The Barking Dogs

The incessant barking coming from the neighbor’s house located behind the thick snarly woods set Marge’s nerves on edge. She looked down at her mangled arm remembering the day she was attacked by her friend’s pit bull. I hope those dogs are kept in their pen, she thought.

 She had only lived in her house on Cherry Street a month. It was everything she and her husband, Steve, had dreamed about—enough room for children and grandchildren some day, a front porch and a yard. They had just finalized the sell when standing right there in the lawyer’s office Steve gripped his chest and fell to the floor. The paramedics took him directly to Medical Central, but their efforts to revive him failed.

            Now that Marge was alone she toyed with the idea of putting the house back up for sell. What would be the use of having their dream when she would be alone? How could she see herself in a house big enough to raise a family when there would be no family. Speaking to her agent she was told she should hold on to the house for at least a year or she would lose significant money. Steve had advised her many times to be frugal with money so she decided to move into the house at least for awhile until she could decide what her next move would be. The day she moved in her next door neighbor, Liz, came over with a plate of cookies. She liked Liz although Liz seemed to know almost too much about what was going on in the community.

            “Do you hear those dogs?” Liz asked.

            “Yes, where are they?” Marge asked.

            “They belong to the Smiths over across the woods. They have eight Rottweilers, huge and vicious.” Marge shivered and stared at Liz. Failing to notice Marge’s alarm, Liz kept talking, “I haven’t seen them in over a year since they were puppies. I hear they’re as big as ponies. I’m afraid to let the children play in the woods. I can’t imagine what would happen if one of them slipped his collar. They have that invisible fence. How it keeps them in beats me.”

            “I don’t know why anyone would want that many dogs. I can barely tolerate my cat.” Marge said, her hands shaking as she drained her coffee cup and headed to pour Liz another.

            It was time for her children to arrive home from school. They were attending half days- something about teacher training. Liz reluctantly eased up from the table and headed for the door. She would be back tomorrow. Marge could count on it. Her neighbor was a wealth of information. Marge could hardly mind. She didn’t know anyone else in the neighborhood. She felt she was living a lonely and uneventful life. But that was about to change.

            It was well after dark when Marge arrived home from the grocery store. Lines had been long. The weather girl was predicting snow and she like everyone else in Washington state had waited until the last minute to shop. She put the groceries on the table and looked around for Sam. Where was that cat? She hoped he wasn’t on the prowl again. The last time he went  tomcating he came back with a broken front leg.

            “Here Sam, she called, but no Sam.

            That barking! Sure does sound close. She peered out the back window but couldn’t see a thing. The night’s eerie darkness made a cold chill run through her body. She thought she heard a muffled scream. I need a pole light, she thought. Well, if one of those dogs is loose, I’m not going out there to see about it. She went into the den and turned the T.V. up to drawn out the barking. Morning would come soon enough. 

            Liz appeared as on cue in a play for her morning coffee.

            “Did you hear that dog last night?” Marge asked.

            “Yes, he was really close. Have you seen anything of him this morning?”

            “No, I haven’t really taken the time to look out. But, Sam is missing. He didn’t come home last night. He’s done it before. I’m sure he’s o.k.”

            Liz moved to the window. “Oh, no,” she said as she ran toward the back door. A half eaten Sam was laying on the ground at the back of the yard near the woods, still and bloody.

“ He’s dead,” Liz said.

            Marge rushed to her side. “It must’ve been that dog. The Smiths will have to keep those dogs from getting out. I’m calling the authorities.”

The next day when Liz came for her morning coffee she was a walking newspaper. “You can’t believe what happened when the sheriff visited the Smith’s house,” she said.

            “What?” Marge asked.

            “The sheriff ran smack dab into a dope ring. He had to shoot one of the dogs that almost attacked him and the Smiths are in jail this morning. I hear tell that dope dealers were coming and going from there at all hours of the night. No wonder the dogs couldn’t rest.

            “What will happen to the dogs?” Marge asked.

            “They’re in protective custody. I don’t know where. Anyway, we won’t hear them anymore. Are you going to get another cat?”

            “I don’t think so. Maybe, I’ll get a dog,” Marge said.