Bennie and Rob had passed by the empty lot hundreds of times. They’d been walking to school together since first grade in the most gentrified neighborhood in Idaho. The fifty blocks of formerly blue-collar Victorian, Gothic Revival and Craftsman homes nestled against the nearby mountains drew thirty-somethings from around the country seeking a taste of the past. Neighborhoods featuring sidewalks, tall trees, parks and the promise of homogenous homeownership. Selected old men and women still dotted the community; those healthy enough to still live at home and able to resist the temptation of easy money their suddenly desirable real estate offered. There were rentals, many still owned by the descendants of Basque settler families. Tattered and peeling, the houses still generated income from loan-indentured college students. There was also the occasional vacant lot.
Bennie and Rob walked to school together because free-range children was a thing, and their parents were all about things. Internet and tech-savvy, educated at top universities in much larger cities with all their inconvenient diversity, these hip young procreators carpetbagged to Idaho and plugged into whatever zeitgeist was peaking that week. The moms, MBAs in yoga pants and puffy coats, flitted about their errands, fretting about how to increase traffic to their Etsy shops. The dads, always tall and slim with salt-and-pepper hair trimmed into tidy shapes by the by the city’s best manscapers, they were equal parts Sean Hannity and Oprah Winfrey.
But the things, so many things. Gourmet meals by mail, Amazon Prime accounts, fiber optic internet, hypoallergenic pets, children allergic to nearly everything, Charter schools, hemp shoes with a matching pair worn by a child in Africa, hybrid cars, organic wine, a crazy-quilt of breweries selling an endless river of beer at eight dollars a pint, electric bicycles, beards, artisanal tattoos, locally sourced anything and of course the children. Befitted in the finest name-brand garments, fed brain food and vitamins, never vaccinated, often autistic, enrolled in the most exclusive after-school activities and clubs. Normally hovering with the intensity of a hummingbird over a dime-bag of nectar, the parents allowed the kids time alone to free-range to and from school to build their independence. The studies had proved it, or at least Dr. Oz recommended it, along with his gastrointestinal enhancing gel conveniently sent to homes every two weeks as part of a twelve-month subscription.
The open lot was a curious void amongst the infilled neighborhood. Covered in weeds making a noble effort to claim some ground in the Spring, by Summer wilted to little more than strands of yellowed silk in the August sun. A week into their fourth year of grade school Bennie and Rob noticed a truck parked on the lot. It featured knobby, off-road tires, camo paint, and an absent passenger-side window. Arcs of mud of varying colors and textures plastered the sides of the vehicle indicating many unpaved adventures. A long whip antenna on the roof was tipped with a Styrofoam smiley face.
Hitched behind the truck was a silver and beige trailer as long as a house. Every corner reinforced by duct tape in different stages of failure and the windows partially blacked-out with aluminum foil. Hitched to the trailer a ratty fiberglass boat filled with chairs, coats, campfire wood, buoys, blankets, a TV, two sofa cushions, and a pair of waders.The boys had never seen anything like it, and couldn’t quite make sense of the recreational caravan squatting in their neighborhood. Some mornings as they walked by they could smell bacon or wood smoke curling out the top of the trailer from a black stovepipe. Cigar smoke seeped through the walls, and sometimes it gently rocked from someone or something moving around inside.
One day as they walked home a police car and two cops stood talking to the person inside the trailer. Blue cigar smoke billowed out the screen door, smelling like burning potpourri. The conversation was a mumble as the boys slowly walked past. The screen door never opened, and the person inside remained a mystery. The police were pointing out various problems with the trailer and the piles of dog poop accumulating on the lot. At one point the person inside held a piece of paper up against the screen for the police to see, and the cops went on their way, shaking their heads as they got in their car.
The next day, as the boys walked past the trailer, deep-throated barking shook the walls of the trailer. The boys instantly jumped sideways and hunkered to the sidewalk. The barking continued as the animal clawed at the wall and floor.
“Bertram! Shut the fuck up!” It was a woman’s voice, coarse and phlegmy but still a woman’s voice. After yelling she coughed and choked, Bennie and Rob listening to her fade in the distance as they ran the rest of the way to school.
That day it was all they talked about. Was there just one dog in there, or more? Was it dog, or something else? Was it woman, or something else? Should they tell their parents? No, definitely not. They’d have to walk a different way to school if they did. They looked forward all day to walking past the lot again but when they did, there wasn’t any barking. They walked back and forth a few times, talking a little louder each time but no response. They walked down the alley to get a better look, but could only see lots of dog poop. Huge, man-sized piles of it all around the lot. It smelled awful in the Indian summer heat. A few of the piles had a paw-prints in them—gigantic, bear-sized paw prints.
“Do you think the lady has a pet bear?” Asked Rob.
“I don’t think bears can bark,” Bennie replied.
“I think they can. I saw a documentary and the cubs do this barking thing when they’re stressed out. Not sure of the adults do.”
“Why would somebody have a pet bear?”
“Why wouldn’t they? It’d be a pretty cool pet. ”
The days rolled by and sometimes the animal inside would bark and claw and sometimes not. Fall turned into early winter and the trailer, truck, and boat remained. The dog poop continued to accumulate, the police stopped by the lot from time to time, but it all remained untouched. One evening, Rob heard his parents talking about it.
“It’s going to drive down the property values. It needs to go. Who knows what sort of vagrant might be living there?
“But housing is so expensive, it’s hard for people on fixed incomes. They must have permission to stay because the police can’t remove it.”
“Whats-his-name across the street said some out-of-stater has been sitting on the lot for fifty years. The lady in the trailer has a letter letting her stay as a temporary residential auxiliary unit, whatever that is. Lady found a loophole.”
“Winter’s coming, maybe that’ll freeze her out.”
“That’s not the point. What’s next? Low-income housing? A halfway house? This is how it begins. I’m going to post something on Facebook for the neighborhood about this. We have to get organized. I read some sheepherder was bringing his flock in through the foothills and half a dozen of them were mauled. Gutted. Just torn apart. Like some sicko was having a good time. I bet it’s the weirdo in that trailer. I’m putting out an alert. ”
Rob didn’t understand the whole conversation but was sure his dad was going after the trailer. He’d heard him complain about people “bringing down the neighborhood” before. Rob wanted to see that dog, or whatever it was in the trailer. It had to be as big as a lion. And who could live with a beast like that and survive? He knew time was running out, so the next day as he and Bennie walked by on their way to school the listened extra carefully. Nothing. Not a whisper. Not a snore. After school they did the same thing but tiptoed around the trailer, listening as hard as they could. This went on the entire week. And every time, no sound. And no new dog poop. No smoke from the chimney. No coughing. No cigarette smell.
The weekend came, and the boys were booked solid with soccer games, gymnastics, birthday parties, math and science tutoring, and ukulele lessons. On Monday, they resumed their inspection of the trailer and became convinced it was abandoned. After school on Wednesday, they saw the trailer door was open, swinging gently in the wind.
“We should check it out,” Rob said.
“And get eaten by that thing? No way.” Bennie replied.
“It hasn’t been here in weeks. All this poop is old and crusted over. It barely smells.” Rob pointed at the untidy curls of feces.
“Maybe we can come back later,” Bennie suggested.
“When? My dad’s going to chase them off and it’ll be gone and we’ll be sorry for the rest of our lives. It’s now or never.” Rob said.
Bennie pondered for a moment. “Okay, but you go first.”
The boys moved slowly toward the door. They kept one hand on the trailer, as if trying to divine any life within. Dwarfed by their primary-colored backpacks, they tried to be stealthy as they had seen in countless movies. Both silently wished they were equipped with ninja costumes. Rob reached the doorway but kept his distance, looking at every angle and nook he could see in the darkened trailer. He stepped closer and picked up the stale cigar and dirty animal funk that lay ahead.
“Ugh. It stinks.”
“What did you expect? Roses? They’re probably both dead in there.”
Rob hadn’t considered this. He just thought the dog and the owner had left. He started to lose his nerve. “I can’t do it. I don’t want to see ‘em if they’re dead.”
“It’s just like meat at the supermarket,” Bennie said. “ It can’t hurt you. It’ll be fine.”
Just then, the boys heard a low growl behind them. They turned to see a wolf-dog creature as big as a man. The hair on its back stood out like a row of spikes, muscled legs like tree trunks turned into root-like feet tipped by giant, yellow claws. Its fur was spattered with dirt and blood. As it stared at them with blackened eyes a dead sheep dropped from its jaws and drool dripped off its ivory teeth.
Rob jumped into the trailer dragging Bennie behind him. He slammed the door just as the dog jumped thirty feet and crashed into the aluminum, leaving a heavy dent. The boys scrambled backward as the animal clawed and bit at the fragile barrier. They ducked down, burying their faces into the weedy shag carpet. They held their breath, silent except for the bounding thuds of their hearts.
“Don’t worry.” A wet voice came from the darkness, from the bed in the far corner of the trailer. The boys jumped straight up, petrified to move in any other direction.
“He cain’t get in. Cain’t get out neither, less I let him.” The woman broke into a coughing jag that lasted a full three minutes. The boys watched as their eyes adjusted to the dark, finally seeing the old woman on the bed, her eyes wet with tears and nose runny.
“Whew,” she said, wiping her face with a hanky from her sleeve, “that was a good one. Really kicked the cancer in the ass! Might’ve coughed up a tumor though.” The boys looked at each other, still too scared to speak or move.
“I’m just joshin’ you boys. But the cancer’s real enough. So,” she paused to light a cigar, “what brings us together?”
Bennie nudged Rob, who hit Bennie in the arm.
“I bet you boys were curious. Perfectly natural. You see this weird caravan parked in your neighborhood, hear the beast inside and you want to know more. Perfectly natural. Things had been quiet so you figured nobody was home. Door was open, so why not take a look? Perfectly natural. I’d have done the same at your age.”
“Y-yeah, we wondered what’s inside,” Rob offered.
“Perfectly natural. No harm done. Cain’t blame you for being scared when Steve started growling.”
“Steve?” asked Bennie.
“My dog. Named him Steve after my second husband. I liked him, but he was a bit long in the tooth. You boys may not be familiar with that idiom. Means he was old. The dog isn’t old but he has long teeth. Seemed funny at the time. He’s half wolf and half Irish wolfhound. The dog, not the husband.”
“I think he’s been eating sheep. That’s what my dad said,” Rob said.
“Yep, well it’s in his blood. The wolf part anyway. The other half of him makes him feel guilty about it so he’ll sulk for a week after. He’s built for killin’—either sheep or things that kill sheep. Feel sorry for the old boy but you cain’t help your nature. You can just try to live with it.”
“Do you live here?” Bennie asked.
“Well now young man, what do you think?”
“I dunno.”
“Good answer. Me neither. Don’t know as I called this livin’, but I’m not dead yet.” She took a pull on her cigar. “Do you boys want to meet Steve?”
The boys didn’t respond. The dog was still banging against the door trying to get in. They were afraid of the old lady but more afraid of the sheep killing wolf outside.
“I know he sounds tough but he’s just a big baby, unless you’re a sheep. But he just went huntin’ so now he’ll droop around the trailer with his tail between his legs, feelin’ bad. Not many dogs like Steve, you probably won’t ever see another one like him.”
“Okay,” Rob said.
“Yeah, okay,” Bennie agreed.
“Alright. I better let him in though, just to be on the safe side.” The woman wheezed and coughed as she slowly scooted herself off the bed. She had to rest before she stood, bracing her hands against her thighs. The boys could see a clear tube under her nose. She took some deep, slow breaths and stood, steadying herself on the stove and the kitchen nook table as she moved toward the door.
“Steve, sit,” she called to the beast. He whined a bit and sat. She opened the door, and with two strides he was in, happily licking the old woman’s face. “Yeah, yeah, I love you too.” He seemed as big as a horse, and the boys could feel every footfall. The thing approached them, head down, sniffing for information. They could feel its hot breath on their faces as they winced, waiting to be eaten. Steve started licking Bennie’s face, quickly moving on to Rob. They shrieked, then laughed as the giant bumped them with his hip. The boys knew that meant he wanted to be petted.
The woman took the cigar from her mouth, “what do you say, boys? Pretty cool dog, right?”
As the boys petted Steve, the woman asked them about their school and their families. She apologized that she didn’t have any snacks on hand, as she rarely entertained visitors. After twenty minutes she told them had better go home or their parents would sic the police on her again. Bennie and Rob waved goodbye as they headed out the door.
The next day one their way home the lot was empty. The truck, trailer, and boat were gone and the lot had been scraped, with only fresh dirt and gravel remaining. It was as if it never happened.
That evening Rob heard his dad on the phone.
“Yup, finally got the old bat with a health code violation. And they put the dog down for killing livestock. Yeah. Yeah. Well, she had it coming. Probably making meth in their or who knows what. Yup. Yeah. Uh-huh. Well, chalk one up for the little guy. Okay. Talk to you later.”
That night as he cried himself to sleep, Rob tried to think of how he was going to break the news to Bennie.