PSEUDO SNOW

     Arthur Rider hasn't always detested dogs.   It's just that he has so much hate for the two confined in the yards on either side of his apartment, he has developed an antagonistic attitude towards all tame canines. Nobody is sympathetic to how seriously he feels stuck between barking loudspeakers when he cusses about the "stereo dogs."

     Arthur has never owned a dog.  He harbors no memories of a personal pet, one accorded special status in some human family.   Therefore, he doesn't empathize with people who accept dogs as the natural best friends of mankind.  In fact, he considers most dogs to be ill-bred, over fed and worthless, at best.  Vicious and stupid, at worst.

     Most of his early information (late '40's) about dogs came from Grandfather Rider's stories about foxhounds. The old man had raised them back when there were more foxes than bounty hunters.   It was great sport to maintain and breed dogs that could sniff out a trail and run all night trying catch up to the source of the scent. The hunters would sit around a campfire and listen, identifying each of their hounds by its baying.  The barking revealed other details such as position in the pack, tilt of the terrain and distance from the fox.

     The tales of these hunts, plus accounts of different litters being "thrown" by admirable bitches with fancy names, and whole lineages being traced back through generations, elevated the dogs to mythical status in the young boy's mind.

     However, Grandfather Rider, thought canine companionship to be highly suspect. He believed dogs should be kept outside the living quarters of humans. He would cringe and resound when he observed anyone allowing a dog to lick them, especially on the face.   "Do you know where that dog's tongue has been?" he would ask, startling folks being intimate with a pet.  Grandpa's disdain for house dogs passed to Arthur.

     When Arthur was twelve, he made friends with a small bull terrier which began to follow him home from the residence of one of his paper route customers.  It was five blocks and Brownie would sometimes sit at the door and wait for Arthur.  Even on winter days, sometimes.  Arthur had friends who were two blocks away, halfway for Brownie, so he spent time at this house, also.

     Three free running boys and the dog were a common sight in and out of the neighborhood.  The dog's lady owner kidded Arthur's mother about suing for "alienation of affection."  The joke turned to a more severe accusation after Brownie was crippled by a car one night, near Arthur's home, chasing his friends from up the hill.

    Brownie limped on a broken right fore paw, bent to a 90-degree angle.  A huge callous began to form on the toe which served as pads and claws which could no longer be placed on the ground.  The owner refused to pay to correct the injury because it happened as the dog was "chasing after a bunch of kids."   Arthur's parents refused to accept any responsibility.

     The dog continued to hang around Arthur and his friends.  There were constant questions about the pitiful condition of  the crippled leg.  Arthur's helplessness, coupled with a feeling he should do something to aid his canine friend, would haunt him for years.  He most regretted allaying any private guilt by explaining the dog didn't belong to him.

     Thirty years later, while trying to concentrate in a quiet California setting, Arthur's tolerance of dogs began to wear thin.  Across the street from his second floor apartment, visible and audible through his large bay windows, were two large dogs.   They were chained to the front porch of the truck driver owner.  They barked at everyone who passed.  At first, they were a mere distraction.  Then they began his obsession to silence them. He yelled at them often, and they quieted, but resumed just in time to interrupt some thought.

    Years later,  Arthur and his wife moved downstate.  They rented another second floor unit.
On one side, was a six feet high board fence which surrounded a yard.  A female Doberman was loose inside.  She barked incessantly when left alone.  She barked at every individual or animal which passed.  Birds and squirrels in trees.  Mostly it was a bark of loneliness.
     On the opposite side of Arthur's was a huge German Shepard mix, chained with a short length.  This dog began barking early in the morning and continued for much of the rest of the day.

     Arthur worked for awhile then was layed off. While alone and trying to find a job, the dogs began to bug him.  The barking from both sides seemed to be projected upwards to his ears.  He grew frustrated with his inability to control the incessant racket.  He related to the "Son of Sam" murderer who claimed to have been driven to violence by yapping dogs.  Arthur considered getting a gun, or hiring one.

     He was feeling the pressure of lack of income status, spending too much time alone inside and a troubled marriage. The dogs kept barking.
     In an attempt to figure out whether to continue as a couple, his wife left the apartment for a trial period of time.  After she'd gone, her brother, Richard and his friend rented rooms, allowing her to keep the apartment.  But her husband's obsession with the dogs continued.

     At a nearby yard sale, he found an old food grinder.  It was heavy steel, a model he'd seen his grandmother use. H e decided to grind up some glass.  As a youth, he'd heard of neighbors disposing of unruly dogs by feeding them hamburger with glass in it. He had no idea how that would work and had never seen the result of such a poisoning. But he was shaking in anticipation when he got the utensil home and set it up, screwing the clamp tightly to the edge of his writing desk, after removing a drawer.

     He began experimenting with different kinds of glass and found all glass could be ground along the auger through the dies.   He added flour and sugar and salt to clear glass and white glass.  He ended up with a smooth, white powder, fifty-percent glass.  Planning the next step of getting it into meat, he put it into a sandwich bag, placed it into a small cedar box and closed the lid.

     Carrying the grinder to the kitchen, he rinsed and wiped it before storing it under the kitchen counter.  His heartbeat was an obvious thumping in his chest.

     "Hey, Art, me and Tom want to do a little quickie party tonight, couple people, beer and shit...you know."

     "Tom and I," Arthur scolded, after being startled. "I don't care.  Stay away from my desk."

    "You know you're welcome...."

    "But you don't want me hanging around lusting after the young ginch.  Plus, I don't need re-exposed to the most current drugs on the street, thank you.  Been clean too damned long for that!"

     "Thanks, man, we'll stake ya to a movie or dinner or both.  We'll be breaking it up and crashing by one o'clock.  Should be beer left over for you."

     Around midnight, Richard's girlfriend, Debbie, was fooling around in the back room which Arthur used as an office.  Richard kept trying to get her back, citing Arthur's warning to stay away from the desk.  The room was tiny and cluttered with just enough room for desk, chair and filing cabinet.  Debbie squeezed into the chair and put a sheet of paper in the typewriter.

     "Come on, baby, it's cold in here.  Art dresses like arctic circle when he's in here.  Let's go to my room, or at least where it's warmer."

     Debbie typed "Oh Kay!" and stood.  She looked around and spotted the cedar box.  She lifted the hasp, raised the lid and exclaimed "What's this?"

     Richard picked up the bag.  In his party-dulled mind and his horny-hyped loins, he wanted it to be cocaine, and it could be an answer to Arthur's dog obsession...even so, he never considered the cost aspect vs Arthur's lack of money.

     The rest of the party was in the front of the apartment, so at Debbie's urging, she and Richard decided to take it to the kitchen, do some lines and return the bag to the box, without telling the others.  Richard spooned some powder onto a glass tray, trimmed in wood, and arranged two three-inch lines with a credit card. They agreed to snort the lines simultaneously, Richard using a rolled up twenty dollar bill and Debbie a gold cylinder she carried in her purse.

     Facing each other across the counter they leaned towards the lines, holding their tubes to one nostril and the opposite forefinger to the other nostril.  Turning slightly to exhale from the mouth, they guided each of their ends to the lines. Richard vacuumed his in one clean sweep.

     He panicked as soon as the crystals lacerated membranes all the way to his lungs. He stood and tried to exhale the searing shards which stuck like boiling resin.  His gasps for breath were impaired and his body was shocked by oxygen shortage.   Reddish mucous drained from his nose and mouth.  His eyes bulged from fear and pressure on his brain.

     Debbie dropped the gold-plated tube, after sucking up only half her line, then whip-lashed her head backwards,, trying to remove the stinging that permeated her respiratory passages.  She choked and gagged in a frenetic attempt to rid herself of the nerve abrading particles, while trying desperately to get air into her injured lungs.

     While Arthur Rider was being held in custody during a police investigation, one of the "stereo dogs" was given away and the other fitted with a muzzle.



                                                             The End