Lara Reyes-Terry, Week 9: Good Boy
(Note: animal to animal violence is described although it is done poetically/non-graphically)
The barn stands strong and straight against the Midwest wind, a soldier on the plains of a setting sun, unnerved by the rusting sky. Curling up at the foot of the colossus, a Kangal sheepdog, maw shining sharp as it yawned. It breathes unevenly, a disfigured scar stretching as it did, coiling around its neck and tracking down its spine.
I wouldn’t worry for the creature, the new wolf collar was a blessing from The Rancher. It could’ve done a better job the first time anyway—it’ll do better next time.
“C’mon boy.”
The command comes easy for the simple mind. There is no difference between Him and the voice that barks in its skull. Do your job follows and like a good dog, it doesn’t question where it came from—the illusion of freedom comes with the collar. It rushes to His side, preening at the reward of a hand on its head.
“You smell their trail, boy?”
Solid paws like hammers tread lightly on muddy fields, sheep flock part like sea. They bleat musings, criticisms, questions, fears into its ears. For now, it doesn’t know where it’s going, but confidence is critical.
Trail of paws like its own, thick red, and wet; mapping the dance it has done to death and back. Ouroboros into the next good boy and find the culprit.
Who did harm to master’s angels?
Its nose is buried in dirt, head bowed to God as He sees it off, past the broken fence like broken bones studded copper at its ends. Its drool marks the path it follows as it looks back, at the tilted black hole eyes in wool.
They're counting on you, their heads lowered for each other as they huddle closer. That’s your purpose, good boy, through thorn and reeds and brush, you’ll keep on to protect that sight. And that’s all it can be, a picture framed and glorious but not for you to be inside.
The dog is more than his dark fur to the sheep, they cannot look past the heartstoppers in his jaw. They are thankful for him, but thorns stay too long and stick too easily in white wool.
Following its swaying tail, it found the scent. The Rancher mixes with the barking thought,
“Go get him.”
In a racing stride, his hunt cuts into the deep night, the wind rakes through his fur. The trail ends in open meadow, and the anger burns raw under mourning moonlight. The wolf is alone for once---how unlucky.
Madness makes the soul heavy, but combat likes a weighty warrior. Tender is its leather, the dog forgets details. Those that bloody the blessed be wary, some greater force will sick its best set of teeth on you.
Bile runs between bites. Good boy, growls the barking voice.
The thunder of veins torn silent. Good boy, thunders the barking voice.
Good boy.
It tramples over the wolf, wincing at the stench of death.
Good boy.
The sheep is weak, nuzzling at his stained paws, she stains herself. How do you comfort the dying? Her eyes, a river filling and flooding the land with something he doesn’t understand. He did his job, he did it for her. He took life for what remained of hers.
Why does she look at you like you’re the wolf, good boy?
He has nothing left for her, the hands that could save her accept the judge of closed jaws—that’s why The Rancher never follows. He’s still panting, still drooling for a scrap of that love. So he lays in the flattened grass, snuggling in the dwindling warmth of a friendly body, as he has many times before.
A quiet whimper, animal to animal.
Are you proud of me?
~~~
(inspired by Stephen Sanchez’s “Howling at Wolves” + my own madness lol)
Lara, your short story reminds me of having the power to protect, which can differ from having the ability to comfort. While “Good Boy” is strong and capable to take down a wolf (or perhaps to survive multiple), and does take care of removing the immediate culprit of the murdering of his “master’s angels,” it is not an emotionless soldier, ignorant to the running blood of animals around it. The sensitive details of it wincing at the odor of death, or trying to stay by the sheep’s side, or being desperate for any ounce of affection crafts a powerful, emotional image of the dog. The way you’ve included so much storytelling in this is wonderful and I appreciate your descriptiveness—it’s very engaging to me! The pace of the story is well set, and in a couple sentences I’m able to flesh out the scene in my head.
ReplyDeleteAgainst the sheep, the dog is its opposite: able to protect others, with a job to carry out as an obedient set of jaws. The sheep may only view canines as all the same, because biologically they stem from the same. And it is this fact which the dog cannot overcome. Because while it has all the power in this lonely system of hunting and herding, it lacks the fundamental ability to comfort the dying and powerless. Despite its display of strength, it cannot pursue love beyond what it is commanded to do. I find the last part to be so bittersweet, because a sheep is of innocent wool and the dog understands that friendliness. They see through different eyes and instincts; bonding as those close to the dead, but being on the opposite ends of it.
I do hope my interpretation of this is acceptable and I think your madness makes for a great read! Glad to have you in my cohort again!
I wanted to start off by saying that your blog can easily be defined as a work of art. The way you have a balance of metaphors but also realistic aspects allows for the reader to interpret what you are saying in their own way. The ability to convey a message through a story successfully is something that takes lots of time and effort to master, and I think you have done it.
ReplyDeleteIt was towards the fifth or sixth paragraph where I began to understand the dog’s complex role it holds on the plains. The dog is essentially its own social circle, which prohibits others from accepting him in any sort of way. As a result the dog leans into this role and creates this persona where he has “a picture framed” but he is not allowed “inside.”
The dog is essentially punishing himself because he feels that his only role in life is to be the protector of sheep and nothing more. As we proceed through life there are situations where we think our only role is to “protect” others. The need to protect puts us in a position to sacrifice many of the things we value in order to please those we love. Though the reality is, you cannot live for anyone but yourself. If you continue to let the others’ negligence weigh you down you’re going to waste away any of the potential you may have.
I think you would have enjoyed the several different expressions my face cycled through as I read your blog post. I often have trouble understanding writing that extensively utilizes metaphors, but the metaphors in your blog never detracted from the overall meaning nor did it replace any important identifying information, and I think that is something that should be celebrated.
ReplyDeleteAs extensive as this story is, I wanted to zero in on a couple notable aspects I thoroughly enjoyed. At the beginning, The Rancher’s words are contained in quotes (“C’mon boy,” “You smell their trail, boy?”) and the dog’s internal dialogue is in italics (Do your job, Who did harm to master’s angels?). During and after the fight with the wolf, it transitions into being almost entirely italics, almost like the dog is alone in his own world, with those around him instead entities in his mind. Truly, “there is no difference between Him and the voice that barks in its skull.”
I also noticed the difference between the affection and praise that The Rancher gives the dog and that the dog desires. The phrase “good boy” is repeated so frequently, both by The Rancher and by the dog himself, that it is sometimes relegated to the unitalicized background narration, almost as if he doesn’t hear it anymore. From the sheep, he seeks validation not of his morals or his goodness, but his achievements. He eliminated the threat to the rest of the flock by killing what is essentially a distant relative of his; what he did was not good, but right.