Megan
I was scheduled for the swing shift Monday, so I was able to run by the Benbrook Burgers, Bait, and Beer around eleven in civilian clothes. I’d curled my long hair and layered on the makeup, hoping the saleslady wouldn’t recognize me as the cop who’d been in before and asked about the quilts.
I needn’t have worried. The woman I’d spoken to the day I’d discovered the quilts was busy setting up a display of pottery in the far corner and another clerk was running the register.
“Hi,” I told the woman. “I’m Gabby Kerrigan. I paid for a quilt yesterday.” I laid the receipt I’d been given on the counter so she could take a look. “The quilt was supposed to be delivered this morning.”
The woman reached down under the counter. “Got it right here.” She pulled out a bluebonnet quilt and laid it on the counter.
I fought the urge to squeal. “Thanks!”
She bagged the blanket in an oversized gift bag and handed it to me. “Enjoy.”
I drove back home and took the quilt inside, spreading it out across my bed. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” I asked Brigit.
She responded with a wag of her tail.
A twinge of guilt puckered my gut when I thought about what I was about to do to the quilt. The young woman had put a lot of time and skill and care into crafting the quilt, and here I was, about to rip the thing up. It was a shame things had come to this, but I had no choice. It was the only way I could think of to get in contact with the baby’s mother.
I picked up a corner of the blanket, grabbed the front in one hand, the back in the other, and pulled. The fabric didn’t budget. This is solid craftsmanship. It was going to take something more than my bare hands to tear the blanket apart. I laid the quilt down and ventured into the kitchen to retrieve a pair of scissors from the junk drawer. Just as I was about to cut into it, Brigit looked up at me, cocked her head, and issued a canine question. Arrur? Translation: What the heck are you doing?
It dawned on me that a clean cut with scissors might look intentional and raise suspicions. But a ragged tear made by dog teeth? That kind of thing happened by accident.
“Okay, girl,” I told her, as I lowered the corner of the blanket in front of her. “I want you to be naughty. Take this blanket in your teeth and rip it.”
Brigit cocked her head in the other direction. She doesn’t get it.
Her mouth hung open slightly as she panted, so I slipped the corner of the blanket inside. She pulled her head back and crinkled her nose. Still not getting it.
Leaving the blanket there, I returned to the kitchen and snatched a slice of American cheese from the drawer in the fridge. I went back to the bedroom, used the scissors to cut a small slit in one of the bluebonnets, and rolled up the cheese, stuffing it inside. Done, I dropped the blanket to the floor.
Brigit put her nose down, sniffing the blanket. She looked up at me, her furry forehead furrowed. “It’s okay, girl,” I told her. “Get the cheese.”
Still, she seemed hesitant.
“Where was this good behavior back when you were chewing up my shoes?” I asked her.
I picked up the quilt and started roughhousing with it. I wrapped it around her midsection and pulled, dragging her across the floor. “Come on, Brigit!” I whipped it around as if I were a matador and she were a bull. “Toro! Toro, Brigit! Tear this thing up!”
She reached out with her teeth and grabbed it, looking up at me to gauge my response.
“Good girl!” I said. “Get it! Get it good!”
I pulled back on the blanket and she and I played tug-of-war until the fabric making up the bluebonnet tore with a rrrriiiippp!
“Okay, girl,” I said. “That’s enough.”
But I’d unleashed a monster. Now that Brigit had experienced the perverse joy of destruction, she wasn’t about to stop. She attacked the quilt with a vengeance, tufts of cotton flying through the air.
“Stop!” I shouted. Besides the fact that I’d paid $250 for the thing and had hoped it could truly be repaired, if she tore it beyond repair my plan would be foiled. The store clerk would suggest I buy a new one. “Stop!” I yelled again.
Brigit was like a shark in a feeding frenzy, whipping her head back and forth. I had no idea how to stop her.
Wait. Maybe I do.
“Squirrel!” I hollered.
Brigit immediately stopped fighting the quilt and dropped it from her teeth. She looked at me, spun on her paws, and ran ninety to nothing for the back door. I tossed the blanket back into the shopping bag and ran after her. She was scratching at the back door like she’d tear through it if I couldn’t get it open fast enough.
I turned the dead bolt and threw the door open.
She bolted into the center of the yard, stopped, and looked around, lifting her nose to scent the air. When she smelled no squirrel in the vicinity, she looked back at me with an expression of absolute disgust.