Clodcast 29 Dog Fetches Man

Last Updated on Monday, 06 July 2009 18:03

Hey, it's Clodcast 29! By Dr. Deaf, chairman for the Assisted Earicide Association. HAR! The short story, Man Fetches Dog about abandning animals is in this episode. Also promos for Toothless by J.P. Moore and The Fox by Arlene Aradasky

 

Clodcast #29

The Clodcast #29 'Zane and Dunkin III Announcement' DIRECT DOWNLOAD HERE:

 

 

DOG FETCHES MAN

© Greg Crites

The man walked down off the mountain, carrying a bucket of freshly picked blackberries. He exited the wood line and ambled loosely toward his shack. It was an isolated place; nearest neighbor was better than a mile away. The man walked around to the front porch and stopped to watch a fancy car accelerate away down the old gravel road that fronted his property.

As the dust settled, the man spotted a dog, a golden retriever, sitting at the edge of the road, staring through the dust in the direction of the disappearing car.

“Hell fire,” the man muttered. “Third one since I been here. Ain’t no place far enough away from idjit’s.”

The man looked down at the scruffy black and white dog that never left his heels. The dog was watching the retriever. “Damn fools are forgetting what separates a man from a steaming pile of animated flesh, stumbling along on their way to the grave.”

The man sat down on the porch steps and pulled a greasy paper sack out of his overalls pocket. He pulled out a piece of beef jerky, tore a bite off, and sat chewing. Looking over at the still sitting dog, he handed a piece to Reb, who took it and started off toward the road. “That’s your piece Reb,” the man said, in an even-toned, gravelly voice. “You just sit here with me and chew for a while. Let that orphan watch how real folks have lunch.”


They sat, the old man on the third step, and Reb splayed out, chewing like a kid with a mouthful of sticky caramels. Reb finished the jerky, and looked over at the man. He handed another stick of jerky to Reb, and said, “Go on, herd him in.”

Reb took the stick of jerky gently between his teeth and trotted over to the retriever, who had been watching them since they had sat down. Reb slowed his walk, and came right up to the abandoned dog, dropped the stick of jerky down in front of him; then took two backwards steps and stood silent, staring at the retriever. He then turned and trotted back to the porch.

The retriever watched Reb as he lay down at the man’s feet, then picked up the jerky, walked forward to the edge of the grass, sat down and started chewing. When finished, the retriever rose, and walked over to Reb, he stared a moment and lay down beside him.

“See, that’s how it usually is,” the man said, staring out at the sky. “The dog’s always smarter than the so-called master. Come over here and let me get a look at ya.”

The retrievers' ears stiffened, and he looked at the man. He rose and walked over slowly. The man grabbed his head, and held it between two large, gnarled hands. “I know you’re thinking you drew some sorry damn numbers in the companion lottery, and I reckon you’d be right. You kin stay around; just don’t be drooling at the chickens, or Reb will chew off one a your ears.”

The man felt a collar, and bent forward to read the tag affixed to it. “Damn fool left his address on here,” The man looked closer at the collar, squinting his bright eyes, and puckering leathery skin in the process. “So you’re Huck,” he said. The retriever’s tail wagged, and his ears perked.

“Well by God, Huck,” The man said, releasing his head and standing. “I think we’ll teach ole Mr. Yance a lesson in humanity.”



**********



The next morning, the man got up, and instead of coveralls, he put on a fresh pressed suit and tie. He left his old truck and pulled a tarp off a shiny old cadillac.

“Reb,” he said. “You and Huck keep an eye on the place. I’ll be back soon.”

The man drove into town, and cruised by the address he’d found on Huck’s collar. It was a big sprawling ranch house, and the fancy red car was parked in the drive. The man parked and watched. Less than an hour later Mr. Elliot Yance, wearing a suit, with no tie, shirt open to the chest, came out, got in the red car and backed out of the drive.

The man followed Mr. Yance to a large car lot, which sported a massive ‘Yance Motors’ sign out front. “Well, well,” the man said to himself, watching Mr. Yance exit his car and stride into the glass showroom doors. “A powerful man, a force to be reckoned with.” The man chuckled and drove back to his home.

He booted up his computer and printed a pile of papers, rounded up a couple rolls of tape, went out to the yard and worked. Then had lunch with his companions, Reb and Huck. He puttered around the rest of the day, canning blackberries.

That night, around midnight, he drove back into town, and over to Mr. Yance’s. He poured a bag of dog manure he’d gathered on the man’s porch, right in front of the door. He snuck along and set up a tape player, under the man’s pool pump cover, out behind his house. Hit play and drove slowly down the block.

With his window down, he could barely hear the message from a block away where he had pulled over to wait. “The tape player's speakers blared out a plaintive barking, and a gravelly voice cutting in occasionally to say ‘I’m lost Mr. Yance. I’m all alone out in the woods. I’m hungry. Why did you abandon me?’”


Lights came on at the Yance’s and at the surrounding houses. The man chuckled, and drove off into town. He parked down at a bar, and walked over to Yance Motors’. He taped his homemade flyers everywhere; on cars, all over the showroom glass, and covered the doors. Quickly, he had taped the whole stack of a hundred papers. The flyers had a photo of Huck, and a big headline: ‘Have you seen my master, Mr. yance?’ Then beneath, it said, in slightly smaller letters, ‘He Abandoned Me’. The smaller print, went on to say how he was hungry, and lost, and there was scary things out in the woods tracking his every step. The man walked back to his car, and went home.



The man was up at five and cooked himself breakfast, cooked a couple eggs for Reb and Huck, then fed the chickens. He was sitting on the porch, having a coffee and watching the birds attack his feeder when the red car slowly drove along the gravel rod, slowed even more, and then pulled in.

Mr. Yance got out of the car; he was carrying a shotgun, and plenty riled. The man sat on the porch and watched his approach.

“You the one poured dog crap all over my porch, my car?” Mr. Yance said, face red. Spitting the words, like a cobra spits venom. “Woke up the neighborhood with that tape? Plastered my lot with those flyers?”

‘Oh yeah’, the man thought, he’s plenty riled. “Yep,” the man said, still seated. Reb was standing, watching the interloper. Huck had bounded over to Mr. Yance, and rubbed against his legs.

“Down Huck,” Mr. Yance said, but Huck was happy. That much was obvious.

The man watched Huck jump around Mr. Yance, and smiled.

“What are you smiling at, you kook? I oughta kick your ass.”

The man stood up, he was a big corn-fed fellow. He smiled, and opened his hands. “Go ahead,” he said. “I’ll give you first lick.”

Mr. Yance stared hard at the man, but he sagged, and kneeled down, laid the shotgun on the ground, and gave Huck a pat.

“I ought to sue you,” Mr. Yance said, his hand still on the dog.

“I should sue you,” the man said, sitting back down on the porch steps. “I had to make sure Huck didn’t feel unloved for these last couple days.”

Mr. Yance, sat down heavily on the grass. Huck licked his face. “I been going through tough times,” Mr. Yance said. “My wife left me, my business is in the toilet. Damn three-dollar-a-gallon gas. Bankers are all over me. Ex-wife is draining me, and the kids treat me like a loser.”

“You are,” the man said.

“What was that?” Mr. Yance asked, his face regaining some tone.

“I said, you are a loser. I assume that blonde with the store-bought hooters proudly displayed on your billboards is the wife who left you. Let me tell you son, you was aiming a mite high with that one. You never had a chance. Your ex-wife left you because you are king asshole—car dealer extraordinaire; not loving husband, and attentive father. Your business is in the toilet, cuz that’s what happens when you chase blondes, and abandon your dog. Everyone is leaving you, except Huck. No matter what level of personal asshole you are with human interaction, Huck will always be your friend. He don’t want money for boob jobs, interest for bank loans, or fancy ranch houses. He just wants you, and you threw that away. You could lose everything tomorrow, and Huck would still be looking at you as though you were the king of the world.”

“Who the hell are you?” Yance asked.

“I’m just a lazy man, trying to put space between myself, and people like you.” The man said, pulling out a bag of jerky. He handed one to Reb.

“You’re right,” Yance said, standing. “Can I have Huck back?”

“No you can’t HAVE Huck. Huck will have you, as long as you make a minimal effort to treat him like the friend he is. You do that, and you two will be together until one of you quits breathing.”

Mr. Yance turned and stopped. He wheeled around and bent slowly to retrieve his shotgun. He stopped, and looked at the man. “Weren’t you afraid, me barging in with this shotgun?” Mr. Yance asked.

With a motion too quick to analyze, the man whipped out a .22 pistol, and shot a can thirty feet away. He shot it again, and it bounced, then he hit it a third time, sending it ten-feet into the air.

“I walk the mountains a lot,” the man said, replacing the gun in his overalls. “I keep this handy for snakes. Sometimes they don’t back down, and they don’t let you back away... and sometimes it was just a stick, separated from its root, and I only thought it was a snake.”