Free Traps by MacKenzie Bezos Page B
Authors: MacKenzie Bezos
when to say, “Hey now, not a bitof that, mister,” flat and low. When they get to the far side, she opens another door in the chain-link a crack, waving Vivian through while she blocks the dogs with her knees, and then passes through herself, walking backward to keep them from coming with her.
“There’s not much to any of this, really,” she says. “Just watch how I do and you’ll learn it straightaway.”
There is a row of water troughs along the driveway, and she walks the fence line now and reaches through the chain-link to unscrew a drain cap, stepping back from the gurgle and splash of water onto the muddy red-brown dirt.
Vivian says, “What’s wrong with the dog you’re going to pick up?”
“Not a thing. She’s just been at the shelter for more than a year, and it’s a kill shelter. She’s blind, and that makes most people think a dog can’t get by.”
“Can it, though?”
“Sure, you’ll see. Most it takes a few days of bumping into things before they have a layout in their heads. Our pen is a rectangle, and nothing in it but other dogs that have a smell and make noise, so most likely the only thing she’ll bump into is the hose bib in the middle there.”
She points at a pipe rising up out of a low place in the center of the yard. Three dogs are crowded in around it, digging. “No matter how many times I fill it in with sand they dig it out again.” Their heads are bowed, low and purposeful over their work, just touching now and then as their forepaws churn and the loose sand flies out steadily behind them.
She unscrews another drain cap and steps back from the flow of old water.
Vivian says, “Can the other dogs tell if a dog is blind?”
“Some can. Some will help it out by barking to warn him. Like before a car coming down the drive makes noise, and you’ll see one of the dogs go right next to a blind one and bark.”
“That’s sweet.”
“Does as much good for the one who does the helping, I think,” Lynn says.
All the troughs are empty now, and Lynn pulls the green hose, yanking and dragging it to get it up out of itself where it’s coiled near the shed, and she puts the nozzle into the first trough. At the squeak of the faucet handle cranking, a few more dogs get up and come over to nose into the trough. The bottom of the trough starts to fill, the clean fresh water running down the side in a clear sheet, and right away the dogs begin drinking.
Then from the pocket of Lynn’s borrowed barn coat, Vivian’s cell phone rings.
“Uch,” she says. “I’m so sorry I forgot to switch off the ringer.”
Lynn turns toward her battered yellow truck. “You can finish this. I better get going.”
“It’s just that same caller again.”
“If I’m gone past two, you might as well feed them. There are cans of meat in the garage, and you can bring them out here and open five and divide them up in twenty-four bowls. They go between that double layer of fence, and then there’s a way to raise it when you’re ready. You’ll see.”
Vivian is looking down at her phone. “I don’t know why they don’t stop.”
“The mama dog and pups get a mix of puppy food and milk replacer from under the kitchen sink. You can mix it with warm water in the blender.”
“Just ringing and ringing half the time when I’m feeding the babies. Wouldn’t you give up if someone never answered? Would you ever just keep calling a person like that?”
Lynn opens the door to her truck and slips in. “And there probably won’t be any visitors. Most people will call first on the house phone if they’re interested in finding a dog, but every once in a while we get a drop-in. If that happens, you tell them you can show them the dogs, but they’ll have to come back for a matching interview with Lynn.”
Vivian’s phone stops ringing, and she looks at it despairingly. “There’s going to be another voice mail.” She stands right next to her but does not look up at Lynn behind the wheel
“There’s not much to any of this, really,” she says. “Just watch how I do and you’ll learn it straightaway.”
There is a row of water troughs along the driveway, and she walks the fence line now and reaches through the chain-link to unscrew a drain cap, stepping back from the gurgle and splash of water onto the muddy red-brown dirt.
Vivian says, “What’s wrong with the dog you’re going to pick up?”
“Not a thing. She’s just been at the shelter for more than a year, and it’s a kill shelter. She’s blind, and that makes most people think a dog can’t get by.”
“Can it, though?”
“Sure, you’ll see. Most it takes a few days of bumping into things before they have a layout in their heads. Our pen is a rectangle, and nothing in it but other dogs that have a smell and make noise, so most likely the only thing she’ll bump into is the hose bib in the middle there.”
She points at a pipe rising up out of a low place in the center of the yard. Three dogs are crowded in around it, digging. “No matter how many times I fill it in with sand they dig it out again.” Their heads are bowed, low and purposeful over their work, just touching now and then as their forepaws churn and the loose sand flies out steadily behind them.
She unscrews another drain cap and steps back from the flow of old water.
Vivian says, “Can the other dogs tell if a dog is blind?”
“Some can. Some will help it out by barking to warn him. Like before a car coming down the drive makes noise, and you’ll see one of the dogs go right next to a blind one and bark.”
“That’s sweet.”
“Does as much good for the one who does the helping, I think,” Lynn says.
All the troughs are empty now, and Lynn pulls the green hose, yanking and dragging it to get it up out of itself where it’s coiled near the shed, and she puts the nozzle into the first trough. At the squeak of the faucet handle cranking, a few more dogs get up and come over to nose into the trough. The bottom of the trough starts to fill, the clean fresh water running down the side in a clear sheet, and right away the dogs begin drinking.
Then from the pocket of Lynn’s borrowed barn coat, Vivian’s cell phone rings.
“Uch,” she says. “I’m so sorry I forgot to switch off the ringer.”
Lynn turns toward her battered yellow truck. “You can finish this. I better get going.”
“It’s just that same caller again.”
“If I’m gone past two, you might as well feed them. There are cans of meat in the garage, and you can bring them out here and open five and divide them up in twenty-four bowls. They go between that double layer of fence, and then there’s a way to raise it when you’re ready. You’ll see.”
Vivian is looking down at her phone. “I don’t know why they don’t stop.”
“The mama dog and pups get a mix of puppy food and milk replacer from under the kitchen sink. You can mix it with warm water in the blender.”
“Just ringing and ringing half the time when I’m feeding the babies. Wouldn’t you give up if someone never answered? Would you ever just keep calling a person like that?”
Lynn opens the door to her truck and slips in. “And there probably won’t be any visitors. Most people will call first on the house phone if they’re interested in finding a dog, but every once in a while we get a drop-in. If that happens, you tell them you can show them the dogs, but they’ll have to come back for a matching interview with Lynn.”
Vivian’s phone stops ringing, and she looks at it despairingly. “There’s going to be another voice mail.” She stands right next to her but does not look up at Lynn behind the wheel