The Boy

The black Subaru Forester tumbled into my driveway puffing exhaust. Bill swung the driver’s side door open and emerged with a smile. He was portly and disheveled with a plaid shirt and crumpled khakis.

“How’re ya feeling about tonight?” he asked me.

“A little nervous. But I'm excited. I feel ready.”

“Good. It's gonna be a long trip, so make sure you have everything you need.”  

“I've got my phone and a water bottle. I think that’s all I need.”

When I got in the car, acrid odors of urine and vomit hit me. I figured the smell was coming from the way-back, where Bill had loaded up four empty cages. I rolled down my window, and we headed for the Turnpike.

The truck sped down the highway, my arm dangling out the window, feeling the warm July air. 

“Let’s run through everything once more?” Bill asked, looking ahead.

“Sure,” I said. “Where should we start?”

“Names.”

“So, I’ll keep my real name. Yours is Ed.”

“Yep,” he said. “And we’re driving to spend the night with family in Lancaster. Keep your phone in your pocket, and don’t speak unless spoken to. And what’s our relationship?”

“You’re my great uncle,” I said, turning to the window to conceal my grin.

“Not great uncle, just uncle.”

“We want it to be believable, right?” I asked.

Bill sighed. “Whether I’m your great uncle or uncle, they’ll believe it. Let’s just go with uncle.”

“We could go with grandfather?” I proposed.

Bill said nothing.

Bill’s always telling stories about his adventures. “I’d made four pick-ups one day,” he told me a few months earlier. “I couldn’t get to the last one ’til about midnight. I drove onto the farm, flashed my lights, and a guy in his fifties came out of the house in a nightshirt, holding a lamp. He was missing both his front teeth. When he led me down into a basement storage space, I texted my location to my sister, just in case. Nothing happened to me, but I had to shiver with relief once I was back in my truck and driving away.”   

After we’d been driving two hours, the sun was still up, but the trees threw the road into darkness. The only sounds were buzzing insects and the wind in the trees. We passed hay fields, horses and buggies, and the occasional farmer along the road. Finally, on a narrow side road, we slowed and turned into a twisting driveway that led onto an open graveled area next to a clapboard house and barn. Bill pulled up in front of the barn and put the truck into park but kept the engine running.

“Let’s go,” he said, looking at me. “Remember: There’s nothing to be afraid of. Just follow the plan.”

My better judgment told me that if we needed to follow a plan, there was likely something to fear. We got out of the car and slipped our phones into our pockets. If we were going to be kidnapped by these farmers, I would at least need some Family Guy to binge-watch. 

The muddy red paint on the barn was faded and curled in places, and through its open doors I could see two rows of cages, one on each side. I felt like I was looking at Grant Wood’s painting of American Gothic. There was some movement inside the house, and an Amish man in a cobalt blue shirt, suspenders, and a straw hat came out to meet us. He had dark brown hair with a simple bowl cut, held a flickering lamp loosely in his hand, and didn't look happy to see us. 

“You all here to pick up the Retriever and Poodle?” he asked, his accent stretching the vowels.  

“Yes, sir,” Bill said. “I spoke last week to Mr. Flaud. I’ve got cages in the back.”

The man grunted, turned around, and slowly walked into the barn where he opened two rusting wire cages. He pulled the dogs out by their collars and after a moment came out with both of them on leashes. On the Retriever’s back the fur was sparse, and there were small, black spots — some sort of insect. She was limping. The Poodle looked no healthier, with prominent shoulder blades, matted fur, and crusting around the eyes. She was panting, and her front teeth were brown, probably rotting. I couldn’t help but wince at their sight as I tried to contemplate the sort of person who could be so heartless towards a living creature. Having grown up in a family that only adopts abused and neglected animals, how does this man not want to properly love and care for them? How is he so desensitized to their suffering?

“They’re just too old,” he said, probably sensing my revulsion. 

By that point I’d also gotten a whiff of their overpowering odor. “Can’t make any more pups. If you hadn’t come, we probably would’ve had to put them down. Where are you folks from?”

I couldn't exchange pleasantries with this man. I also couldn't help but feel that “putting them down” would have been a more humane solution had we not showed up.

“About forty minutes to the west,” Bill said, masking his disgust. “Out here visiting family and spending the night. This is my nephew,” he said, pointing toward me.

Bill had learned over the years to remain expressionless and unfazed at the conditions in which he finds these animals. If he wanted to be welcomed by these owners to rescue their dogs, he had to remain neutral. 

"Mmmmhmmm," grunted the man.

Bill opened up his trunk, revealing two dog cages. The man threw the Retriever into the smallest cage with little care, causing the already dirty and whimpering dog to squeal in pain. He then attempted to do the same with the Poodle, but instead just ended up throwing the dog against the top of the car. The dog came tumbling down to the gravel, striking some sharp pebbles. A bead of blood showed through her dirty fur. Tears welled up in my eyes as I fought off the urge to cry and risk the chance that the man would notice. 

"I think I got it," Bill snapped hastily, motioning for me to get into the car as he saw my reaction. He lifted the dog gently, placed him in the cage, shut the trunk, and got into the car. I hoisted myself into the passenger seat, feeling relieved and slightly dizzy as I pulled a tissue out of my front pocket.  

“Thank you, that’s wonderful,” Bill said to the man.

"Really wonderful,” I muttered under my breath.

“I’ll go and grab the two Shepherds,” the man said.

After he turned back toward the barn, I looked at Bill with raised eyebrows. “Did we call for any Shep …?” 

“Shh!” Bill hissed.  

When the man returned, he was leading two pitch-black German Shepherds, just older than puppies, each with cool blue eyes. Bill couldn’t hold back a grin. “You can just load them in the back, as well.” 

With the Shepherds in the back, we closed the latch and thanked the man. I stayed quiet as Bill backed out of the driveway and turned onto the road. 

"Thanks," we called back as we sped off into the sunset.

Burning with curiosity about the Shepherds, I waited until he pulled over a few minutes later to move the Retriever to a larger cage.

“Bill?” I asked when he got back into the truck.

“Yes?” he said, grinning madly.

“Did you call for the German Shepherds? They look really valuable.”

“I didn’t call. But someone must’ve. Probably already paid for them. There was a miscommunication somewhere. The likelihood is,” Bill said after a pause, “in this area, the German Shepherds were going to be working animals, or put into breeding. Not treated well. We managed to save two more.” 

We had already spent enough time there, and it was quite a relief to escape. The warm air swirled around us, and the sunset sky covered us in oranges, reds, and purples as we continued our long drive home, with hopes for a better life for these dogs.  

The Dog

Man-Who-Barely-Feeds-Us arrived as I was adjusting my position in the dirty, cramped rabbit hutch, dodging the wires with my bloody and puss-filled paws, as flies bit every part of my exposed skin. I heard him approach even before he came into sight. His stale-water scent was unmistakable. The sun was setting and I was not sure why he was here as I am usually alone until dawn. Why was I even hopeful when I heard him approach since he never relieves my pain?

As he reached down to the bottom of the cage and unlatched the creaky, rusted door with his oversized and dirty gloved hands, my eyes were diverted to a nearby Poodle. I looked into my dog companion's eyes, and I saw my anxious feelings mirrored in hers. I tried not to whimper from the pain in my shredded paws as Man-Who-Barely-Feeds-Us lifted me up and out of my cage, showing no sympathy from my cries. As we turned the corner, I smelled a faint mixture of unknown dog and human and I saw a rotund man standing next to a smaller boy. I noticed right away their kind, glistening eyes. The boy was still but his breath was rapid as he looked at me.

Behind them loomed a big black object, four times the size of my rabbit hutch, on wagon-like wheels. As this bulky object transformed, the back lifting up readying itself to snatch anything in its path, more cages were revealed. I hoped they weren't going to cram multiple dogs in there! 

Man-Who-Barely-Feeds-Us threw me into the smallest rabbit hutch, slamming the wire cage. This smaller hutch didn't hurt my paws like the one in the barn as the floor of this cage had smooth metal covered by a fluffy and warm covering. Adrenaline pulsed through my body as a mix of nerves and hope flooded my head as the cozy blanket embraced me. Was I finally being saved? 

The back hatch of the black object began closing slowly, and Man-Who-Barely-Feeds-Us disappeared. I was suddenly left in the dark  and was scared until I heard the whimper of my Poodle cellmate beside me. As I trembled in wonderment about my future, two more Shepherds were thrown into our new confines. The smaller human looked back at me with sad eyes and then away. I heard a rumble and felt myself moving. I knew that I was moving into a new chapter of my life. I now smelled freedom instead of stale-water as the setting rays of sun landed on my eyes.

I had already spent enough time there, and it was quite a relief to escape. The warm air swirled around the four of us, and the sunset sky covered us in oranges, reds, and purples as we continued our long drive to somewhere safe.

The Farmer

I awoke to the sound of knocking. Grabbing a lamp, I opened my door to reveal a teenage boy and a grown man around my age. Immediately, I knew they were English from their clothes. They were here to pick up the four female breeding dogs from our farm that could no longer be used to reproduce. 

Walking quickly to the cages, I grabbed the two breeding dogs. I heard the man call out to me, asking to load the dogs into the trunk. As I tossed one of them in the car, the adult stranger looked horrified and gently lifted the other dog into the cage. I am a social man, and I wanted to chat with them, but it felt awkward, and I didn't know what to say. I noticed the boy looked at the dogs with pity and sadness. I have a son around the same age and never noticed this discomfort on his face when looking at the dogs, pigs or cows that make up our business. I felt as though these outsiders were judging me and how the Amish treat animals. What they don't understand is that breeding is how my family and I survive. They seemed to have forgotten about the German Shepherds, so I ran back to get them. The man looked happy and somewhat surprised when I ushered the two Shepherds to the car. He then raised both dogs into the back, shut the trunk, got into the car with the boy, and drove off into the dusk. 

I didn't know why I couldn't have interacted with them more normally. Their way of life is so foreign to me. They make their money and provide for their families in such a different way. We don't use instagram for likes to boost our business.Their sense of community, relying on technology and social media to forge bonds, is something of which we know nothing. The indulged lives of their youth —up late —parents facilitating every move they make to ensure their future success. No manual labor required of them, other than sports, and not even for the love of the sport. Rather, a manufactured identity to market their children for college. What kind of real world experiences are these kids even learning? I went back to my house, blew out my lamp, and sat on my bed. Maybe they'd be back for more? 

These dogs had already spent enough time here, and it was quite a relief for them to escape to a better life and make room for new breeding dogs. The warm air swirled around my family as they slept, and the sunset sky covered us in oranges, reds, and purples as I planned for a new day.