“Here’s your hat; what’s your hurry?” the pirate asks, as we rush to pay the bill. Fumbling, I drop my change all over the floor, then throw Junior my keys. “Would you get Victory out of the truck, and put her in yours?”
“Sure thing,” he says, catching them.
I scramble to pick up the coins. It’s the guy’s tip, and I don’t want him to think I threw it on the floor because of horrible donuts and cold coffee.
Jumping into Junior’s truck, I look in the backseat. Victory’s all belted in and ready to go. “Thanks, Junie,” I say, “for taking care of her.”
“No problem. She’s one great dog.”
He noses out onto Main Street and heads toward the Ferguson farm.
I point to my truck. “Think it’ll be okay parked in front of The Back Door all day?”
“Sure. Probably the safest place, out in the open like that.”
Junior’s quieter than usual on our “wild goose chase,” as he called it. “You sure it was close to the Ferguson farm where y’all heard the dogs barking?”
“For sure, Junie. I was with Doc on the way out to visit his horse, Barley, that day. And we both heard them.”
“Okay, then. We’ll do some snooping around.”
With the sun full up now, it’s going to be a scorcher. Heat’s already bouncing off the narrow asphalt road, and leaves are scarce moving on trees as we drive along.
When we get close to the Ferguson farm, Junior seems to change his mind. “I don’t know, Vi. You got a longshot going on out here. I mean, you and Doc heard some dogs barking. That’s what dogs do in the country; it’s their job. Isn’t that right, Victory?” he says, glancing at the pup through his rearview mirror.
“Yeah, but even Doc thought it was weird, all those dogs barking like that. Usually, only a passel of hounds bays, because they’re used in the country to hunt. Farmers don’t keep bunches of regular dogs on their farms. Too expensive. They generally keep one or two at most to guard their sheep, and chickens, and the like.”
“True enough.”
“Here, take this country lane, Junie,” I say, pointing off to the left.
He slows down, glances in the rearview mirror, and makes a swing onto the little ribbon of rocks that passes for a road. The usually near-dry creek running alongside has water in it from the couple of gully-washers we’ve had lately. Thickets have knitted together like the nubby sweaters Grandma makes, and horse grass grows in clumps tall as my head.
“Surely is pretty out here, isn’t it?” I say. “I’m gonna miss seeing all this when I leave these parts, Junie.”
He doesn’t answer me, just rubs the top of his head.
The truck stirs up all manner of insects. Yellow butterflies flutter around us, and I hope we don’t hit any of them. I want to tell Junie to be careful but don’t. He thinks I’m tough inside, but I’m more like one of those butterflies, easy to shatter with a hateful look or harsh word.
“You hear that?” I say, all thoughts of butterflies floating away. I open my window a pinch and can just make out faint barking.
Junior cracks his knuckles on his chin. “Yeah, I do.”
Victory gives a low growl from the backseat. “Okay, girl. Nothing for you to worry about.” She puts another grumble on me, then quiets down.
“You packin’ today, Junie?”
“Naw. Hadn’t planned on coming up Hog Back, or I would be. I did bring Maw’s binoculars, the ones she uses for watching birds. Reckon I’ll go have a look-see first and leave the keys here. No point in putting all three of us in danger.”
I shake my head real firm. Huh-uh. “I’m going too. It’s still cool enough this early to leave Victory in the shade. We’ll put a couple windows partly down and not be gone long, okay?”
Junior gives me a What’s the use? shrug. Gravel crunches when he swings the truck around. He maneuvers it over a culvert, then drives straight toward the woods. “Whaddya think? This close to where we heard the noise?”
“Pretty much. Look. There’s a protected stand of trees; nice and shady for Victory.”
“Okay, then.” The truck jostles over roots until we’re in the middle of the trees. “You ready?”
My stomach turns over. “Much as I’ll ever be, I suppose.”
Junior kills the engine, checks his wallet, and grabs the binoculars. He opens his door and shuts it real gentle behind him.
I scoot out, open the back door, and unbuckle Victory. “There, girl. Now you can move around. We won’t be long, and you’ll be cool enough with the windows cracked a mite.” I shut her door easy too. Don’t want to make any noise.
“Gotta get my bearings in these woods, Junior,” I say. “I’m reckoning the Ferguson farm’s about a mile or so to the east.” A soft southern breeze plays with my hair, and I could almost forget the reason why we’re out here.
“We should hike in a perimeter instead of going straight into that deeper part of the piney forest,” he whispers. “Safer that way.”
I stop walking and cock my head. “Listen. Hear anything?”
“Yeah, something over to the right. But remember, sound does weird things in deep woods like these. No telling how far or close we are to the dogs, if that’s what’s making it.”
The trees thin out, giving way to rows of thorn bushes. Dense and thick, they may be awesome for rabbits and such, but not so good for me. “Aw, Junie. Snagged my shirt on these brambles. Ripped it. Think there’s any other way to go except through these bushes? I’m getting torn to pieces, and the mosquitoes are thick as Dale Woodbine’s brain.”
“Just be sure you slap ‘em quiet as you can.”
“Damn if this isn’t tick territory too. Don’t feel comfortable at all.”
“Gotta stop talking, Vi. We could be getting too close.”
“Hey, look. I think the track’s finally opening up ahead, like into all those black locust saplings. Let’s watch those thorns too.”
He gives me a thumbs-up, then whispers, “Quiet now, hear?”
I cover my mouth and plow on to get away from mosquitoes, and ticks, and anything else that crawls and bites.
“Wait, Vi. Take a gander at what’s ahead. A clearing of some sort, definitely manmade. Could be the kennel. Crouch down and go slow. Stay behind me.”
Something slams with a chunk, like wood on wood. A puppy, a young’un, is crying his heart out like he just lost his mama. My stomach goes all queasy.
Junior treads light-footed and peeks around a couple bushes. “Well, look what we got,” he whispers hoarsely. “You call these proper cages for any animal to be in? See ‘em stacked up on top of each other? And that so-called roof ain’t big enough to keep off sun, rain, or snow.”
“Maybe it’s to make the dogs meaner, like you said about their treatment, Junie. Uh, you sure nobody’s around? This is scaring me something fierce.”
“None that I can see. I’m thinking it’s only you and me.”
The dogs have gone quiet, like they’re afraid of barking around people. That thought’s not far from the truth.
An open forty-pound sack of dog kibble is lying on the ground like somebody just used it. “Hey, Junie, here’s that same off-brand dog food I saw piled up in Dale’s truck at Doc’s.”
“Oh, yeah? And look over there. Nothing like storing it in a tumble-down outbuilding that’ll draw rats. These guys are real smart, Vi.”
“Listen. That pitiful crying’s started up again. Definitely a distressed dog, but where is it?”
“Sound’s coming from that direction,” Junior says, pointing to some stacked crates. He treads quiet as possible over the pine needles, then stops. “Come on over here, but get prepared.”
My hand flies to my mouth, and I hope I don’t hurl. A young puppy, mostly black with a few white markings, looks like it’s near death. Its neck is rubbed raw and bleeding from a tight metal chain gouging into it. “Little guy’s no more’n four months old, tops. With that thing around its neck, he can hardly pick up his head. Why?” My heart’s ripping in two.
“Probably being punished for going in its crate’s my notion.”
“Well, I’m gonna rescue this poor little thing right now.”
“Vi, think on it a minute. They’re gonna know—”
I bend down, trying to prize apart the links that hold this hateful chain together. Ughh. “Give me a hand, will you?”
Junior sighs, stoops over, and pulls the links apart like they’re paper. The puppy staggers and tries to stand. I scoop it into my arms. “Aw, you’re a little boy. C’mon, let’s go while we can.”
“We need to take a final check around the kennel area, then get the hell out of here,” Junior whispers. “Damn. I left my phone in the car; no signal to speak of out here. But I could still take some pictures. You bring yours?”
I shake my head. “No, left it in the truck for the same reason.”
“Well, then, let’s head on back to the truck before the devil returns to this hellhole. We gotta figure out how to rescue these dogs real quick. With that pup gone, they’ll disappear someplace where they’ll never be found.”
The puppy snuggles into my arms and gets quiet. Either he senses he may be safe or is worn out from trauma. I’m suspecting trauma wins.
Junior takes the lead, but looks back toward the kennel from time to time. “We’ll skirt around those thorn bushes on account of the pup, but it’ll take a tad longer.”
“Thanks, Junie. I appreciate it.”
“Hmph,” he says, like always when he knows he’s made me happy. “Knew you would.”
The rhythm of steady walking has put the puppy to sleep. I clutch him tighter, hoping he’ll realize that finally, the misery that was his world is forever over.