By George Wood
This Story Was an Honorable Mention in Our Contest
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I had everything all sorted. Then this pup showed up.
~
My plan was to use the old man’s Smith and Wesson Model 10. He wasn’t supposed to, but he brought it home with him from Vietnam. Brought lots of other stuff home with him too. Stuff we couldn’t see, but that my sisters and me often felt.
He used the side arm to put down his dogs when it was their time. Used it on himself when he decided it was his time. We buried him here, in what we call the boneyard. Amongst his dogs and kin. He loved his dogs. They have gravestones like all the Walfords buried here. Walfords are my people.
We buried Momma here six months ago. It was the domain thing killed her. She and I fought hard against it. Tried to hold back that dam and the water. We lost out to the lawyers, and the city’s thirst, and the tourism jobs. Mailed her a check and took our farm. Took everything. Tobacco barns, garden plot, chicken coop, smoke house, farmhouse, even this place here where stones mark our bones.
I didn’t answer the day the sheriff knocked. He stood out on the porch and hollered that he had the papers to make us move. Didn’t matter a wit that Momma hadn’t cashed the check they mailed her. Son of a bitch nailed an eviction notice to the door. Same door Walfords been walking through for nearly two hundred years. Momma passed that night. Before she went, she made me promise to bury her here.
My sisters came for Momma’s funeral. They’s older than me by a good bit. I was born after the old man came home from ‘Nam. Some sort of therapy for him and Momma. It didn’t work, but here I am. They left as soon as we covered up Momma’s grave, and they gathered what they wanted from the house. Told me I should move on, like they had. Like they never lived here.
I stayed on the farm. Sheriff came over the day after they shut off the electric and water and told me I was squatting. I burned the place down and moved into one of the tobacco barns. Wasn’t gonna let the sheriff and his cronies paw through our stuff like he done to the others that had been moved on.
Dug my grave a week ago. The dam’s been shut, and I could see the water coming up towards the boneyard. Dug it on Momma’s left side. The old man is on her right. I buried Chet that day too.
Chet was my dog. Raised him up to be a good rabbit dog. But it was his time. He could barely walk. Fed him a can of Vienna sausages before I did it. He loved those things. When the sausages were gone, and he’d licked all the juice off my fingers, he laid right down beside his grave and went to sleep. Made it easy on me. I used the Model 10, just like the old man did.
Woke up this morning and figured it was my time.
With Chet gone, I had nothing left to hold me. Laid down and piled the rocks on me. They would keep my body from floating away. I was laying here, getting ready, the cold from the earth starting to chill me, thinking about all that had gone before. I raised the Model 10 to my head. And that’s when the tiny little whining noise caught my attention. Noise like how a dog does to get your attention but not so’s to irritate you. Looked up and there was the pup. Spittin’ image of Chet, ‘cept a lot smaller. He was leaning over the edge of my grave looking down on me. God knows where he came from. Before I knew it, he jumped right in beside me.
I put him out of the grave. He made me do it again. Each time I laid back down and pulled up the Model 10, he jumped right back in.
~
One time, when Chet and I were hunting rabbits, he cut back close in. Got all anxious running around my feet. Took ahold of my pants cuff with his teeth. I got mad at him. Grabbed him by his collar and shook him, told him I’d kick his ass if he didn’t stop. Then I flung him out in front of me. He landed right on the copperhead he was trying to keep me from. Snake bit him. Vet said we were lucky, the strike pretty much missed Chet’s leg. Dog saved my life.
Looks like he’s gone and done it again.
Wonderful, just wonderful. I was caught in your story’s spell. Perfection, every word. Submit it to The NY Times next.
Totally agree.
If not the NY Times, try the New Yorker. This is better than some of the stories they’ve published, that’s for sure.
P.S. Nice title. Very apt.
Thanks for your kind words. I truly appreciate them.
That was worth a good cry this morning. Magical story and well worth the prize. Kudos!
For an author to know he has moved someone so is a real treasure. Thanks so much.
I can see why it won. Bravo! Pushcart Prize nominee?
Beautiful story. Man-made Grapes Of Wrath and True Grit in one. Heart wrenching and moving at the same time. Great ending. Enjoyed it lots.
Thanks so much. Wow, compared to two of my favorite authors! What a day!
I really like the story, the voice of the narrator, and the strong emotional impact presented in a plain spoken tone. Great job!
I appreciate your kind words, thank you.
Wonderful, such an authentic voice.
First-class story-telling. Congratulations!
Thanks so much.
Definitely a quick moving and compelling story. Of course a dog can save your life.
Lock up the guns and keep writing.
This is a terrific story. Just perfect!
Excellent! A novel’s worth of story in a flash…
Tragic tale. Good work.
Sucked me in right away. Vivid imaging and nice pacing. We’ll done!
very descriptive writing. good job.
Read this at the beach. Had me wondering each time a person passed with a dog. I’d like some more please!
I truly enjoyed this story. Loved the rhythm of the words.
When I start to read a short story these days, I often encounter what amounts to a classroom exercise. All form and flash, but nothing that disturbs or moves me, or sticks to the soul. What an exception we have here! What’s best about this story is that it is eternal. Conrad Aiken. Alice Munro, Chekhov, John Cheever, Hemingway, Somerset Maugham, Flannery O’Connor et al can claim a piece of it. Well done.
A lingering piece.
The first two lines serve as a great hook.
The author shows respect for the reader as so much is given within the shadings of this piece. The life of the Walfords unfolds before us, facing the loss of family, both physically and emotionally…”Brought lots of other stuff home with him too. Stuff we couldn’t see, but stuff my sisters and me often felt,” the loss of income from an industry stopped in its tracks due to the health hazards revealed. The value of land, clutching at the last square inch of dirt. So much loss, yet, life continues and a life is saved.
Than you, for a memorable read.
I love this story. It’s so tight from start to finish – guns and dogs and holes in the ground. Great conversational feel. Thanks!
Bravo. The voice is consistent throughout the story and his story draws you in. The way you consistently reveal new information through the entire story is sneaky in such a good way.
Thank you!
Gee wilikers Bullwinkle! Only honorable mention???
Your sequencing was brilliant, and kept me engaged. Use of colloquial language breathed life into the main character. The grave metaphor deepened that character further. Thank you for an excellent read.
Beautiful. I stuff we couldn’t see, but my sisters and me felt. Or “Used it on himself when he decided it was his time.” –> Used it on himself when he decided it was his.