Wednesday, January 22, 2014

The dog who wouldn't die


I tried to kill a dog not once but many times however in the end it wasn’t a bad dog after all.  Bear’s owner was mean spirited, kept the large dog on a very short leash and he, the dog, howled in spasmodic and uninterrupted yelps that went on for hours and hours every time the Illinois central came a clacking through, its whistle heard for miles away.  It bothered me, the treatment of the dog, that is.  Fed only human table scraps, never able to run, the owner cared less for the dog than a man would for someone who stole his blue-eyed girl. No, I didn’t want to kill the dog.  The woman I married wanted me to kill the dog.  I heard the dog at night only after she woke me up to hear its cries.  Being compliant I opened the window and sticking my head out the window yelped and Bear quieted, albeit until I was back in bed.  After deliberations with the police, the owners, the Jackson County humane shelter, and all who would listen to no avail left the woman I married to believe the animal was possessed and had to be taken care of somehow because as I heard it, the yapping from inside became louder than the yapping from outside and my job was to agree. 

Lean, ground beef meatballs mixed with drano, pepper and salt.  The German shepherd ate them up greedily.  For days I watched and nothing.  Absolutely nothing.  He’d shake his tail so hard his rear flung back and forth when he saw me.  A Mormon colleague suggested soaking sponges in blood and then tying them up tight so when the strings finally break but that sounded messy…Bear took an entire bottle of sleeping pills mixed in a can of dog food and I watched for a few days and nothing.  Some Quaker friends offered us a pistol but we were law abiding citizens walking the path to God.

I let Bear off his leash and we went for runs and was that dog happy and I hoped he’d keep going.  In darkness he flew through the forest and around houses and I was running two to three miles and he always found his way back to the mean home that fed him.  Then Bear’s owner attached a new and stronger leash though it wasn’t human proof so he was loosed again and he ran and ran at three in the morning and I don’t know why I thought anything would be different. He kept coming home. 

It was decided the only way to get rid of the dog was transport it at least 25 miles away across the Ohio, into Kentucky, because demons don’t cross rivers.  I dressed in black, had a few steaks, a flash light,  rope, gloves, and the 94 Mercury Villager, seat down, paper lined, ready to transport the dog.  At 2:30 in the morning I backed the vehicle next to the fence that separated the mean spirited people from the ‘we’re gonna get rid of your dog people’ and lo and behold Walt had welded the chained collar right into the dog’s neck, holy shit.  Using the car lights I tried wrestling the chain loose but I needed clippers.  I knocked on our bedroom window and woke up a furious woman, everyone can hear you, you’re blowing it you stupid @#$%. I wrestled with the kindly beast, covered in mud, grass, and hair and tried unsuccessfully to release it without clippers. Exhausted, I sat in the mud while Bear licked my ear. This is stupid.  
I came into the house and there was our last moment of horror; the next day she left. 

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