Dog Farm: A Search For Religious Tolerance In A Dangerous World, Page 4

  Chapter 3

  An English bulldog called the meeting to order as the sun was about to touch the treetops in the west. “I would like to start by offering my condolences to the families of those dogs that were lost this morning. I knew them all and they were good dogs. In my lifetime we’ve only lost three dogs at the same time on one other occasion. Many of you remember the bear attack that happened about ten years ago. We investigated the situation at that time and found there was a cub involved and it appeared that one of our pups instigated the whole thing. It was truly a horrific event stemming from a misunderstanding.”

  “What about this morning?” Someone yelled from the crowd.

  “Yes, I’m getting to that. After all, it’s why we’ve convened. For those of you who may not know the details; this morning a terrible and tragic scene unfolded at the pond. Three of our dogs, a coyote, a beaver, two chipmunks, and a mole were found dead. There were no signs of trauma anywhere on them, so a mystery presented itself. We thought it appropriate to call in the bloodhounds and a favor from the owl to lead the investigation. Anyway that’s enough from me. I’ll step aside and turn it over to the investigatory team.”

  The old female bloodhound stood and walked over to the center of the group near the Bulldog. She sat down and began. “I would like to say ‘sorry’ to the families as well. As to the investigation, we examined the area on the ground and the owl did an aerial survey to look for clues. We searched the bodies of our dogs and the others. We found the beaver before it died. It was of no real help. It simply said ‘taste funny’ before it died. We did pick up on an odd odor in the air, but it was so faint that we now think we may have imagined it in our efforts to find an answer.

  “What happened to our dogs?” Someone yelled.

  The old lady stared with her drooping eyes toward the heckler and said, “That is the question, and here’s the answer. In short, we don’t know.”

  The crowd of dogs began barking from every corner of the barnyard. One made its voice heard louder than the rest, “We want to hear from the owl. Where is he?”

  “I don’t know. He should be here, I mean, he knew about the meeting.”

  With perfect timing, the owl flew into the barnyard and flapped its large wings quickly in an effort to slow its momentum. It finished the flight by stretching out its talons and gracefully wrapping them around a small limb. A couple more beats of its wings gave it a balance on the lowest limb of a white oak growing beside the barn. The murmuring of the crowd was silenced by the dramatic entry.

  The bloodhound said, “Everyone wants to hear your wisdom about the deaths and why we can’t tell what happened.”

  The barred owl’s feathers were ruffled and it shook its body quickly to arrange them in a more orderly fashion. He surveyed the crowd of dogs with a prolonged turn of his head. “I have new information,” the owl said. Many dogs started barking around the entire barnyard. Cooper was under the white oak tree. He originally went there to separate himself from his dad, who was in front of the bloodhounds, lapping up every word. Now Cooper found himself directly beneath the key speaker. All eyes were in his direction as the owl began his hypothesis. “I decided to make another sweep around the pond, with the sun in a different position, to see if there could be anything that I missed the first time,” the owl said. Every dog was held in a trance, waiting for the next word. Even Cooper was intrigued and looked up at the bird. He continued, “I did find something new.”

  A mumble ran through the crowd, low and soft. “What was it?” Someone yelled.

  “I found this,” the owl said and reached its beak into the thick feathers of his chest and pulled out a small green stem with a single partial wilted leaf. He dropped it to the ground. The twig bounced once in front of Cooper’s nose. “Don’t touch it,” the owl warned. I know how to handle it.” The owl brushed its open beak back and forth through its feathers until he was satisfied that no remnant of the plant was left. The crowd of dogs pressed in to give a look and a smell. The scent to their untrained noses was weak at best. When the bloodhounds arrived, they separated the dogs to give their noses plenty of room. All three sniffed and sniffed. The scent was weak to them as well, but their noses were keen and superior. The answer dawned on their minds and they looked at each other with wide eyes.

  The old lady bloodhound announced, “It’s hemlock, poison hemlock.”

  Some of the dogs gasped in shock while still others tilted their heads in confusion. The owl returned to its announcement. “This and a few more pieces were found in the pond. For those of you who don’t know, hemlock is the most poisonous and lethal plant that we know of.”

  Again the crowd gasped, but this time they wanted more explanation. “We’ve never had hemlock growing around here. Where did it come from?” A dog asked.

  Owls have always done a far better job of passing down history and tradition from one generation to the next, so it knew the dog’s statement to be false. “Actually, my ancestors reported that there was once hemlock growing in several places for miles through this valley. The meadow and forest within the fence was cleared of it when humans first began frequenting the area. It’s not inconceivable that a seed from a faraway plant could have sprung up near the pond.”

  A dog spoke up and noted, “That don’t explain how it got in the water.”

  “No it doesn’t. That’s true. Perhaps the beaver took it to the water. Perhaps a storm blew it in. Here’s the problem; I can’t find any growing in the meadow. As a matter of fact, I know of only one place where hemlock grows. It’s beyond your southern fence, about two miles. I’ve seen hemlock growing there.

  “We never go past the fence,” a schnauzer said.

  “Yeah, that’s right,” chimed another dog.

  “No one? No one at all?” The owl asked.

  A blue tick hound walked to the tree and admitted, “I’ve been there.” The crowd was quiet again. “A couple of times come to think of it. When you’re chasing ‘coons, you sort of zone out. You know, lose track of time and place. Maybe some of the other hounds know what I’m talking about. But I ain’t never seen no hemlock, and I shore ain’t brought none back.”

  The crowd began talking so much that no one could be understood. The old bloodhound yelled loudly, “That’s enough,” and drew attention back to herself.

  “You all know there’s no law about going outside the fence. Maybe there should be, but there’s not. No such law was ever needed back before the fence was broken. But now, I don’t know. We’ll need to look into it.”

  “You don’t need to pass another law,” the beagle said, you just need to fix the fence. Then it won’t be an issue.”

  A boxer agreed, “Besides we need to be concerned about other animals coming in more than one of us leaving.”

  The crowd agreed and one screamed out, “Like those coyotes. Listen.”

  The dogs hushed long enough to hear a small group of coyotes yelping in the distance. Then the dogs erupted again with disdain for their kind. Cooper was astonished to see the hate and fear coming out of the dogs that he thought he knew. The owl flapped its wings and got everyone’s attention. He looked down at Cooper and said, “Maybe this one’s got something to say about the coyotes.”

  Patches ran over in front of Cooper and calmed the group with a chuckle. “He doesn’t have anything to add. That would be silly. Cooper’s just a kid. You all know that.”

  Against his father’s wishes, Cooper admitted, “I know one.”

  Patches turned and snapped at Cooper, “Why did you say that? I’m trying to protect you.” Cooper was headstrong, something Patches knew too well. Patches turned back to the irritated pack and explained, “What my son means to say is that he ran across one for the first time yesterday. That hardly qualifies as knowing one. Don’t you agree?”

  The bloodhound jumped into the conversation before the group got a chance. “Okay, the kid met a coyote. I, for one, don’t see what the big deal is. We have much bigger problems to worry
about. I mean, you can’t really control what stumbles into your path. Besides, there isn’t a dog law against that either. I think we’re losing focus on what we’re here to discuss, and that’s how the hemlock got into the water. From what I’ve heard, we can’t answer that yet, so we’ll need to be diligent in searching for an answer. For now I make two recommendations. One, that dogs don’t travel beyond the southern fence and two, that no one drink from the pond until it’s proven to be safe. Bark if you’re in agreement.”

  Seemingly every dog agreed. No opposition was made, so the meeting was adjourned. The dogs slowly spread out around the barnyard and in the barn. Patches waited till most were gone before he whispered to Cooper. “You can’t say things like that. Dogs jump to conclusions and before you know it, you’ll be lumped together with coyotes and hated the same as them.”

  “Dad, I just told the truth.”

  “They can’t handle the truth, son.”

  “Can you?” Cooper asked.

  Patches bared his teeth for a second before he replied, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Cooper tucked his head and whimpered as he answered, “I spent most of the afternoon with Peace today.”

  Patches walked off without saying a word, then came right back. “What are you doing, son? I told you they’re not good.”

  “He’s not like that. He’s kind and nice. I felt sorry for him. The coyote at the pond was his uncle, for goodness sake.”

  Patches took a deep breath and said, “Look your sweet kid, and he’s probably a good coyote, but I’ve seen a lot of bad stuff in my years. It’s safer to avoid potential danger than to risk being hurt over something unnecessary. There are plenty of dogs here that are your age. You don’t have to run with a coyote.

  “You don’t understand, Dad.”

  Patches growled and snapped at Cooper. “I understand plenty. You stay away from them. Do you hear me?” Cooper only whimpered, so Patches repeated, “I asked you a question.”

  Cooper reluctantly answered, “Okay, I hear you.”

  “Good. The rats ate a hole into a few bags of your favorite ration, and it’s spilled out from the loft near the door. Go get you a belly full. It’s time to settle down for the night.”

  Cooper’s tail wagged with the thought of his favorite food. “Sorry, if I embarrassed you.”

  “You’re not an embarrassment, ever. You made me very proud. If I made you think otherwise, then I haven’t been clear. I love you very much. You understand that?”

  “Okay,” Cooper said and looked up with his dark eyes.

  “Look, I’m going to tell you something that nobody else knows, not even your mom.” Patches looked around to make sure that the conversation was in private. “Everyone wants to act like the fence just recently got damaged but it’s been down as far back as I can remember. When I was a little bit younger than you, I used to wander around on the outside. I met a coyote that was my age. He was a great guy and we hung out together all the time that summer. I went home with him one day and everything changed. He told me the next day that I couldn’t come home with him anymore, and that he couldn’t be my friend. I was shocked. None of what he was saying made any sense. When I asked why, he told me that a couple of coyotes had threatened him and his family because of our friendship. His parents were okay with us in the beginning but after the threats, they agreed that we should stop running together. We said goodbye and I watched as he left. When he got to the bottom of the hill, he was attacked by two adult coyotes that seemed to come out of nowhere. I tried for a moment to help, but when I got closer, he was already dead and they started running toward me. I panicked and ran back over the downed fence and didn’t stop until I was back at the barn. I’ve never been outside the fence since then.”

  “Dad, I had no idea.”

  “I just wanted you to know where I’m coming from when I talk about staying away from coyotes. Almost all of them are good, peaceful, and caring, but you don’t know which ones aren’t till its too late, and that’s the problem. When it goes bad, it goes real bad.”

  “I’ll be careful. I promise.”

  “I hope you will. Well, I’ll see you later. I’m going to see what your mom and sister are up to.” Patches disappeared toward their doghouses in the back corner of the barn.

  After Cooper ate all he wanted of the spilled ration, he went into his doghouse. His stomach hadn’t been so full in a long time. His body was completely satisfied which led to a deep sleep. He awoke the next morning later than usual. His mom and sister were still snoozing, but they typically did that. His dad was gone. Cooper was an early riser. When he saw that it was already bright outside, he panicked for a second and ran to the barn door. A pack of dogs were huddled together talking, where the well-worn dirt of the barnyard transitioned into tall grass. They saw him at the barn door and fell silent. They spread out quietly as Cooper got closer. Something was wrong. None of the dogs would look at him. The dogs parted to reveal the three bloodhounds that were instrumental in the investigation yesterday. The old gray speckled lady was not opposed to eye contact. She watched Cooper as he got closer. Cooper looked at the dogs around him as he walked. When he stopped in front of the bloodhounds, he asked, “What’s going on?”

  The lady was to the point, “There’s been another deadly incident. This time it happened at the big eddy in the stream.”

  Cooper’s mouth dropped open. “How many dogs were killed?” He asked.

  “Six dogs and one coyote,” she replied.

  Cooper shook his head in disbelief. “I guess Dad’s helping out with the investigation this time. Do you care if I help him?”

  The old dog’s eyes seemed tired and sad with deep folds even more than usual. “Cooper, you don’t understand. Patches is one of the dead.”