A DOG'S TALE
Philip Wooldridge
Smashwords Edition 1.0, March 2011
Copyright 2011 Philip Wooldridge
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A Dog's Tale is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and incidents appearing in this work are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
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There's nothing so fascinating as the amount of knick-knacks businesses in rural towns seem to collect, and the Iosco County Library was certainly no exception. For decades, patrons of the book room brought in various items collected by the families of this area. There were old license plates hanging off the wall, a big cigar store Indian standing by the fireplace, and uniforms of local soldiers framed and mounted on the wall, one going all the way back to the Civil War.
But perhaps the most interesting heirloom was Smiles, a stuffed German Shepherd with a grin as wide as Lake Huron, sitting by the card catalog, war medals pinned upon his chest. Out of all the curios in the library, bibliophiles from both near and far always asked about how Smiles ended up in such a place. I hear that every dog's got his day, and every tail has a tale, and well, this is Smiles' story.
Smiles wasn't always considered man's best friend. In fact, I don't think he had but one true friend in all the world. He was born to a breeder up in Ossineke, Michigan in the autumn of 1968, and he was the meanest and greediest of the litter. Even at a week or two old, when his brothers and sisters were nursing at their mother's teet, he'd pull his siblings away by their tails, jump on their heads and latch on to the old girl until he got his fill. The owners of the purebred parents, the Ayers, called the precocious pup Lucifer, and with each passing day, he'd live up to his name. The moment he got through tearing up the barn where the canine family lived, he shifted his attention to the big house. As soon as he found himself bored with shoe chewing, he'd switch to the sofas, and when he got tired of that, he'd sneak into the pantry and go after the people food. That year, when Halloween came around, the family decided all little Lucifer needed was some good old fashioned exercise, so the kids dressed him up like a robot, with cardboard boxes, aluminum foil and coat hangers, and took him out for a long walk while they trick-or-treated around town.
The Lutheran church always had the best stuff in town, caramel apples as big as a softball, bags of peppermints as far as the eye could see, and plenty of Hershey bars, enough that every kid, whether they went there on Sunday or not, had enough to last them well into November. The Ayers children ran up to the parsonage, knocked on the door, and Pastor Burbee's wife opened it up, holding a Jack-O-Lantern full of goodies in her hand. Little Lucifer perked up, burst out of his costume and tackled the gentle woman like a linebacker honed and trained by Bear Bryant. He grabbed that bucket, and one by one, devoured the candy in its entirety, growling and snarling at anyone who dared to come within an inch of a single Hershey bar.
After about thirty or so of the treats, Lucifer became sluggish enough to get under control, and the kids led him home, having to make several pit stops along the way for the Hershey bars to exit Lucifer's system. When they got home, they informed their parents about the night's events, and in the morning, it was decided that the pup had to go. Lucifer's mother followed him to Mr. Ayers pickup truck, and watched as the old man put her baby boy in the bed of the vehicle. Lucifer put his paws on the tailgate, and stared at his mother with his big and deep brown eyes, hoping that she'd make some sort of stink to get the farmer to change his mind. But I think she knew her that Lucifer's presence would ultimately lead to the family's downfall, and when Mr. Ayers fired up the ignition, Lucifer whimpered as his mother turned and walked back towards the barn. He watched his mother grow smaller and smaller as the truck headed down the dirt road, until she was completely gone from his view.
Mr. Ayers drove a little while until he reached the edge of the Negwegon State Park, and the vehicle came to a complete stop. He unlatched the tailgate and pointed towards the treeline. “Go on, Lucifer!” he ordered, “Get on out of here!” Lucifer looked up at him with those same big eyes his mother had seen earlier. However, he seated himself firmly in the truck bed and wouldn't budge. “I said get!” shouted Mr. Ayers, and still, Lucifer remained defiant. The farmer went to the cab of his truck and took out his shotgun. He cocked it with a furious thrust and fired into the air. Lucifer shot out like lightning out of the truck bed and ran deep into the forest, never looking back as he heard the Ayers' truck speed off into the distance.
The next few months were probably the toughest of Lucifer's life. He managed to survive the harsh winter, and even taught himself to hunt and fish. There's a rumor that the dog once crossed the Mackinac Bridge in January of 1969 and killed himself an elk up in the U.P. before returning to his Negwegon homeland. I'm not sure about all that, but I do know that one spring day, Lucifer came across a brown and silver boxcar that must have looked like a big old Hershey bar, and he jumped on the train as it was heading south. He didn't find any candy on that ride, but he did discover an easier way of getting around, and he rode that rail car all the way to Wurtsmith Air Force Base down in Oscoda before hopping off, right in the middle of the duty station.
Lucifer walked around the military instillation until he came upon another group of similar looking dogs, all of them barking and snarling as he walked the perimeter of the fence, looking them in the eye with a domineering glare none of them had ever seen before. His prowess was stopped, however, by a young airman. “How the hell did you get out here?” asked the man. “Get on inside!” The gate was opened, and Lucifer walked in, like fresh meat strolling about a prison yard for the first time. The pack of dogs circled around the young pup, each one of them waiting for a chance to challenge the newcomer. Lucifer growled and barked as the others closed in, teeth gnashing, lips quivering. A group of airmen gathered around to make sure none of the dogs harmed one another, but mostly they came for the entertainment, after all, there's not a whole lot to do in Oscoda, Michigan on military wages. Finally, the alpha male of the group, Jethro, darted straight for the pup. Lucifer jumped up, turned himself around in mid-air, and landed on Jethro's neck, biting down and holding fast to the leader like a rodeo rider as Jethro bucked around, trying furiously to get the little one loose. Lucifer wouldn't release his grip; the more Jethro tried to shake him off, the more Lucifer clamped down. After a few minutes, the puppy let go, and jumped off the Jethro's back, landing feet first in the middle of the pack. Lucifer looked up, swung his neck around as he growled at each one of them, and the rest of the group decided quickly, and wisely, that this was one tough puppy who was best left alone. Lucifer walked over to the food bowls, snarling at each dog who dared to move one paw, and ate all the kibble from Jethro's dish. Jethro wasn't quite in the mood for dinner; he remained in the doorway of the Kwansit hut, where he'd been since the moment Lucifer let loose, his paws still covering his eyes.
“Damn,” exclaimed a nearby sergeant. “That dog's straight from Hell – should be called Lucifer or something.” Lucifer held his head up as his ears perked towards the sky. “That's it, then,” said the sergeant. “Lucifer it is,” and within a few days, the young pup had military tags bearing his name and was beginning training as a security dog in the service of the United States of America.
* * * * *
Lucifer graduated his training course a few months later with flying colors and a loyal partner, Airman McElroy, who was Lucifer's before-mentioned only friend. Summer was upon the Northern Michigan base, and McElroy's unit was preparing for deployment to a far off place called Vietnam. The night before they left, the dogs were allowed to sleep in the barracks with the men. Lucifer laid down at McElroy's side, staring up at him as the young man tossed and turned. About two in the morning, McElroy sat up on the side of his bunk. Lucifer perked up and looked at his partner thoughtfully. “I don't know about you, buddy,” said the airman, “But I'm scared as hell.” Lucifer lowered his head, as if their thoughts were in sync. McElroy patted the dog on the back. “We'll be all right, I guess. You take care of me, and I'll take care of you, okay? Hey, I got something for us at the PX.” Lucifer cocked his head to the side. The airman slipped his hand under his pillow, and brought out a Hershey bar. “Want a piece?” he asked, and as McElroy unwrapped the candy, Lucifer licked his lips in anticipation. “We ain't supposed to give chocolate to dogs,” he said. “But the way I figure, we'll be earning this treat soon enough.” McElroy broke the bar in half and gave a portion to Lucifer, who gobbled it down quickly. He looked at the dog, smiled and rubbed his head as Lucifer licked the top of his mouth to make sure none was left behind. “Remember, you take care of me, I'll take care of you,” said McElroy. Lucifer looked up at the young man, scooched himself towards his chest, and licked him gently on the side of his face, and both service members fell asleep soon after that.
McElroy and Lucifer certainly earned a lifetime worth of Hershey bars over there in Southeast Asia. They were based out of Da Nang at first, and they patrolled all around the area, sniffing out the enemy from tunnels and machine gun bunkers. After each successful mission, McElroy and Lucifer celebrated with Budweiser and Hersey, respectively. A year passed, and McElroy signed up for another tour of duty. By this time, they were known well throughout the theater of operations, in fact, a bounty was placed on both their heads by the Vietcong. One of the enemy soldiers captured by Lucifer spoke of the fear and respect among his comrades for the dog known as “Quy”, or “spirit of evil”. Lucifer had only one soft spot in his heart, and that was for McElroy. He risked his life once when he ran under fire to pull his wounded friend out of a treeline. McElroy got a Purple Heart; Lucifer earned himself a Bronze Star. The airman returned the favor on another occasion. They both took bullets during an ambush at Pleiku, and when they arrived at the aid station, a medic tried to attend to McElroy first. The airmen aimed his sidearm at the young man, forcing him to attend to Lucifer's wounds before he laid one finger on him. Lucifer got his first Purple Heart, and McElroy earned his second.
The pair spent their last night in Vietnam providing security for a little public relations stunt in Saigon. A general decided to appease all the flag-burners back home by hosting a party for the local children. They rolled out the red carpet for these kids; clowns, balloons, a petting zoo, and of course, America's favorite candy, the Hershey bar, which was lined up along the walls by the case. McElroy did his best to control his canine comrade, but the smell of the treats were overwhelming, and when the general tore those boxes open, I guess it was just too much temptation for the chocolate-loving pooch. Lucifer saw those shiny silver wrappers gleaming under the fluorescent lights, and he dove in head first, causing McElroy to loose control of the leash.
The general laughed as Lucifer tore into one bar after another. After a moment, he approached the dog. “All right, boy, save some of that for the kids,” he said, taking away the final bar at Lucifer's feet. Lucifer, not one to share his goodies with anyone, no matter hold young they were or how many stars they had on their collar, jumped up and bit the general directly on the buttocks. The general screamed, turned around and swatted at the dog, who'd by now retrieved the last bit of the candy.
“Airman, get that damn dog out of here!” ordered the general.
“Yes, sir,” replied McElroy. “Sir, I'm so sorry, Lucifer's a really good dog.”
“That thing just bit my three star butt!” yelled the general. “Take him outside and put a bullet in his head!”
“But sir, he saved my life ...”
“That's an order, airman,” bellowed the general, and McElroy complied, taking the dog by the leash and walking him out to the airfield. He pointed the gun at Lucifer, trying to hold it steady, but his hands were shaking just too much. Lucifer sat quietly in front of the airman, awaiting his next move, accepting whatever fate had to offer. McElroy fired a single shot in the air, lowered his arm, and threw the pistol across the tarmac. “Let's get the hell out of this country,” he said to the dog. “I've got a plan.”
The two headed to the liquor store on base, and then returned to the barracks. “This ain't as good as chocolate,” he told Lucifer, “But I think it'll get us home safe.” McElroy poured beer after beer into the dog's mouth, all through the night, until he was good and drunk, and finally passed out. McElroy dressed Lucifer in the uniform of the man who slept next time him, a handler as well, who'd recently been killed and had all his belongings packed and ready for shipment back to the world. The morning came, and just as Lucifer was waking up, McElroy poured another few bottles of spirits down his throat until he returned to a lethargic state. He wrapped Lucifer's head in a towel and put a helmet on top of him.
“All right, men, attention!” yelled the sergeant. “Done your time, let's go home!”
McElroy finished packing his belongings as the sergeant walked over to the bunks. “What the hell's wrong with that one?” he said, poking at Lucifer's limp body. “Wake up, son, time to get the show on the road!”
“He got pretty drunk last night,” replied McElroy. “Kind of a going home celebration.”
“We ain't holding up the line for you, boy!” he yelled at Lucifer, who was still unresponsive. The sergeant looked back at McElroy. “Well, he's your damn buddy, you get him on that plane!”
“Yes, sergeant,” replied the airman, as he picked up the uniformed Lucifer and got on the truck headed for the airstrip and a place called home. They were well over the Pacific Ocean when Lucifer finally arose from his stupor. McElroy jumped up out of his own sleep, and covered the dog's form with a field jacket. “Keep quiet,” he told the dog, as he held him closely to his chest. “Just for a little bit longer, okay?” Lucifer looked up at McElroy, as if he understood the words coming from his mouth. “You take care of me, I take care of you, remember?” The dog brought his nose out just a little bit from under the steel pot, and licked McElroy on the cheek before going back into seclusion.
When the two got back to Wurtsmith, the airman immediately rented a small apartment off base in order to keep Lucifer a secret. Every time McElroy wasn't on duty, he was at that little flat, petting Lucifer with one hand and pouring alcohol into himself with the other, trying to drown the horrors of two years at war. Before the winter of 1971 came through, the airman decided to take some leave. He rented an old beat up car, and headed down to the Tawases with Lucifer for a last weekend at the beach. McElroy was already pretty tipsy as he started out down Highway 23 with the dog right beside him, eating a Hershey bar, of course. McElroy drove faster and faster, wanting to get to the shoreline, looking forward to all the scantily clad Michigan girls waiting there at the shores of Lake Huron. Each time he pressed down on the accelerator, he took another drink, and it didn't take long before he was completely inebriated. He was swerving all over the road, and he didn't notice an oncoming vehicle heading north. The drivers collided, smashing into McElroy's side and sending the car rolling into a nearby ditch. Lucifer was flung into the back seat and knocked unconscious for a brief moment.
The dog rose slowly as the sirens approached, and he jumped out of the window, tugging on McElroy's shirt, trying to pull him out of the burning car. However, it wasn't like before; it wasn't like it was back in Vietnam. Lucifer tried with all his power to drag his friend from death's grip, but even a simple dog knows when to give up the fight. He knew his good friend – his only friend – had gone to the place where so many fine young men had gone before. Lucifer whimpered and whined as he stood back, and watching the flames travel to the inside of the car, he knew this time, he'd lost McElroy forever. He looked down the southbound road, and saw the ambulances coming closer. Lucifer ran over to the driver's side window, licked McElroy's face for the final time, and howled into the twilit sky with all the breath in his lungs. As the first medics pulled up, he ran deep and fast into that Northern Michigan forest, just as he'd done earlier in his life.