"Puppy, puppy, come here," she called.
They fell for it day after day. They stopped mid jump, mid yelp, mid roll, mid head swing--looked around for a second to see where the sound came from, then like hound puppies always reacted, bounded all together and all at once toward her like she was their long lost best friend. They would entertain themselves trying to lick, nip, rub, or touch that one finger, or if she could manage, a few fingers. A few jumped on the fence with both paws, trying to get closer to her, barking, seemingly trying to talk to her, get her attention, share their heartfelt love.
All the while, I was easing through the big gate, hoping its hinges didn't squeak too loudly, calling them back. I balanced the large metal pan of dogfood mixed with warm water. As soon as the pan cleared the gate, I put it down quickly on the hard packed dirt and bolted back through the opening before the gate shut behind me. If I was lucky, I got out without hanging a piece of clothing on the sharp metal fencing or nicking a leg or arm on a wire sticking out, escaping milliseconds before the whole herd of puppies saw me and bounded for the food pan, leaving Jan standing alone like a wallflower abandoned at a school dance.
We'd saved their lives in a way. Not once, but twice. Their neurotic mother had them under our long house. Naturallly, she gave birth under the living room when the closest entrance to the crawlspace was under our bedroom window, ten yards away. Daddy was short and rotund, active, but not able to squeeze into tight places. He was also claustrophobic. Thus, he drafted us. We reneged, refused, retreated. He begged, beseeched, and finally bribed.
We could hear the little squeals, high pitched and frantic.
"All right, girls," he said, a slight smile forming on his full face. "I'll give you fifty cents for every puppy you bring out."
Jan and I looked at each other and rolled our eyes. Risking snakes, skunks, worms, moist dirt that smelled like musty clothes, and the occasional wasp seemed like it was worth more than the three dollars apiece those puppies might generate. Daddy was guessing by the noise under there that there might be about twelve of them.
We knew we had to get them out though. Jik was a bad mother. Twice previously, she had litters, then they mysteriously disappeared. Daddy said she killed them though her mild manner made us doubt him. He knew animals though. And we believed him, though we didn't want to think about it or hold a grudge against Jik.
"Okay, I need somebody to crawl under there," he said, his face getting a little red, his voice more insistent.
"Let's both go," Jan suggested. It wouldn't be quite as creepy if someone else was experiencing the terror simultaneously. "A dollar a puppy," she said, acting like a businesswoman in important negotiations.
"Dollar per puppy," Daddy said.
"Okay," I said suddenly, like I'd been stuck with a cattle prod, (we called them hotshots). "Let's go."
And with that, we both lay down flat on the green bermuda grass, her first, me second and shimmied through the dark opening. The dirt smelled like it'd been there since time began and made me gag a little. My eyes strained to adjust to the dark space.
"What was that?" Jan asked in a startled voice.
"Nothing. Just me gagging at the smell."
"Oh...it's hard crawling under these pipes," she said, grunting as she pulled herself along, leaving an indention in the dark sandy soil like a huge snail.
"How far do you think we have to go?" I asked her, aiming the flashlight Daddy had rolled under the house to us.
"Hey, shine that a little higher so I can see," she said, glancing back at me. A little dirt clump clung to her blonde pony tail. I wanted to make a joke about it being a rat pill, but I was petrified of rats so even thinking it made me shudder.
"I see 'em now," she said. "Oh man, there are a lot of them. They look like a big, writhing, black and white snake."
"Don't talk about snakes," I scolded her. "It makes me want to get out of here fast! I hate this!"
She strained forward, me crawling behind her, my nose almost touching the soles of her tennis shoes.
"Awww, here little fella," she said, a soft tone entering her voice now. "Come 'ere. Let me have your brother too."
She handed something warm and furry to me. It squeaked, its eyes tightly closed. I didn't want to be under here, but I felt compassion for the little thing. It couldn't help it that it had pscyho dog for a mother.
I tucked it in the crook of my right elbow and started dragging myself forward with my left arm, pushing with the tips of my toes for added momentum. It seemed to take forever, but then I saw the light of the outside opening.
"Here," I said, holding the tiny puppy out into the light. Hands reached down to take them. Someone had arrived to help my dad. Probably Mother. I thought I saw my cousin Phil, too. With that, I moved my body in a circle, my toes slowly making an arc like the metal compasses we used at school, and started back for another puppy. Jan was right behind me. We repeated this process six times. On the last trip, we emerged to the bright sunlight, squinting and covering our eyes with filthy hands. Our clothes looked like those in the pictures of the poor white kids in the Dust Bowl, filthy and board straight.
"Twelve dollars, please," Jan said, holding out her hand to Daddy.
He thought a minute. "Ok," he said, "I'm going to knock these puppies in the head. I'll sell 'em back for a dollar apiece." He looked toward Phil and grinned.
That ruse only lasted a minute before my mother gave him a stern look. We had already started hopping up and down, begging for their lives. This was, to my mind, the second time we saved them.
My dad was grinning as he got out his wallet and paid each of us $6. Mother was heading for the kitchen to fix supper, and she didn't seem to see the humor in it at all. I guessed that tonight he wouldn't repeat that little joke--not in her hearing anyway.
1 comment:
Always there is someone to take advantage of one's good intentions. No good deed goes unpunished I have heard.
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