A Dog Named Dog
Content
Memoir Ariadne Hawkins Boston, MA, USA [email protected] copyright Ariadne Hawkins
First Place Winner, Memoirs Ink. Writing Contest Spring 2011 (Hockey Night in Canada) Finalist, Third Coast Creative Nonfiction Writing Contest, 2008 (A Dog Named Dog)
The Gift of Anonymity Chapter 1 A Dog Named Dog
My family had limited talent when it came to naming pets. But at least Dog was a better name than Shithead. That was the name my brother bestowed on a scruffy mutt he adopted when we were teenagers. Shocking as it sounded in public (³Shithead, heel!´) it wasn¶t even original, having been lifted from the Steve Martin movie, The Jerk. Still, despite his unfortunate name, Shithead did live longer than some of our other animals. Dog was our second pet, acquired full-grown in 1971 when I was eight years old. I thought the decision to get an adult animal had been influenced by our discouraging experience the previous year. Our first pet had been a tiny fluffy kitten that we never had a chance to name. She arrived in a cardboard box to our home that summer: a converted school bus parked
1
Hawkins
The Gift of Anonymity
Ch. 1 A Dog Named Dog
in a meadow in the Rocky Mountains. We enjoyed her antics and lovely softness that evening, and debated inconclusively over her name. But the next morning, my brother Ries (rhymes with peace) headed out to relieve himself in the woods, and stepped right onto the kitten as she crept out from under the bus. Her back was broken, and my parents decided she had to be put down. From a distance, I saw my brother watch in somber fascination as the kitten suffocated in a plastic bag, sealed by driving the back tire of the bus over the open end. Dog was a much sturdier pet, and he was a very good dog. Most of the time. An unusually large and handsome German Shepherd, he reminded me of my stepfather Alan: intelligent, charismatic, and possessed of an uncanny ability to influence others. Yet he also displayed an unwillingness to follow rules, and a lack of control that was finally his undoing. Dog was clearly Alan¶s dog. When not off doing dog things, he was Alan¶s shadow, following him about on chores or lying quietly beside his chair in the evening. He became part of the family during our first truly transient summer, and it must have been tough to be a dog on the road, with the long hours in the car and constantly changing venues. However, he managed to handle travel remarkably well, never getting lost, and always appearing instantly when called as we packed up to leave. When the fruit-picking season ended, our family and about a dozen people we had gathered on our travels decided to settle for the winter near Burton, British Columbia. Proud to call themselves hippies, the men all had long hair, and many of them beards, and the women similarly had long hair and usually wore flowing skirts or loose pants, and of course wore no makeup (or bras for that matter). My mother wore her hair very long and natural, and would sometimes tie it back on itself in a loose bun if she were cooking or working. She was slender
2
Hawkins
The Gift of Anonymity
Ch. 1 A Dog Named Dog
and graceful, and favored cotton blouses and light long skirts, often of inexpensive fabric from India. John Lennon glasses completed the look. Alan had shoulder-length hair and sometimes a beard, and with his tall well-built physique and air of wisdom and charisma, he resembled a muscular Jesus. The plan was to build a commune based on a shared commitment to live more simply and µgo back to the land,¶ doing without electricity, running water, and other modern conveniences. Our group found a piece of land that we could squat on, well into the woods, up an old logging road a couple of miles from town. The site was not far from a small mill, which had mounds of scrap lumber piled about its yard, providing building materials for our new home. It seemed to the grownups, who had no experience in architecture, that a giant wood teepee would be the most straightforward way to get a roof over our heads. The Native Indian link was also appealing. Hippies admired the traditional native way of life, and my parents had cultivated ties with several tribes while camping out on reservations here and there throughout the province. And since we arrived late in September, we needed something simple that could be finished before the first snow hit Gradually, a large rough cone the size of a house emerged among the trees, and we were able to move out of our tents and cars. I soon found that although the lumber scraps were free, and decorated the walls with rustic swatches of bark, their irregular shapes resulted in gaps that we stuffed with moss and newspaper, which did little to block the drafts. Inside the
cone there were two levels: the ground level which was a large common area, and the upper a large loft where the adults slept. It was an airy place, with rooms and privacy created by Indian batiks hung on clothing lines. And while the other two children in the commune were
3
Hawkins
The Gift of Anonymity
Ch. 1 A Dog Named Dog
young enough to sleep near their parents, Ries and I climbed a small ladder to a cozy nook of our own between the two main levels, a ledge not much wider than our sleeping rolls. The problem of providing heat and a cooking fire for a house of up to twenty people was solved in authentic teepee style. A hole at the apex of the cone allowed smoke to escape from the fire held in a circle of large stones at the center of the dirt floor. Outside the stones lay a larger circle of logs for sitting. Later we added a wood stove with a chimney, as well as some wood flooring on the perimeter of the common area, but we kept the nightly open fire through the winter. Each evening we sat around the fire to eat our communal meal, and I would look up through the hazy smoke as the grown-ups talked. To me, the early morning freeze from the hole in the roof seemed a reasonable tradeoff for some relief from the thick air. Dog would stretch out next to Alan, lifting his head when he heard Alan¶s voice, clearly content to be the top dog¶s top dog. After supper the guitars, banjos and autoharps came out, and the music often lasted until long after I climbed up to bed. It was an ideal place for a large healthy dog, at least initially. There was plenty nearby for him to explore ± a rushing mountain river, the mill further up the road, plenty of deer in the woods, and a couple of farms with more dogs. Lots of dog adventures just an easy lope from home. The forest was pleasant to walk in. The dense cover of conifers prevented much light from filtering down to the ground, so there were a few ferns and lots of mushrooms, but mostly a soft carpet of needles. This was much better than the mountains near the coast, where the undergrowth of the rainforest was so thick that a dog, never mind a child, couldn¶t dream of
4
Hawkins
The Gift of Anonymity
Ch. 1 A Dog Named Dog
finding a way through. But in the interior mountains near Burton we both found it easy to traipse off, and I was soon discovering fantastic fungal formations on the trees, feeling the soft moss between my toes, and poking sticks into the rocky narrow river. That fall I watched the salmon come upriver in the steep current. Dog would sometimes appear while I was there, perch bear-like on a rock, and swat at the salmon as they struggled up stream. I thought it un-sportsmanlike of him ± they were so battered and bruised by the time they had reached this far that they were laughably easy prey. I could see where rock had pounded skin away, leaving the flesh to rot even as the fish continued their climb. Most people didn¶t realize just how far the salmon swam: we were a couple of hundred miles from the coast, and I knew they went even farther. To add insult to injury, Dog wouldn¶t even eat the fish when he landed one. Perhaps he knew what I found out later: that salmon become inedible and even poisonous at the end of their journey. What stupid fish they were. What possessed them to swim huge distances up streams to lay eggs in a particular place to create the next generation of foolish salmon? I sometimes threw rocks at them, sort of aiming and sort of not, unsure of whether I really wanted to hit them. On the one hand, it would be a favor to put them out of their misery. But did I really want to frustrate their noble quest? The Indians revered the salmon for their single-mindedness and endurance, placing them prominently on totem poles, masks and platters. But were they really that admirable when the goal they strived for was so idiotic? Hell, just lay your eggs downstream like the ones who had had the good luck to be spawned there, the salmon equivalent of being born with a silver spoon in the mouth. Why fixate on one particular spot? If they didn¶t know what home was, they would be a lot better off, that¶s for sure.
5
Hawkins
The Gift of Anonymity
Ch. 1 A Dog Named Dog
After a short time Dog would tire of the fish, and leave me on my own. Dog preferred the large and the fast ± leggy dark-eyed deer and quick-as-a-flash squirrels. I was interested in the small and delicate. Fiddleheads and tiny white mushrooms. Spirals of fragile white birch bark that made roofs and walls for the forest fairy houses I built. The forest felt like a safe and friendly place, even in the winter. The snow came and raised the level of the whole world. I grew concerned about the fairies, going back to check on my little houses and build new ones as the old ones were swept away by miniature avalanches. I returned from school after dark as winter arrived, but even a bit of moon, captured and reflected by the snow, provided enough illumination to visit my familiar places. It was peaceful and quiet, and for some reason I never got lost, or even worried about it. Perhaps my
middle name, Ariadne, was appropriate: possessor of a thread that would always lead to a way out. And while I knew there were bears and sometimes cougars in the mountains, it was easy to stay out of trouble if you knew how to avoid antagonizing them. I felt comfortable in the woods, able to choose where to wander, calm in the damp cool tranquility. I loved my name, although most people didn¶t know how to pronounce it. I would try to sound it out slowly for people ± ³ah-ree-add-knee,´ but sometimes even that didn¶t work, so I would say ³just Ari will do.´ My father had given me this name, and I felt as though it was the only thing I had left of him. He had simply disappeared from my life a couple of years ago when I was in kindergarten, and Mum never said anything about where he had gone or when he might come back. Then she moved us out to Vancouver earlier this year, thousands of miles from my early childhood home, Ottawa. Soon after arriving in Vancouver, she met Alan, and suddenly we had a stepfather.
6
Hawkins
The Gift of Anonymity
Ch. 1 A Dog Named Dog
And now I had only vague memories of my life in Ottawa. We moved numerous times, so I didn¶t remember any particular house. About my homes, the main thing I remembered was that there were lots of people around all the time. Dad was a poet and musician, and I guess that was why so many people came over. He also helped run a club called L¶Hibou, a name I somehow remembered, perhaps because the grownups on the commune still talked about it. I recalled that it smelled like beer and cigarettes, and Ries and I would crawl around under the tables, giggling, Then there was Granny Simpson, who smelled so good, a soft scent that matched the feel of her cheek. Granny Fern had a little dog, and would take us to the Dairy Queen to buy us banana splits. I love, love, love banana splits, and she was surprised that I could eat the whole thing. We watched Mummy on the television ± it was a children¶s show and she looked very different then, Her hair was shorter and flipped up at the end, and she wore different glasses: black and shaped like a cat¶s eyes. We also heard her on the radio, where she would talk in between the pretty music. And I remembered walking down the sidewalk carrying two pop bottles to take to the store to trade for candy, but then tripping, breaking the glass and cutting my wrist. There was so much blood and it hurt when the doctor did some stitches. But that was about it. Mostly I remembered moving a lot, I wasn¶t sure I would ever see my father again. I had given up on hoping for a letter or even a Christmas card from him. I figured he must be awfully busy doing something very important. I couldn¶t even remember much about my father any more either, just some vague impressions of sitting on his lap reading, and the nice smell of his sweater. But I knew he had picked this name for me, and I knew it was from Greek myths, about a princess who had given a hero a ball of thread and a sword, so he could kill a monster in a maze. There was something
7
Hawkins
The Gift of Anonymity
Ch. 1 A Dog Named Dog
about her becoming a goddess later too. In any case, I thought it was pretty, and maybe it helped me from getting lost. Unlike the forest, town and school did not feel safe. Burton had a population of five hundred, if that. It had a gas station and general store - where town folk watched us hippies suspiciously - and not much else. My brother and I were dropped into the tiny local school a few weeks late, since we had been picking fruit as long as possible to put away enough cash for the winter. The school was small and nondescript. I noticed little beyond the books I was reading at the time (Nancy Drew and The Hardy Boys), the feel of the chair on my back, and the wonderful warmth of the central heat. I was a precocious reader, well ahead of my grade level, and teachers seemed to find it difficult to integrate me into the class. I didn¶t make it easy, either, since I preferred to just sit in the back with my security-blanket book, and participate as little as possible. The real challenge was recess. Canadians have an almost religious faith in the value of fresh air, so unless the weather was truly dangerous, we had to go outside. I would slide out the door and try to find a quiet spot to keep reading. Ries, just one grade ahead, had a much harder time. Being a boy made him a more obvious target for bullying, and boys shouting ³hippie kid´ and throwing rocks often pursued him. As a girl, I was typically subjected to the feminine form of youthful cruelty, ostracism. It wasn¶t just the hippie thing: I really did look different. In my school photo from that year I looked like a caricature of a hillbilly, scrawny and short, with fine brown hair that is half in and half out of braids, wearing a worn dress with
8
Hawkins
The Gift of Anonymity
Ch. 1 A Dog Named Dog
a lopsided collar which appeared to have been buttoned up wrong. So girls pointedly ignored me and snickered behind my back, but I could usually block it out enough to read. I was so used to this routine that I was shocked one day to find a boy standing in front of me. ³Hippie kid!´ he sneered. What was wrong with the guy? Didn¶t he know that boys weren¶t supposed to bother girls? I mean, what did he want me to say? Maybe he was on a dare. In any case, there he was, right in my face as I tried to ignore him and continue reading. This made him angry, and he grabbed my arm, knocking my book down. ³Hey! What are you doing?´ I said. ³Whatchya readin¶, hippie girl?´ he said in a high fake-girl voice. ³Leave me alone!´ I said, and tried to pick up my book. His grip slid down to my hand, and I felt a sharp pain. As I stood up I found a fork sticking out of my hand, and nasty, triumphant look on the boy¶s face. The schoolyard slid away, and there was just me, my hand, and the fork. He waited for me to scream or cry, but I just stared down. I didn¶t know it was possible to stick a fork into a hand so it would stick straight up. I turned away and walked into the school. The teacher seemed oddly cross with me as she bandaged up my hand, but from then on I was allowed to stay in and read during recess. A white scar in the shape of a star developed, and remained there like some strange small brand. So the forest was definitely the safest place, for me and for Dog, and it was only when we ventured out of it that we found trouble. Even the path from the highway could be
9
Hawkins
The Gift of Anonymity
Ch. 1 A Dog Named Dog
treacherous. The school bus dropped Ries and me off at the highway, where we had about a mile walk up the dirt road to the commune. As winter deepened, heavy snows accumulated, and white walls grew up above our shoulders, changing the path packed down by footsteps into a cold white corridor. When spring came the walls melted down, but the path below had meanwhile become solid ice. Eventually, in one section there was an ice bridge over a black, almost pond-sized puddle. I approached it nervously, looking for cracks and listening for snaps and creaks, but not wanting to take the very long and muddy detour. One day a loud popping sound made me pause. A moment later the ice collapsed around me. I plunged up to my chest in the dark freezing water - I had had no idea the water was so deep under the bridge. I stifled shock, tried to breathe, and waded to solid ground, weighed down by mud and decomposed leaves. I was cold enough to be scared and crying, but Ries had run ahead of me earlier and couldn¶t hear, so I stumbled along, the dark forest wrapping around me as the scant daylight faded. I was blue by the time I finally got home, where I was quickly bundled up and placed near the fire. When there was enough water heated to fill the big metal tub, the warm bath soaked away the last of my shivers. But a fork in the hand and an icy dunk were nothing compared to the trouble that found Dog. We knew he hunted squirrels and young deer in the woods during the fall, but as the snow levels rose, he sank too deep in it to move with any ease. He took to wandering more frequently on the roads, which led to local farms, and to their sheep. He was intrigued by them, but somehow knew they were too big to handle on his own. So he gathered other dogs in a pack and tried to pick off the slower sheep. The farmers were furious. They¶d never had packs hunting the sheep before, and packs did far more damage than the odd rogue dog. That Shepherd dog from the hippie commune had started some serious trouble.
10
Hawkins
The Gift of Anonymity
Ch. 1 A Dog Named Dog
Alan was concerned, but didn¶t see that there was anything to be done about it. We had no fence, and I don¶t think he would have fenced Dog in anyway. They were so close, and Alan had such high regard for Dog, that it would have been too great a betrayal. Needless to say, tying up the noble beast was out of the question as well. So he said we would just feed him more, and hope that decreasing Dog¶s hunger would dampen the urge to hunt. I wasn¶t actually sure what we fed him. We were vegetarians at the time, and we didn¶t have money for dog food. I doubt Dog cared much for our leftovers ± beans and lentils in various forms. Come to think of it, I was rather skinny myself, and developed a distaste for legumes. My mother had bought supplies in the fall: 50 and 100 pound bags of staples like beans, flour, dried milk, brown sugar, carrots and onions. Each evening she and the other women prepared a large meal, usually involving lentil-loaf or something that resembled vegetarian stew or casserole. We couldn¶t afford much fresh dairy, fruits, or vegetables (oranges were a special Christmas treat). But I think we were remarkably well nourished on a tiny budget, and I never tired of my mainstay: oatmeal with brown sugar. Slump was my favorite food ± a ³secret recipe,´ Mum would say. She simmered dried fruits all day until they became an intense jammy stew, and dropped in dumplings at the beginning of supper so they would be steaming and light in time for dessert. My mother had painstakingly dried the apples, plums and apricots months earlier. Our family picked fruit from the trees to earn cash, but fruit that had dropped on the ground was free for the taking. Mum often sent us kids out gathering the sticky pieces late in the day, then she sat in the evening, washing and pitting by the fire. In the morning she spread the fruit out on old window screens, and placed them to dry in the fierce Okanagan Valley sun. The result was
11
Hawkins
The Gift of Anonymity
Ch. 1 A Dog Named Dog
brown and shriveled ± hardly the plump colorful dried fruit one found in the supermarket ± but it made excellent slump, and tasted like sunshine in the deep of winter. Whatever Dog¶s diet change may have been, it didn¶t seem to help with the hunting. Finally the farmers took things more directly into their own hands. One day, in the early cold spring, I came home to find Alan and a couple of grownups crouched around something near the house. It was Dog, lying on the ground, breathing hard and noisily as Alan gently stroked his head. ³What happened?´ I asked. ³Dog got shot,´ Alan said. One of the farmers had pulled out a rifle as Dog led a pack into his herd, and shot him. Before the farmer could reach him, Dog had made it to the trees, limped his way home, and collapsed in front of the door. ³Will he be all right?´ ³I don¶t know. We¶ll have to see,´ said Alan. I squeezed beside him to pat Dog¶s head myself. Then I saw the bullet hole on the side of his chest, just behind his front shoulder blade. It wasn¶t very messy, which surprised me. ³Where¶s the bullet?´ I asked. ³It came out the other side, which is good,´ said Alan. Sure enough, as we moved him inside, I could see another neat hole on his other side. My mother boiled water and Alan cleaned the wounds carefully. At first Dog just lay on a blanket on the floor, only raising his head to lap at a dish of water, or to watch my mother as she applied poultices of dried goldenseal and other herbs.
12
Hawkins
The Gift of Anonymity
Ch. 1 A Dog Named Dog
After a couple of days, Dog could struggle to his feet, and totter a few steps to a bowl of food. We started to think he might make it: hunger is always a good sign. I was surprisingly relieved. While he was very much Alan¶s dog, I realized he was also a kindred spirit for me, based on our shared love of the forest and occasional companionship there. He still looked weak and wasted, like some kind of wraith dog. But each day he grew stronger and started gingerly moving around to place himself beside Alan whenever possible. He ventured outside, briefly at first, and his eyes brightened. It was our own spring miracle: who¶d ever heard of a dog recovering after being shot clear through the chest? His fur became shiny again, and grew over the small puckered scars. Meanwhile the snow had turned to slush and mud. Spring seemed no improvement over winter, and in fact it was worse. It was still cold, but instead of a clean white dry cold it was wet, grey and muddy. But there was a silver lining: Easter was coming, then birthdays first my brother¶s, then mine. Both my grandmothers had sent candy for Easter - at least, so I suspected from the secretive movements of my mother. One day I woke up early, too sleepy to realize that it was Easter Sunday, but needing to pee enough to brave the cold. I climbed down the ladder from my loft and stumbled towards the big door, heading for the outhouse across a short stretch of mud and remaining patches of snow. As I pushed on the door, a huge blue candy Easter egg swam into sight, wedged behind an angled piece of wood that held together the slats of bark. It made the freezing toilet trip bearable for once, and I scurried back up to bed to nibble on it for an hour before others got up.
13
Hawkins
The Gift of Anonymity
Ch. 1 A Dog Named Dog
After Easter, Dog seemed to fully recover, and wandered farther and farther. Spring took hold, and a band of green crept slowly up the mountains, pushing back the melting snowcap. The trees dripped and new bird songs trilled in the woods as flocks returned from their southern winter homes. Finally the ground was dry enough for me to return to my favorite places, and do some repair of my fairy houses. The stream was a huge gushing torrent now, carrying chunks of still-melting snow to the lakes and rivers, and on to the huge turbines of the hydroelectric dams of British Columbia. I was happy to be back in my old haunts and away from the commune, which had felt claustrophobic during the time when it was neither cold nor warm enough to be in the forest. Ries began to get excited about his tenth birthday coming up late in April. Granny Fern in Ottawa always sent some money with a card, and Granny Simpson usually sent something interesting from her various travels abroad. This year, Ries told me he had asked Alan if he could have a hit of acid for his birthday. I really didn¶t think it would happen, but it disturbed me - scared me actually - that he wanted to. His interest in trying drugs seemed to start after we had both accidentally eaten some hash brownies a year earlier. My mother had left us for a couple of days with a friend, known as Crazy Jackie for her loud and goofy laugh. Soon after Mum left, a party got underway, and more and more people stopped by her rambling and freewheeling house. Booze was flowing, talk was loud, and the Stones were blaring on the stereo in the smoke-filled rooms. Ries and I found it easy to sneak a few of the brownies that had been left out on a plate into our pockets. We hiked down to the beach, gobbling our prizes on the way, innocent of their special ingredients. The rocks on the beach were particularly fascinating, I stared at the
14
Hawkins
The Gift of Anonymity
Ch. 1 A Dog Named Dog
trees waving in the wind, and giggled at Ries¶ jokes and antics until my sides hurt. It wasn¶t until we began to get hungry and cold, that we realized we had no idea where we were. Nothing looked familiar as we wandered towards what we thought was Jackie¶s house. It got dark, and I was very scared. The giggles were gone, and we picked our way along the shore in serious silence. When I finally woke up it was to the voice of my mother screaming at Jackie. I couldn¶t remember how or when we were found. Since my mother almost never raised her voice, it was quite memorable. We left quickly, Ries and I keeping a low profile in the back seat as my mother drove, jamming the clutch hard into gear, lips pressed into a thin line. While I had no desire whatsoever to repeat that experience, Ries started to hang around when the grownups sat down to smoke joints, waiting till they became mellow and talkative. Grownups did seem nicer when they were stoned. He asked for tokes, and at first was just laughed off. But eventually, someone might be buzzed enough to say something like ³Hey why not? Just one toke can¶t hurt. It¶ll be good for him, help him sleep.´ So Ries would get his prized toke, and then provide some amusement as he giggled sleepily, smiled a lot, and ate practically everything in sight. I generally left when this started. I didn¶t like it. It reminded me too much of the way people acted when they would force smoke into a cat¶s mouth, and then laugh as it got stupid. The day after his birthday, Ries didn¶t walk to the school bus with me. Mum said he wasn¶t feeling well. I figured he had eaten too much whole wheat birthday cake, or was getting a day off to sleep in as a birthday treat. When I returned home, I stopped to help one of the younger kids gather up some kindling.
15
Hawkins
The Gift of Anonymity
Ch. 1 A Dog Named Dog
³So, did you see Ries last night?´ she asked. ³What do you mean?´ I thought about it. I¶d had too much cake myself, and fallen asleep early. ³Well he was pretty crazy. He was acting real funny and laughing till he cried. Alan said he was up all night.´ ³Why would he do that?´ ³Well I guess it was that acid stuff Alan gave him for his birthday.´ She took the wood inside. I turned and walked off towards the river. The young spring salmon were so fast and small they could barely be seen. They rushed their way downstream, anxious to reach the endless waters of the open sea. There they would be unbound from the sharp rocks and swift currents that defined their youth in the steep river. How did it feel, I wondered, to suddenly have the whole world open up? How did they know what to do? Were they happy to leap off into the liquid horizon, or were some frozen with fear and indecision, overwhelmed by the scale of the choices that confronted them? Dog came along and climbed up a nearby boulder. This spring he seemed content to watch the fish. He knew he was no match for the combination of youth and current that sped by, and he didn¶t bother to try to catch any. Dog was now fully recovered. If you brushed the fur aside you could still see the scars on each side of his stout chest, but he seemed as strong as ever now. This was apparently true, as we began to receive visits from the local farmers complaining that Dog had been hunting
16
Hawkins
The Gift of Anonymity
Ch. 1 A Dog Named Dog
sheep again. It seemed that even though the forest was once more open to him, he could not break the habit of easy game and exciting company. Finally, one warm day a police officer came driving up the road, splattering his car with mud, and stepping out with an expression of disgust as he looked around the house and yard. The little kids stood in bare feet with mouths open as he hitched up his belt. ³I need to see the owner of that German Shepherd dog you have here,´ he snapped. Alan came out and stood talking with him for some time. Eventually the officer walked back to his car, took one last scornful look around, and drove off. Alan watched him go, and stood there, very still, for some time. ³What happened?´ I asked my mother when I found her by the stove a bit later. ³The police say that Dog has to be tied up, or they will put him down.´ Her tone was curt, and I didn¶t ask more. Alan sat by the fire, smoking and stroking Dog¶s head for a while, looking into the flames. Finally he stood, picked up something from behind the door, and said ³Dog, come,´ as he walked outside. I followed, and watched them head into the woods, Dog¶s brown tail wagging as they disappeared into the shadows. I sat there on the step as the sun went behind the mountains, and the forest became a black silhouette against the waning sky. A sudden loud crack split the air, and I put my head in my hands. A few minutes later, Alan¶s dim shape emerged slowly from the trees, walking alone.
17
Hawkins
The Gift of Anonymity
Ch. 1 A Dog Named Dog
First Place Winner, Memoirs Ink. Writing Contest Spring 2011 (Hockey Night in Canada) Finalist, Third Coast Creative Nonfiction Writing Contest, 2008 (A Dog Named Dog)
The Gift of Anonymity Chapter 1 A Dog Named Dog
My family had limited talent when it came to naming pets. But at least Dog was a better name than Shithead. That was the name my brother bestowed on a scruffy mutt he adopted when we were teenagers. Shocking as it sounded in public (³Shithead, heel!´) it wasn¶t even original, having been lifted from the Steve Martin movie, The Jerk. Still, despite his unfortunate name, Shithead did live longer than some of our other animals. Dog was our second pet, acquired full-grown in 1971 when I was eight years old. I thought the decision to get an adult animal had been influenced by our discouraging experience the previous year. Our first pet had been a tiny fluffy kitten that we never had a chance to name. She arrived in a cardboard box to our home that summer: a converted school bus parked
1
Hawkins
The Gift of Anonymity
Ch. 1 A Dog Named Dog
in a meadow in the Rocky Mountains. We enjoyed her antics and lovely softness that evening, and debated inconclusively over her name. But the next morning, my brother Ries (rhymes with peace) headed out to relieve himself in the woods, and stepped right onto the kitten as she crept out from under the bus. Her back was broken, and my parents decided she had to be put down. From a distance, I saw my brother watch in somber fascination as the kitten suffocated in a plastic bag, sealed by driving the back tire of the bus over the open end. Dog was a much sturdier pet, and he was a very good dog. Most of the time. An unusually large and handsome German Shepherd, he reminded me of my stepfather Alan: intelligent, charismatic, and possessed of an uncanny ability to influence others. Yet he also displayed an unwillingness to follow rules, and a lack of control that was finally his undoing. Dog was clearly Alan¶s dog. When not off doing dog things, he was Alan¶s shadow, following him about on chores or lying quietly beside his chair in the evening. He became part of the family during our first truly transient summer, and it must have been tough to be a dog on the road, with the long hours in the car and constantly changing venues. However, he managed to handle travel remarkably well, never getting lost, and always appearing instantly when called as we packed up to leave. When the fruit-picking season ended, our family and about a dozen people we had gathered on our travels decided to settle for the winter near Burton, British Columbia. Proud to call themselves hippies, the men all had long hair, and many of them beards, and the women similarly had long hair and usually wore flowing skirts or loose pants, and of course wore no makeup (or bras for that matter). My mother wore her hair very long and natural, and would sometimes tie it back on itself in a loose bun if she were cooking or working. She was slender
2
Hawkins
The Gift of Anonymity
Ch. 1 A Dog Named Dog
and graceful, and favored cotton blouses and light long skirts, often of inexpensive fabric from India. John Lennon glasses completed the look. Alan had shoulder-length hair and sometimes a beard, and with his tall well-built physique and air of wisdom and charisma, he resembled a muscular Jesus. The plan was to build a commune based on a shared commitment to live more simply and µgo back to the land,¶ doing without electricity, running water, and other modern conveniences. Our group found a piece of land that we could squat on, well into the woods, up an old logging road a couple of miles from town. The site was not far from a small mill, which had mounds of scrap lumber piled about its yard, providing building materials for our new home. It seemed to the grownups, who had no experience in architecture, that a giant wood teepee would be the most straightforward way to get a roof over our heads. The Native Indian link was also appealing. Hippies admired the traditional native way of life, and my parents had cultivated ties with several tribes while camping out on reservations here and there throughout the province. And since we arrived late in September, we needed something simple that could be finished before the first snow hit Gradually, a large rough cone the size of a house emerged among the trees, and we were able to move out of our tents and cars. I soon found that although the lumber scraps were free, and decorated the walls with rustic swatches of bark, their irregular shapes resulted in gaps that we stuffed with moss and newspaper, which did little to block the drafts. Inside the
cone there were two levels: the ground level which was a large common area, and the upper a large loft where the adults slept. It was an airy place, with rooms and privacy created by Indian batiks hung on clothing lines. And while the other two children in the commune were
3
Hawkins
The Gift of Anonymity
Ch. 1 A Dog Named Dog
young enough to sleep near their parents, Ries and I climbed a small ladder to a cozy nook of our own between the two main levels, a ledge not much wider than our sleeping rolls. The problem of providing heat and a cooking fire for a house of up to twenty people was solved in authentic teepee style. A hole at the apex of the cone allowed smoke to escape from the fire held in a circle of large stones at the center of the dirt floor. Outside the stones lay a larger circle of logs for sitting. Later we added a wood stove with a chimney, as well as some wood flooring on the perimeter of the common area, but we kept the nightly open fire through the winter. Each evening we sat around the fire to eat our communal meal, and I would look up through the hazy smoke as the grown-ups talked. To me, the early morning freeze from the hole in the roof seemed a reasonable tradeoff for some relief from the thick air. Dog would stretch out next to Alan, lifting his head when he heard Alan¶s voice, clearly content to be the top dog¶s top dog. After supper the guitars, banjos and autoharps came out, and the music often lasted until long after I climbed up to bed. It was an ideal place for a large healthy dog, at least initially. There was plenty nearby for him to explore ± a rushing mountain river, the mill further up the road, plenty of deer in the woods, and a couple of farms with more dogs. Lots of dog adventures just an easy lope from home. The forest was pleasant to walk in. The dense cover of conifers prevented much light from filtering down to the ground, so there were a few ferns and lots of mushrooms, but mostly a soft carpet of needles. This was much better than the mountains near the coast, where the undergrowth of the rainforest was so thick that a dog, never mind a child, couldn¶t dream of
4
Hawkins
The Gift of Anonymity
Ch. 1 A Dog Named Dog
finding a way through. But in the interior mountains near Burton we both found it easy to traipse off, and I was soon discovering fantastic fungal formations on the trees, feeling the soft moss between my toes, and poking sticks into the rocky narrow river. That fall I watched the salmon come upriver in the steep current. Dog would sometimes appear while I was there, perch bear-like on a rock, and swat at the salmon as they struggled up stream. I thought it un-sportsmanlike of him ± they were so battered and bruised by the time they had reached this far that they were laughably easy prey. I could see where rock had pounded skin away, leaving the flesh to rot even as the fish continued their climb. Most people didn¶t realize just how far the salmon swam: we were a couple of hundred miles from the coast, and I knew they went even farther. To add insult to injury, Dog wouldn¶t even eat the fish when he landed one. Perhaps he knew what I found out later: that salmon become inedible and even poisonous at the end of their journey. What stupid fish they were. What possessed them to swim huge distances up streams to lay eggs in a particular place to create the next generation of foolish salmon? I sometimes threw rocks at them, sort of aiming and sort of not, unsure of whether I really wanted to hit them. On the one hand, it would be a favor to put them out of their misery. But did I really want to frustrate their noble quest? The Indians revered the salmon for their single-mindedness and endurance, placing them prominently on totem poles, masks and platters. But were they really that admirable when the goal they strived for was so idiotic? Hell, just lay your eggs downstream like the ones who had had the good luck to be spawned there, the salmon equivalent of being born with a silver spoon in the mouth. Why fixate on one particular spot? If they didn¶t know what home was, they would be a lot better off, that¶s for sure.
5
Hawkins
The Gift of Anonymity
Ch. 1 A Dog Named Dog
After a short time Dog would tire of the fish, and leave me on my own. Dog preferred the large and the fast ± leggy dark-eyed deer and quick-as-a-flash squirrels. I was interested in the small and delicate. Fiddleheads and tiny white mushrooms. Spirals of fragile white birch bark that made roofs and walls for the forest fairy houses I built. The forest felt like a safe and friendly place, even in the winter. The snow came and raised the level of the whole world. I grew concerned about the fairies, going back to check on my little houses and build new ones as the old ones were swept away by miniature avalanches. I returned from school after dark as winter arrived, but even a bit of moon, captured and reflected by the snow, provided enough illumination to visit my familiar places. It was peaceful and quiet, and for some reason I never got lost, or even worried about it. Perhaps my
middle name, Ariadne, was appropriate: possessor of a thread that would always lead to a way out. And while I knew there were bears and sometimes cougars in the mountains, it was easy to stay out of trouble if you knew how to avoid antagonizing them. I felt comfortable in the woods, able to choose where to wander, calm in the damp cool tranquility. I loved my name, although most people didn¶t know how to pronounce it. I would try to sound it out slowly for people ± ³ah-ree-add-knee,´ but sometimes even that didn¶t work, so I would say ³just Ari will do.´ My father had given me this name, and I felt as though it was the only thing I had left of him. He had simply disappeared from my life a couple of years ago when I was in kindergarten, and Mum never said anything about where he had gone or when he might come back. Then she moved us out to Vancouver earlier this year, thousands of miles from my early childhood home, Ottawa. Soon after arriving in Vancouver, she met Alan, and suddenly we had a stepfather.
6
Hawkins
The Gift of Anonymity
Ch. 1 A Dog Named Dog
And now I had only vague memories of my life in Ottawa. We moved numerous times, so I didn¶t remember any particular house. About my homes, the main thing I remembered was that there were lots of people around all the time. Dad was a poet and musician, and I guess that was why so many people came over. He also helped run a club called L¶Hibou, a name I somehow remembered, perhaps because the grownups on the commune still talked about it. I recalled that it smelled like beer and cigarettes, and Ries and I would crawl around under the tables, giggling, Then there was Granny Simpson, who smelled so good, a soft scent that matched the feel of her cheek. Granny Fern had a little dog, and would take us to the Dairy Queen to buy us banana splits. I love, love, love banana splits, and she was surprised that I could eat the whole thing. We watched Mummy on the television ± it was a children¶s show and she looked very different then, Her hair was shorter and flipped up at the end, and she wore different glasses: black and shaped like a cat¶s eyes. We also heard her on the radio, where she would talk in between the pretty music. And I remembered walking down the sidewalk carrying two pop bottles to take to the store to trade for candy, but then tripping, breaking the glass and cutting my wrist. There was so much blood and it hurt when the doctor did some stitches. But that was about it. Mostly I remembered moving a lot, I wasn¶t sure I would ever see my father again. I had given up on hoping for a letter or even a Christmas card from him. I figured he must be awfully busy doing something very important. I couldn¶t even remember much about my father any more either, just some vague impressions of sitting on his lap reading, and the nice smell of his sweater. But I knew he had picked this name for me, and I knew it was from Greek myths, about a princess who had given a hero a ball of thread and a sword, so he could kill a monster in a maze. There was something
7
Hawkins
The Gift of Anonymity
Ch. 1 A Dog Named Dog
about her becoming a goddess later too. In any case, I thought it was pretty, and maybe it helped me from getting lost. Unlike the forest, town and school did not feel safe. Burton had a population of five hundred, if that. It had a gas station and general store - where town folk watched us hippies suspiciously - and not much else. My brother and I were dropped into the tiny local school a few weeks late, since we had been picking fruit as long as possible to put away enough cash for the winter. The school was small and nondescript. I noticed little beyond the books I was reading at the time (Nancy Drew and The Hardy Boys), the feel of the chair on my back, and the wonderful warmth of the central heat. I was a precocious reader, well ahead of my grade level, and teachers seemed to find it difficult to integrate me into the class. I didn¶t make it easy, either, since I preferred to just sit in the back with my security-blanket book, and participate as little as possible. The real challenge was recess. Canadians have an almost religious faith in the value of fresh air, so unless the weather was truly dangerous, we had to go outside. I would slide out the door and try to find a quiet spot to keep reading. Ries, just one grade ahead, had a much harder time. Being a boy made him a more obvious target for bullying, and boys shouting ³hippie kid´ and throwing rocks often pursued him. As a girl, I was typically subjected to the feminine form of youthful cruelty, ostracism. It wasn¶t just the hippie thing: I really did look different. In my school photo from that year I looked like a caricature of a hillbilly, scrawny and short, with fine brown hair that is half in and half out of braids, wearing a worn dress with
8
Hawkins
The Gift of Anonymity
Ch. 1 A Dog Named Dog
a lopsided collar which appeared to have been buttoned up wrong. So girls pointedly ignored me and snickered behind my back, but I could usually block it out enough to read. I was so used to this routine that I was shocked one day to find a boy standing in front of me. ³Hippie kid!´ he sneered. What was wrong with the guy? Didn¶t he know that boys weren¶t supposed to bother girls? I mean, what did he want me to say? Maybe he was on a dare. In any case, there he was, right in my face as I tried to ignore him and continue reading. This made him angry, and he grabbed my arm, knocking my book down. ³Hey! What are you doing?´ I said. ³Whatchya readin¶, hippie girl?´ he said in a high fake-girl voice. ³Leave me alone!´ I said, and tried to pick up my book. His grip slid down to my hand, and I felt a sharp pain. As I stood up I found a fork sticking out of my hand, and nasty, triumphant look on the boy¶s face. The schoolyard slid away, and there was just me, my hand, and the fork. He waited for me to scream or cry, but I just stared down. I didn¶t know it was possible to stick a fork into a hand so it would stick straight up. I turned away and walked into the school. The teacher seemed oddly cross with me as she bandaged up my hand, but from then on I was allowed to stay in and read during recess. A white scar in the shape of a star developed, and remained there like some strange small brand. So the forest was definitely the safest place, for me and for Dog, and it was only when we ventured out of it that we found trouble. Even the path from the highway could be
9
Hawkins
The Gift of Anonymity
Ch. 1 A Dog Named Dog
treacherous. The school bus dropped Ries and me off at the highway, where we had about a mile walk up the dirt road to the commune. As winter deepened, heavy snows accumulated, and white walls grew up above our shoulders, changing the path packed down by footsteps into a cold white corridor. When spring came the walls melted down, but the path below had meanwhile become solid ice. Eventually, in one section there was an ice bridge over a black, almost pond-sized puddle. I approached it nervously, looking for cracks and listening for snaps and creaks, but not wanting to take the very long and muddy detour. One day a loud popping sound made me pause. A moment later the ice collapsed around me. I plunged up to my chest in the dark freezing water - I had had no idea the water was so deep under the bridge. I stifled shock, tried to breathe, and waded to solid ground, weighed down by mud and decomposed leaves. I was cold enough to be scared and crying, but Ries had run ahead of me earlier and couldn¶t hear, so I stumbled along, the dark forest wrapping around me as the scant daylight faded. I was blue by the time I finally got home, where I was quickly bundled up and placed near the fire. When there was enough water heated to fill the big metal tub, the warm bath soaked away the last of my shivers. But a fork in the hand and an icy dunk were nothing compared to the trouble that found Dog. We knew he hunted squirrels and young deer in the woods during the fall, but as the snow levels rose, he sank too deep in it to move with any ease. He took to wandering more frequently on the roads, which led to local farms, and to their sheep. He was intrigued by them, but somehow knew they were too big to handle on his own. So he gathered other dogs in a pack and tried to pick off the slower sheep. The farmers were furious. They¶d never had packs hunting the sheep before, and packs did far more damage than the odd rogue dog. That Shepherd dog from the hippie commune had started some serious trouble.
10
Hawkins
The Gift of Anonymity
Ch. 1 A Dog Named Dog
Alan was concerned, but didn¶t see that there was anything to be done about it. We had no fence, and I don¶t think he would have fenced Dog in anyway. They were so close, and Alan had such high regard for Dog, that it would have been too great a betrayal. Needless to say, tying up the noble beast was out of the question as well. So he said we would just feed him more, and hope that decreasing Dog¶s hunger would dampen the urge to hunt. I wasn¶t actually sure what we fed him. We were vegetarians at the time, and we didn¶t have money for dog food. I doubt Dog cared much for our leftovers ± beans and lentils in various forms. Come to think of it, I was rather skinny myself, and developed a distaste for legumes. My mother had bought supplies in the fall: 50 and 100 pound bags of staples like beans, flour, dried milk, brown sugar, carrots and onions. Each evening she and the other women prepared a large meal, usually involving lentil-loaf or something that resembled vegetarian stew or casserole. We couldn¶t afford much fresh dairy, fruits, or vegetables (oranges were a special Christmas treat). But I think we were remarkably well nourished on a tiny budget, and I never tired of my mainstay: oatmeal with brown sugar. Slump was my favorite food ± a ³secret recipe,´ Mum would say. She simmered dried fruits all day until they became an intense jammy stew, and dropped in dumplings at the beginning of supper so they would be steaming and light in time for dessert. My mother had painstakingly dried the apples, plums and apricots months earlier. Our family picked fruit from the trees to earn cash, but fruit that had dropped on the ground was free for the taking. Mum often sent us kids out gathering the sticky pieces late in the day, then she sat in the evening, washing and pitting by the fire. In the morning she spread the fruit out on old window screens, and placed them to dry in the fierce Okanagan Valley sun. The result was
11
Hawkins
The Gift of Anonymity
Ch. 1 A Dog Named Dog
brown and shriveled ± hardly the plump colorful dried fruit one found in the supermarket ± but it made excellent slump, and tasted like sunshine in the deep of winter. Whatever Dog¶s diet change may have been, it didn¶t seem to help with the hunting. Finally the farmers took things more directly into their own hands. One day, in the early cold spring, I came home to find Alan and a couple of grownups crouched around something near the house. It was Dog, lying on the ground, breathing hard and noisily as Alan gently stroked his head. ³What happened?´ I asked. ³Dog got shot,´ Alan said. One of the farmers had pulled out a rifle as Dog led a pack into his herd, and shot him. Before the farmer could reach him, Dog had made it to the trees, limped his way home, and collapsed in front of the door. ³Will he be all right?´ ³I don¶t know. We¶ll have to see,´ said Alan. I squeezed beside him to pat Dog¶s head myself. Then I saw the bullet hole on the side of his chest, just behind his front shoulder blade. It wasn¶t very messy, which surprised me. ³Where¶s the bullet?´ I asked. ³It came out the other side, which is good,´ said Alan. Sure enough, as we moved him inside, I could see another neat hole on his other side. My mother boiled water and Alan cleaned the wounds carefully. At first Dog just lay on a blanket on the floor, only raising his head to lap at a dish of water, or to watch my mother as she applied poultices of dried goldenseal and other herbs.
12
Hawkins
The Gift of Anonymity
Ch. 1 A Dog Named Dog
After a couple of days, Dog could struggle to his feet, and totter a few steps to a bowl of food. We started to think he might make it: hunger is always a good sign. I was surprisingly relieved. While he was very much Alan¶s dog, I realized he was also a kindred spirit for me, based on our shared love of the forest and occasional companionship there. He still looked weak and wasted, like some kind of wraith dog. But each day he grew stronger and started gingerly moving around to place himself beside Alan whenever possible. He ventured outside, briefly at first, and his eyes brightened. It was our own spring miracle: who¶d ever heard of a dog recovering after being shot clear through the chest? His fur became shiny again, and grew over the small puckered scars. Meanwhile the snow had turned to slush and mud. Spring seemed no improvement over winter, and in fact it was worse. It was still cold, but instead of a clean white dry cold it was wet, grey and muddy. But there was a silver lining: Easter was coming, then birthdays first my brother¶s, then mine. Both my grandmothers had sent candy for Easter - at least, so I suspected from the secretive movements of my mother. One day I woke up early, too sleepy to realize that it was Easter Sunday, but needing to pee enough to brave the cold. I climbed down the ladder from my loft and stumbled towards the big door, heading for the outhouse across a short stretch of mud and remaining patches of snow. As I pushed on the door, a huge blue candy Easter egg swam into sight, wedged behind an angled piece of wood that held together the slats of bark. It made the freezing toilet trip bearable for once, and I scurried back up to bed to nibble on it for an hour before others got up.
13
Hawkins
The Gift of Anonymity
Ch. 1 A Dog Named Dog
After Easter, Dog seemed to fully recover, and wandered farther and farther. Spring took hold, and a band of green crept slowly up the mountains, pushing back the melting snowcap. The trees dripped and new bird songs trilled in the woods as flocks returned from their southern winter homes. Finally the ground was dry enough for me to return to my favorite places, and do some repair of my fairy houses. The stream was a huge gushing torrent now, carrying chunks of still-melting snow to the lakes and rivers, and on to the huge turbines of the hydroelectric dams of British Columbia. I was happy to be back in my old haunts and away from the commune, which had felt claustrophobic during the time when it was neither cold nor warm enough to be in the forest. Ries began to get excited about his tenth birthday coming up late in April. Granny Fern in Ottawa always sent some money with a card, and Granny Simpson usually sent something interesting from her various travels abroad. This year, Ries told me he had asked Alan if he could have a hit of acid for his birthday. I really didn¶t think it would happen, but it disturbed me - scared me actually - that he wanted to. His interest in trying drugs seemed to start after we had both accidentally eaten some hash brownies a year earlier. My mother had left us for a couple of days with a friend, known as Crazy Jackie for her loud and goofy laugh. Soon after Mum left, a party got underway, and more and more people stopped by her rambling and freewheeling house. Booze was flowing, talk was loud, and the Stones were blaring on the stereo in the smoke-filled rooms. Ries and I found it easy to sneak a few of the brownies that had been left out on a plate into our pockets. We hiked down to the beach, gobbling our prizes on the way, innocent of their special ingredients. The rocks on the beach were particularly fascinating, I stared at the
14
Hawkins
The Gift of Anonymity
Ch. 1 A Dog Named Dog
trees waving in the wind, and giggled at Ries¶ jokes and antics until my sides hurt. It wasn¶t until we began to get hungry and cold, that we realized we had no idea where we were. Nothing looked familiar as we wandered towards what we thought was Jackie¶s house. It got dark, and I was very scared. The giggles were gone, and we picked our way along the shore in serious silence. When I finally woke up it was to the voice of my mother screaming at Jackie. I couldn¶t remember how or when we were found. Since my mother almost never raised her voice, it was quite memorable. We left quickly, Ries and I keeping a low profile in the back seat as my mother drove, jamming the clutch hard into gear, lips pressed into a thin line. While I had no desire whatsoever to repeat that experience, Ries started to hang around when the grownups sat down to smoke joints, waiting till they became mellow and talkative. Grownups did seem nicer when they were stoned. He asked for tokes, and at first was just laughed off. But eventually, someone might be buzzed enough to say something like ³Hey why not? Just one toke can¶t hurt. It¶ll be good for him, help him sleep.´ So Ries would get his prized toke, and then provide some amusement as he giggled sleepily, smiled a lot, and ate practically everything in sight. I generally left when this started. I didn¶t like it. It reminded me too much of the way people acted when they would force smoke into a cat¶s mouth, and then laugh as it got stupid. The day after his birthday, Ries didn¶t walk to the school bus with me. Mum said he wasn¶t feeling well. I figured he had eaten too much whole wheat birthday cake, or was getting a day off to sleep in as a birthday treat. When I returned home, I stopped to help one of the younger kids gather up some kindling.
15
Hawkins
The Gift of Anonymity
Ch. 1 A Dog Named Dog
³So, did you see Ries last night?´ she asked. ³What do you mean?´ I thought about it. I¶d had too much cake myself, and fallen asleep early. ³Well he was pretty crazy. He was acting real funny and laughing till he cried. Alan said he was up all night.´ ³Why would he do that?´ ³Well I guess it was that acid stuff Alan gave him for his birthday.´ She took the wood inside. I turned and walked off towards the river. The young spring salmon were so fast and small they could barely be seen. They rushed their way downstream, anxious to reach the endless waters of the open sea. There they would be unbound from the sharp rocks and swift currents that defined their youth in the steep river. How did it feel, I wondered, to suddenly have the whole world open up? How did they know what to do? Were they happy to leap off into the liquid horizon, or were some frozen with fear and indecision, overwhelmed by the scale of the choices that confronted them? Dog came along and climbed up a nearby boulder. This spring he seemed content to watch the fish. He knew he was no match for the combination of youth and current that sped by, and he didn¶t bother to try to catch any. Dog was now fully recovered. If you brushed the fur aside you could still see the scars on each side of his stout chest, but he seemed as strong as ever now. This was apparently true, as we began to receive visits from the local farmers complaining that Dog had been hunting
16
Hawkins
The Gift of Anonymity
Ch. 1 A Dog Named Dog
sheep again. It seemed that even though the forest was once more open to him, he could not break the habit of easy game and exciting company. Finally, one warm day a police officer came driving up the road, splattering his car with mud, and stepping out with an expression of disgust as he looked around the house and yard. The little kids stood in bare feet with mouths open as he hitched up his belt. ³I need to see the owner of that German Shepherd dog you have here,´ he snapped. Alan came out and stood talking with him for some time. Eventually the officer walked back to his car, took one last scornful look around, and drove off. Alan watched him go, and stood there, very still, for some time. ³What happened?´ I asked my mother when I found her by the stove a bit later. ³The police say that Dog has to be tied up, or they will put him down.´ Her tone was curt, and I didn¶t ask more. Alan sat by the fire, smoking and stroking Dog¶s head for a while, looking into the flames. Finally he stood, picked up something from behind the door, and said ³Dog, come,´ as he walked outside. I followed, and watched them head into the woods, Dog¶s brown tail wagging as they disappeared into the shadows. I sat there on the step as the sun went behind the mountains, and the forest became a black silhouette against the waning sky. A sudden loud crack split the air, and I put my head in my hands. A few minutes later, Alan¶s dim shape emerged slowly from the trees, walking alone.
17
Hawkins
The Gift of Anonymity
Ch. 1 A Dog Named Dog
