The Dog and the Deer

This story was a product of a writing challenge. The aim was to write a-story-a-day for a week. I find that I have a proclivity towards distraction when I sit down to write. I addressed that by setting a timer and giving myself an hour in which to finish each story. I’m sure that I would have crafted something better, given more time. But, it was an exercise in both focus and efficiency.

She hadn’t lived in Hiram very long before she happened upon the fence. At first, it just looked like the kind of metal fence that’s used to enclose utilities or backyards of those who couldn’t afford pickets. But after passing it the third time, for it was only a block from her house, some movement beyond the wire caught her eye.

Timidly nearing the fence, she made out two figures. The first was a deer. She guessed it was young, but she didn’t know enough about deer to say for certain. What she did know was that it was young enough to wobble when it walked. The second was a dog. Her knowledge of dogs was hardly greater than her knowledge of deer. But she knew enough to know that it was the spitfire kind, judging by its muscular legs and wide jaw.

“Ain’t nothing we can do,” said the sheriff. “They belong to Tom Guthrie and they’re his to do what he wants. Ain’t no laws against dog fighting and no laws against deer hunting, neither. If you don’t like it, you best talk to him.”

And so she set off down the road.

“That dog brings me enough cash to fill my tank with gas,” Guthrie said. “It ain’t no pet. And a deer, well that’s good food and practice. You see what I’m saying? And so I guard that fence as I would livestock. With a Browning and this here window.”
“So, why hasn’t the dog eaten the deer, yet?” she asked.

“It hasn’t been so long since he ate the last one, I reckon.”

She looked through the rails of his porch towards the fence. The dog and the deer stood at opposite ends of the pen. They both sat, staring through the links at the world beyond.

“Look, lady. Animals are food. It ain’t that different than what you eat for supper.”

That night, she didn’t eat supper. As she sipped from a bottle, she thought. She could offer Guthrie a sum. But, she likely couldn’t scrounge up enough to convince him to forego his continuous source of income. She took another sip. Then she saw her gardening shears.

Hidden by the darkness, she watched. It was only a matter of time before the lights turned off and Guthrie could be seen walking outside and climbing in his rusted Bronco. If he was going to the bar, she would have about an hour. But, if he was going to the store, she would have only a quarter.

Gripping the shears with enough force to make her hands ache, she cut the fence. She prayed they wouldn’t break before the job was done. When an arc had been cut in the fence, she bent it forward and then retreated to a tree at the edge of the yard.

The deer hesitated for a moment before leaping through the hole and disappearing into the night. But, the dog stay put. She waited, hoping that it was merely grasping the reality of its situation. But it stayed curled up in the back of the pen next to a water bowl.

“Hey, you!” she called, taking a few steps out from behind the tree. “Go! Get out of here!”

The dog lifted its head and looked in her direction. It rose to standing.

“That-a boy! C’mon. Hurry up, now!”

The dog walked across the pen to the hole and sniffed it before stepping over the bent metal. It walked in the direction of the tree. She held her breath and tried to stay still. But the dog stayed put. In the light of the moon, she got a better look at it. Where it should have had ears, there were only stumps. Lines were carved into it’s face and neck. But, its eyes were dark and soft and crested by wrinkled folds that were raised in curiosity.

Moving slowly and being careful not to break eye contact with the animal, she stepped out from behind the tree.

“That’s a good boy. Just go on, now.”

For every foot she took back, the dog moved a foot forward.

“No, not this way. The other way.” she plead. “Any other way.”

Headlights shone in the distance.

Cursing under her breath, she turned around and quickened her pace. The dog continued in her direction.

He was still behind her when her house was in sight. The dog followed her onto her porch. Breathing heavily, she watched it. It sniffed at a bag of chicken feed, before diving-in headfirst. When he was satisfied, and the bag was half-empty, the dog curled up on the entrance mat and fell asleep.

A banging on the door startled her from her sleep.

“Lady, I seen what you did to my fence! I know it was you!”

She reached for the light on her nightstand before changing her mind. Maybe if she stayed very still, he would leave.
“I know you’re in there!”

The door handle violently convulsed. A few blows to the door, and she could hear the creak of its hinges as it gave way. Heavy footsteps made their way through her foyer.

“Son of a…” But the words were muffled and replaced by a pound and a howl. A shot rang out. And then a growl. Then a cry.

She waited until it was quiet. Gathering her nerves, she crept to the living room. A body lie on the ground. Next to it was the dog, tearing chunks from a wet mound that it held in its paws. When it saw her it stopped chewing and looked up. It’s eyes were even bigger than before. Its tail beat against the floor with ferocity.

“Good boy. It’s been a long while since you ate some meat, I reckon.”