That damn dog never stopped barking.
His name was Jerry. The neighbors’ white-and-black Jack Russell. Mr. Halverston always left him in the yard late into the night, and you could hear him, yip-yipping at the occasional car that drove by, people taking a stroll. Maybe the moon. And first thing the next morning he was out again. His mother always said you could set your clock by it. That barking.
He grew up with that yip-yip-yipping from across the chain-link fence.
He was a good dog mostly. Once you shut him up. He was happy and liked to fetch, and he’d come back with anything, a Frisbee, a Spalding ball, wagging his tail. His brother Todd always went over and walked him when he came home from school. He would toss him treats across the fence from their bedroom window.
“Why are you doing that?” he would always ask Todd.
“He’s my friend,” his little brother would say. “Why else? You shouldn’t worry about him so much. The dog’s just lonely.”
They’d moved here and switched schools that year. Mom had a new job, working in some office of a garment manufacturer’s in Manhattan. She had to take the ferry early in the morning and then a train. She always came home after dark. For a while it seemed they had to grow up by themselves. Every once in a while, their uncle Clifford would watch them. But he was a weirdo. Once, while they were watching TV in the basement, Clifford touched him in a way he knew wasn’t right. It made him hard and he was ashamed of it, being just twelve. “Don’t tell your mom,” Clifford said. “She’s damn well got enough to worry about without this. You don’t need to upset her more. It’ll be our little secret …”
He nodded, thinking to himself that one day he would take one of those screwy things his mom used to open a wine bottle and drive it into Clifford’s eye.
But his mom did have a lot to do. Then, as soon as she put the dishes away and finally relaxed at night, there was always the barking.
“Someone should do something about it,” she would say.
“Maybe you should talk to Mr. Halverston.”
“God knows, I’ve tried. Lucky it’s a cute little thing,” she would say, holding back a smile, “or else I might well just put it out of its misery.”
Then one night he was home alone doing homework. Mom and Todd were at Todd’s elementary school for a parent-teacher night.
The yip-yip-yipping began. He waited for it to stop. It never did. He opened the bedroom window and looked down at the dog.
“Shut up.”
Jerry just looked up at him, barking even louder.
“Shut the fuck up,” he said.
Maybe thinking he was Todd up there, the dog continued to yelp, standing on his hind legs, looking up at their window. Probably hoping for a biscuit to come down.
Someone ought to do something, he heard his mother say.
He went into the jar on Todd’s desk and took out a couple of treats. Then he went downstairs and out the back into their tiny yard. Jerry barked at him across the wire fence. He looked at the Halverston house. He didn’t see any lights on inside. He knew they liked to play bingo at the church some nights.
Yip. Yip. Jerry was barking.
He went over to the fence and tossed a treat into the Halverstons’ yard. Jerry went for it. He climbed over the fence.
“Here, Jerry. Here, boy …” He held the second biscuit out for him to see. “Come here.”
The dog ran up, tail wagging. He looked around and went into the open garage. Mr. Halverston didn’t really use it for his car. He parked his car out on the street. He used it as a kind of workroom. He had lots of tools and a large freezer in there. He liked to fish. Everyone knew he would go out sometimes at midnight on the bay and always catch something. He’d clean them and cut them up and give some out around the neighborhood. Thick fillets covered in ice shavings. His mother always looked forward to them.
“Come on in here, Jerry. Come on, boy,” he said affably, showing him the second biscuit. He led him into the garage.
He’d had a dream once. Of what he might do to shut him up for good. His mom would be happy. The entire neighborhood would be. He’d be doing everyone some good.
“Come on, boy …,” he said. He opened the freezer door.
There were a couple of frozen fillets stacked on the top shelf, but the bottom was completely free. “Here, boy. Here, Jerry …” he said, waving the biscuit in front of the dog’s nose. He tossed it into the bottom freezer bin and the stupid pooch climbed right in.
He stayed just long enough to enjoy the sound of him whimpering and scratching at the door.
It was two days later when they finally found him. He was frozen like a big dead fish. With a skinny tail.
For two days everyone figured Jerry had gotten out somehow and run away. Instead of barking, all you heard was old man Halverston and his brother going up and down the neighborhood. “Here, Jerry! Here, boy!” calling for the dog.
“Don’t worry,” he said to his mom while she was doing the dishes. “I fixed it, Mommy.”
When they finally found it, there was wailing and shouting across the street. His brother ran into their room and punched him in the face. “I know it was you. It was you!” The police even came and talked with him.
His mom never said a thing.
It was nice, not hearing that stupid barking anymore.
But it wasn’t too long after that his mom came and made them pack up their things and they had to move away again.