The Cabin Jesse Ferguson Bear was pulling on the short lead, the one my father had made from an old piece of greasy rope. He tugged hard, and was tightening his neck; I could tell because I was moving where he moved. We weighed about the same, but for once, I felt like I was maybe as strong as him. Maybe just because I was standing behind him. When I heard the racket and the voices earlier, I knew it could only mean one thing. I ran to get my enforcer from his kennel joining the woodshop and came back to the end of the yard feeling much bigger than when I left it. The big one was saying something about my fuckin' dog getting a two-by-four across his fuckin' head, but his voice sounded pretty shaky, and the two-by-four wasn't long enough for a good swing. His friends, who weren't as big (or maybe I couldn't tell because they were farther away) had put a fair stretch of tall weeds between themselves and Bear. One had jumped from the balcony, landing badly like my small log table and chairs, chucked down onto the field. I felt like I might lift off the ground with the excitement, might fly up and hit my head on the tin roof or maybe my dad would come out from behind the hedge of cotton easters and pull me back down. But he didn't and so I had to face them all, with my body ready to fly, wondering if Bear would mix up the smell of my fear with theirs. These guys looked pretty strong, and I'd never seen them before. They probably went to high school and drank beer. I remember a fear of switchblades in each of their pockets, even though the only weapon I could see was that shaky two-by four. That five or six minutes was forever. "Look shithead, if you and your friends don't leave right now, I won't be held accountable for this German shepherd's behavior. He's a trained attack animal." That's what I would have said, but couldn't think of the words. Instead, I managed a mighty "you're dead," a phrase that later came back to bite me. I can't remember how he left the inside of the cabin, where Bear and I had him pinched, but he got out somehow, and it certainly wasn't for lack of ill-will on my part. I can remember their backs running away, and the crazy feeling in my stomach as I put the dog back in his kennel. * * * The big one came back two days later, led by big cops. Dad wasn't home, and I couldn't decide whether that was good or bad. It might have been good to have cops on hand when he received the news. About two weeks later, I wasn't surprised to look out my window, around 11:30, and see the cabin blazing. Published in Out/Words #1 (view contents) Discuss this work in our Forum Back to prose - main