested in their MWDs, that’s military working dogs, learning to communicate with each other. It’s an experiment. We are compelled contractually to leave it at that. I hope you understand.”
Claire excused herself to use the basement’s facility, and while passing the giant TV screen, she noticed the gigantic keyboard, then ‘BUCK LOVES CASSIE’. Out of respect to her hosts she made no mention of it to her husband, at least not until they returned to Cleveland.
Three days later Cagnetti read what he had typed on his work computer. He rubbed his chin, then erased the entire article. “Nah,” he mused, “I don’t even believe that.”
Well, folks, that’s almost the end of my story. I may have another story to tell in the future, since I’m not going to reveal what Marlene’s answer was to John’s BIG question. You decide what her answer was for yourself. She did answer him, as a clue.
So, I’m Buck.
And I’m Cassie
I’m John
I’m Marlene
An’ I’m Tillie, for sure
Saying,
Happy trails to you until we meet again.