Heavy Boy began a panicked squalling. His terror infused all of us in the den, so that we, too, began squeaking and crying, anxiously nosing each other for reassurance.
I knew right then that I would never go out on the ledge. That way meant danger.
Then Heavy Boy went completely quiet.
The silence in the den was instantaneous. We all sensed that if something had gotten to Heavy Boy, it might very well be coming for us next. We huddled together in soundless dread.
With a loud scratching sound, Mother appeared on the ledge, Heavy Boy hanging, chagrined, from her teeth. She deposited him in the center of our pile and of course immediately he was squeaking in demand for a teat, heedless of the fact that he had frightened all of us. I am sure I was not the only puppy who felt our mother would not have offended us if she just left Heavy Boy out there to face the consequences of his venture.
That night I lay on top of one of my sisters, considering what I had learned. The ledge at the front of the den was a dangerous place, not worth the risk of trespass regardless of the succulent odors offered by the world beyond. By staying near the bed; I reasoned, I would be completely safe.
I was entirely wrong, as it turned out a few days later.
Mother was napping with her back to us. This upset my littermates, especially Heavy Boy, because the fragrance of her teats called to us and he wanted to feed. None of us were strong or coordinated enough to climb over her, though, and she was wedged in the back corner of the den, denying us access around head and tail.
She raised her head at a sound we heard every so often: a humming machine noise. Before, the sound always rose and fell swiftly, but this time it came close and whatever was making it was obviously motionless for a time. We heard a slam, and that’s when Mother stood up, her head tenting the flexible ceiling, her ears back in alarm.
Something was coming—heavy thuds were getting closer. Mother pressed herself to the back of the den and we followed suit. None of us went for her teats, now, not even Heavy Boy.
A stark shadow blocked the light from the rectangular hole, and with a loud boom the ledge to the world was slapped up, making the den a sealed enclosure, no way out. Mother was panting, white rims under her eyes, and we all knew something was about to happen, something awful. She tried to force her way over the side of the den, but the ceiling was down too tight; all she could do was stick the tip of her nose out into the air.
The floor of the den rocked, and there was another slamming sound, and then with a grinding roar the surface beneath our feet began to tremble. The den lurched, flinging us all to one side. We slid on the slick metal surface. I looked to Mother and she had her claws extended and was struggling to stay on her feet. She could not help us. My siblings were crying pitiably and trying to make their way to her, but I hung back, concentrating on not being thrown. I did not understand the forces pulling at my body; I just knew that if Mother was afraid, I should be terrified.
The bouncing, banging, and shaking went on for so long, I began to believe this would now be my life, that my mother would forever be dismal with fear, that I would be flung back and forth without cease—and then suddenly we all were tossed in a crush at the back wall of the den, where we piled up and then fell when the noise and the sickening stresses on our bodies magically ceased. Even the vibrations stopped.
Mother was still afraid. I watched her as she alerted at a metallic slam, and saw her whip her head around as she took measure of a crunching sound tracking to the place where the ledge had always thrust out into the world.
I felt real fear when I saw her lips draw back from her teeth. My calm, gentle mother was now fierce and feral, her fur up, her eyes cold.
With a clank the ledge fell back down into place and astoundingly there was a man standing there. The instinctive recognition came to me in a flash—it was as if I could feel his hands on me, or remember how it felt, even though I had never set eyes on such a creature before. I caught sight of bushy hair below his nose, a rounded belly, and eyes widening in surprise.
Mother lunged and savagely snapped her teeth, her bark full of angry warning.
“Yaaah!” The man fell away in shock, vanishing from view. Mother kept barking.
My littermates were frozen in helpless fear. Mother was retreating to where we were collected, drool flecking her mouth, fur up, ears back. A maternal rage radiated from her—I felt it; my siblings felt it; and, given his reaction, the man undoubtedly felt it as well.
And then, with an abruptness that made us all flinch, the ledge banged up, shutting off the sun, so that the only illumination was the dim glow filtering through the covering over the top of the den.
The silence seemed as loud as Mother’s snarls had been. In the gloom, I saw my littermates begin to unclench, though they set upon my mother with a need made frantic by what had happened, and she acquiesced, lying down to nurse with a sigh.
What had just occurred? Mother had been afraid but had channeled that fear into something fierce. The man had been afraid but hadn’t turned it into anything but a startled shout. And I had felt an odd composure, as if I understood something my mother did not.
It wasn’t true, though. I didn’t understand anything.
After a time, Mother crossed to where the ledge had been flipped up, sniffing along the top edge. She pressed her head up against the tarp, raising it slightly, and a shaft of light shot into the den. She emitted a slight sound, a moan, chilling me.
We heard the crunching noises I associated with the man, and then voices.
“Ya wanna take a look?”
“Not if she’s vicious like you say. How many pups, you think?”
“Maybe six? I was just figurin’ out what I was lookin’ at when she came at me. Thought she was gonna take my arm off.”
These were, I decided, men speaking to each other about something. I could smell them, and there were no more than two.
“Well, why would you leave the tailgate down in the first place?”
“I dunno.”
“We need this pickup. You gotta go get that equipment.”
“Yeah, but what about the pups?”
“So what you do is take them down to the river. You got a gun?”
“What? No, I don’t got a gun, for Pete’s sake.”
“I got a pistol in my truck.”
“I don’t wanna shoot a bunch of puppies, Larry.”
“The pistol’s for the mother. With her out of the picture, nature will take care of the pups.”
“Larry…”
“You going to do what I say?”
“Yessir.”
“All right then.”
{ TWO }
Within moments we were back to sliding around, again subjected to noises and sickening forces we did not comprehend. Yet among the mysteries of the day, this particular event seemed less threatening with its repetition, somehow. Was it too farfetched to believe that soon the noise would end, our bodies would settle, the ledge would reappear, Mother would snarl and bark, a man would yell, the ledge would bang upward? This time I was therefore more interested in the smells wafting in through the gap between the flapping roof and the metal walls of the den: a blast of exotic, wonderful odors that brought with them the beckoning of a promising world.
When we were flung into a pile and the vibrations ceased, Mother tensed, and we probably all knew that a man was walking outside the den, but then nothing happened for some time except that our mother paced, panting. I noticed that Heavy Boy was following her around, focused on what was, for him, the issue of the moment, but I knew Mother had no intention of nursing us right then.