Building 8 “The Dog in the Woods”

You can smell it in the air. The rot.

The leaves are already falling. Already wilting. Fall is still a bit off, but it smells like it is already here.

I went to the therapist today. He said I should talk about the dog. Wife thinks so too. Even though it is upsetting. I don't want to think about the dog. About how it yelped and shook...

There isn't a cloud in the sky today. Nothing but sun and a dull haze. That day on the farm...there was no sun. Just rain and a missing dog. A dog I didn't like.

One that wouldn't leave me alone.

It was morning. It was already raining. Dog always came inside for breakfast. Never missed it. But he didn't come. And my parents began to worry. So we went out, even though I didn't want to.

I don't like getting wet.

Started by looking under the porch and in the barn. The hay was wet and musty. I had on rubber boots. Feet squeaked as I walked in them.

We couldn't find him. We decided he must be out in the wood. There were acres and acres of green trees and pinewood. Mom stayed home. Dad went to the left. I went to the right.

And we searched...

He told me not to go too far.

I could smell the wet foliage. The worms wiggling their way out of the ground so they wouldn't drown. The rain fell over the lip of my poncho and onto my shirt. After a while, my t-shirt was wet and sticky.

I called for him. Listened.

Kept looking. Kept calling.

I heard some yelping coming from somewhere deeper in. The woods got thicker. The branches scraped against my yellow poncho. The noise became shrill and pitched as I got closer.

It didn't take long.

I found the dog. His leg was caught in a bear trap.

He was bleeding really bad. I wasn't thinking. I should have gotten my dad, but I didn't want to get him. I wanted to be strong like he told me to be. Like I had to be when I sprained my arm.

So, I tried to pry open the trap, but the iron was slippery. It was hard to get a grip on it. I was just a kid. I didn't have the strength to open the trap. The dog kept yelping and biting at me whenever I tried to work its leg loose. Kept making noise...kept making noise.

I didn't want to hear the noise. For a while I thought I did it because it was hurt. Because I didn't want it to suffer.

Maybe I did.

But it just wouldn't be quiet.

There was a rock, so I wandered over and tried to grab it. I had to dig around it first. Pry it out. It was heavy.

I brought it over.

Dog looked up at me. He was breathing hard. Biting at its own leg to try and get loose, but he was too old. Was mostly gums.

...I lifted the rock. Nearly lost my balance. Then I dropped it.

And I missed.

Felt hot on the back of my neck. Embarrassed. I grabbed the rock again. Lifted it up again.

I didn't miss that time.

It wasn't enough. It wasn't dead. Just yelped. So, I grabbed the rock again and got on my hands and knees. I made sure the next few hits didn't miss.

I don't know how long it took. I just know I was tired. I had blood on my hands and the dog wasn't breathing anymore. I made sure of that.

I could feel its damp fur under my fingers. I was crying. I was crying for the damn thing. I hated that dog and I was crying. It hurt. It was my fault. I should have gotten my dad.

I didn't know what I was going to tell my dad.

I just wanted it to stop hurting. To stop making noise.

Its skin was getting cold. My knees were wet. I don't know how much of that was blood and how much of that was rain.

I put my face against its chest. I never hugged that dog. Wanted to this time. It smelled like it was alive, but it was cold. It wasn't breathing.

I made sure of that.

…

It was already dead.

I never saw anything dead before.

Picked up the rock and looked down at its head.

It was a mess. Eye loose in the socket...Teeth loosened, and skull crushed...Not a week goes by where I don't hate myself for what I did next.

But I was a kid. I was curious...

I removed his collar and I put it off to the side. The skin was looser than a thought it would be. Same with the tongue. Just hanging out of his mouth.

Loose eye staring at me. Got the urge to toss it away, but I left it where it was.

Started working on the legs. Just pulling. Just seeing how hard I would have to pull. I wasn't strong enough. So, I grabbed the rock and started going at the leg. Eventually it was too damaged to hold on.

And I was getting tired.

Started working on the belly. Didn't have a knife. Still had the rock. Hit something enough times and eventually things start spilling out.

Grabbed the intestines. Then the liver. I just wanted to see.

I was just curious.

I heard my dad calling my name.

I kept working.

Kept looking at what was inside.

I didn't know at all what I was doing. But the smell was starting to reach me. I got sick...then my dad arrived...

I never heard my dad scream before.

Not like that.

He didn't hit me. I would have hit me. He just stared at me, then he stared at the dog's body. It kept raining. He was frowning.

I wasn't crying anymore. I was scared. I was angry at myself. I was confused. I didn't know what to say.

He shook his head. He came up to me and pulled me to my feet. He found a puddle and began to wash off my hands and legs.

“I'm sorry,” I said.

He didn't say anything.

We got back home, and dad told mom that it had been caught in a trap, that another animal had got to it. That he would talk to the neighbor about where he put his traps.

Dad somehow convinced my mom to take me to therapy. Eventually he told her what had happened. She was shocked, but she handled it well overall.

It took a long time for me to get another pet.

It has been a long time.

I still see its face and feel the rain as if it were yester-day.

Thinking about it makes me feel tired. It makes me feel cold.

Even if I was just a kid I knew better. I think I knew better...I don't know.

I never saw something dead like that before.

I was curious.

Dad calls me sometimes. Wondering how I am doing. With all those specials about disturbed children on TV I under-stand.

I tell him everything is okay.

I can feel the dog’s fur under my fingers.

I wish that was the end of it.

My dad made me bury it myself.