A Boy and his Dog...

When an inner situation is not made conscious, It appears outside as fate... Carl Jung

Many roads I have traveled. But only one road... could ever take me home. It was as crooked as my soul. Windy and aimless as my existence... And paved with gravel. As a boy I would walk home from my aunt's house, with only the fleeting sun to light my way. My aunt was of feeble health. Cursed at birth with a weak heart, then worn down with age... She needed help with things, she was too proud to ask for. So my father sent me there during the days of my summer vacation. I didn't mind much. it felt good to be useful for a change.

But it was on this very road where I had encountered an entity that would forever eclipse the sun from my still beating heart. It fallowed from a safe distance behind. I did not hear it, only knew that it was there. I turned around to look and could just barely make out the silhouette of a beast of a dog, coming closer. I was always taught to never run from a dog, that they would only sense your fear. So I remained calm. I wondered who the dog could have belonged to. But as the canine drew closer, I knew he was a stray.

Built like a rottwieler, he had a cinder block for a head. His coat was ravaged with mange. Skin loosely laid over his ribs and his one eye... One hideous eye, smoky white, stricken with cataracts. I didn't want the thing anywhere near me. I screamed at it to go away, but it did not comply. So I picked up a rock and threw it at him. He jumped back, trying to dodge it. But I nailed him in the shoulder. As I continued home, the dog regrouped and fallowed. Only now at a much safer distance.

I felt awful at what I had done. My Aunt had praised me so often as an angel, that I was starting to believe her. But now that euphoria had been sucked away by the thing that fallowed. Only guilt and fear remained now. Several more times I had to turn and throw rocks at him. But he was ready for them, and was growing more and more confident with each confrontation. I began suspect an ominous nature about the dog. And perhaps a devious intelligence.

Of course I told myself that I was being absurd, but I could not shake the sensation I felt behind me. Did you ever pull two magnets apart? The pull between those two magnets is the only way I could ever describe it. Fear had finally consumed all rationality, as I could not help but make a run for it. The dog seemed pleased as it chased after me. It was as if, this was what he was waiting for... The thrill of the hunt.

And though I ran faster than I ever did, the dog was never far behind. I felt the loose gravel move beneath my feet and became mindful of slipping. But I could not slow down, even if I wanted to. The fear had taken complete control of my legs. I had finally made some distance when I came to front porch of my house. I leaped over the steps and slammed the front door behind me. I pulled back the curtain but did not see the dog... anymore.

The next day I decided not to take that road back to my aunt's, for fear the dog would be waiting for me. There was a trail through the woods, that led to her backyard. Of course the idea of walking through those spooky old woods did little to comfort me, but it was much shorter of a walk. I made my way through the woods, unharmed and decided I would go this way from now on. But that evening the woods had a very different feel to it.

I had left a little earlier, in hopes of making it home before sunset. But dense woods filtered out most of the sun. As I wondered deep into the woods I became alarmed with the realization that the sound of the crickets had abruptly stopped. The silence... was almost deafening. There was an old oak tree in my path. Its trunk was wide and its limbs, gnarly and bare. I did not remember seeing this tree before, but figured the setting sun had changed its appearance. As I came closer a dreadfully familiar figure stepped out from behind it. I felt the kinetic energy between us, as its pearl white eye stared back at me like an omen.

There was something within the clutches of its jaws. A rabbit drenched in blood, desperately kicking its back feet... trying to break free. Even from where I stood, I could see the hopeless agony in its little brown eyes. The dog let out a low growl and as it came closer. I slowly stepped back, then turned and ran back to my aunt's house. And like before... the dog fallowed, close behind.

I became aware that the dog had no intensions of catching me. It was if it were taunting me. I could even imagine the thing laughing with gruesome delight, in my head. When I made it back to my aunt's house I found her sleeping. I wanted to wake her, but then remembered her weak heart. Surely, the sight of this terrible dog would kill her. I was alone with my secret nightmare, which decided to plop itself down in the yard, just outside her living room window.

I watched, as he held the poor rabbits head down with it paw. Then with his jaws he grabbed the loose skin from behind its back and deskinned the animal, while it was still alive. I felt something die in me, as I watched helplessly, as the rabbit made drew in its final gasps of breath. I could sense that the dog was watching me out of the corner, of his one good eye. It was though he wanted me to see it. As if this was all for me.

I spent the night on my aunt's couch that night. I had told my father over the phone, that she was breathing funny in her sleep and felt it best to be there to check on her. I dared not mention my dilemma to him. He was as hard as nails and would never tolerate any nonsense from me. "Don't be sissy," he would say.

I made sure all the doors where locked... and closed all the curtains. As I laid there on the couch, tormented with the knowledge that he was out there, somewhere... I wonder about this peculiar sense of loss. And the strange vacuum that now existed between me and the dog. I began to imagine the dog farther away now, wondering deep within the woods. The farther away he went the weaker I felt. It was as if my soul was now connected to him. Stressed by the growing distance between us.

That night I dreamed... such horrible fascinations. I saw myself standing in and open field. The sun was very bright and the rye around me was gold. The dog sat across from me. His one eye, pearl white as was mine. I looked down and saw a rabbit lying motionless. I understood what the dog wanted me to do. And the urge to do it, stirred within. With my own hands, I tore at the creature.

I pried open its chest and dug its heart out. I watched it beat slowly in my hands before shoving it into my mouth. I chewed with morbid satisfaction as blood ran down my chin. The dog panted while its long tong hung out the side. It was pleased with me. I began to feel an inner peace with him. A communion, if you will. But when I looked back down I saw my aunt lying in place of the hair. Her chest wide open, filled with blood, as I heard her whisper with vacancy in her eyes, "Such a good boy."

I awoke in a cold sweat. I hurried to her room and threw on the lights. There she laid, peaceful and undisturbed. Her chest calmly rising and descending. I walked home that morning. I did not trust myself to be around her. And more so, I felt my heart sinking into a cesspool of guilt. I did not worry about the dog. I began to suspect that he did not favor the broad daylight. Preferring the shadows of the setting sun. Upon the cusp, between day and night. I too, began to despise the sun.

The short walk home left me tired and drained. I feared that I might becoming down with something. Flu perhaps? I decided to lay down for a while.

I wasn't feeling any better when my father came home. Normally he was skeptical of my frequent and exotic illnesses, that always seemed to pop up during the school year. But the look of concern on his face told me that for once, he believed me. He made dinner that night. I was amazed to see him work the oven. I guess dads can do anything after all.

After we ate, he told me to go straight to bed. He gathered up the plates and set them into the sink. Then retired to his hobby in the cellar. My father loved moonshine. So much so, he had a distiller in the basement. He told me it was delicate work and that he did not want to bothered while he was down there. I never realized of full of it he was, until now. I guess that everyone has a sanctuary, where they can let down the false persona and just be comfortable with there demons. My father's demon was alcohol.

We all pretend to be good people. It's alright to pretend, but when we try to fool ourselves into believing in the archetype that we present to the world, we tend to become... ugly. Judgmental of others, "Holier than thou". We bastardize those who fail to live up to our standards. Truth be told... We learn as children... so as long as we're the ones pointing and laughing, were not the ones being laughed at. And those being laughed at, learn to hide there weaknesses... And plot to kill you.

This is what my father learned to do... From behind those cold eyes was a man, just as scared and weak as myself. Or perhaps, a stray dog... A father, after all... is just a persona. One of many shields for a man to hid his ugliness behind. Perhaps that dog had no shield to hide behind... And all he had to offer me was his pure nakedness, wondering alone in the dark. Hoping I might feel, just like him. Perhaps, he was right.

I awoke to the sound of something trying to get in through my window. Its claws scrapped against glass, making an awful hiss. A low growl bellowed out with the rage of, what I could only describe as sexual frustration. I knew it was my canine stalker. He wanted in... He could not stand to be away from me any longer. I raced down to the basement where my father was.

I stood there in the shadows, at the bottom of stairs and remained silent. He did not look up at me, as he filled a bottle from the tap, with what he called, "White Lightning." "Yeah?" He asked. I quickly replied, "There's a dog trying to get through my window!'
"Who's dog?" He asked.
"I don't know? I'm pretty sure he's a stray!"
"Then it must be your dog."

I didn't know what he meant by that. I guess every stray belongs to someone, even if its owner won't admit it. My father tightened the cap onto the bottle and set it upon an old book shelf, next to some old copies of Charles Bukowski's; "Love is a dog from hell" and, "Ham on rye." He reached for his shot gun, lying next to it. I remembered that shot gun. I saw my father holding it in his mouth, the day my mother left us. He did not expect me to catch him there in the cellar. That is why I was never to go down there... As I said... We all have persona's to keep.

The man would never give her the satisfaction of shedding a tear, in front of her. But deep down... he was a river of pain. He calked the barrel and casually said," Let's go get your dog." I fallowed him, as proud as a son could be. My father feared nothing... when you survived every hardship, God could ever through at you... the devil seems to be little more, than an annoying circus freak.

He kicked the screen door open, as he stepped onto the front porch. He saw the beast, and saw him. The dog snarled viciously as he came down the steps, to face him. I stood behind my father. For the first time in my life, I was not scared. There is only one thing meaner than the devil. And that's a father, that doesn't like is boy being fucked with. He stared down the barrel of the gun, at the dog. His white eye, stared back as if ready to pounce.

The moon light was all they had to see each other. As the mutt fiercely, displayed its fangs in one final, desperate act of intimidation, my father then lowered the gun. His eyes were no longer filled with hate, but rather... revelation. "This dog isn't alive," he remarked. The dog's growl lowered as he turned to me and said," Just as God accepts the devil as his own very demon, A man must accept his... And keep him locked away within the cellar of his soul."

"If a man neglects his duty, then his demon roams free. Destroying everyone he loves. This demon found you. But he cannot enter your soul without your permission. So he found the carcass of a dead dog and fallowed you." He then handed me the riffle and said," Take care of your own problems... I'm going to bed." My father walked away, forsaking me. Every bone in my body trembled, as the dog found a new sense of confidence. His snarls escalated as I raised the gun to his face.

I never felt so alone, as I did at that moment. The dog drew closer, saliva dripping from his chin. I wanted to run away as I always did. But I knew he would only fallow. And just as he leaped, I squeezed the trigger. The shot gun blast was deafening... A bright light was all I saw. The dog let out one final whimper as he fell to the ground. My shoulder throbbed with a pain unlike anything I had ever felt before. I wanted to cry, but as I turned I saw my father leaning against the doorway. Smoke from his cigarette, lingered into the cool night air.

I knew then he had not forsaken me. Just like when he would let go of my bicycle, he always ran close behind... Watching my descent into manhood... he pointed to a shovel that leaned against the wall. "Bury your dog, boy..." he commanded, "Bury him deep..." And so... by the light of my bedroom window, I dug his grave. His one eye, like a crystal ball stared back at me, as I dug deeper and deeper into the earth.

It was within this crystal ball, I saw my fate. The demon was now content... buried deep within my soul. As every day past, I would look upon that mound of dirt, and know that this was my cellar. And no matter how much time had past... Nothing ever grew upon his grave. Not a blade of grass... Not a single daisy... Not even a, "RED FERN."

END....