In Heat

Davey swore that the lock stuck something awful. He swore it alright, not that Bill ever gave a damn what he said anyways. Christ, Mom is putting that lout up and he ain’t even good with a hammer and nails. Lotta good a man around the house is then if he isn’t worth the red piss of being one. Davey didn’t even know why Bill had gotten so angry, they weren’t his breeders anyway. His father, now that was a fine, upstanding one, one who could fix anything, he had bought the entire brood of blue tick hounds from a man in the North Country, Amish maybe, but Davey’s father was certain they was pure. You could tell by the smell of their piss, his father had often been known to say. Davey didn’t track much with that, didn’t try it more than a handful of times. Piss smelled like piss to him, ‘sides they looked pure and that was what mattered, at least until you got further enough down the line. 

That lock though, it was in need of grease or maybe a wire brush, but it was in need of something, Davey had tried to tell Bill in between wacks of the belt. The lock didn’t close all the way and if you weren’t looking, well it might just fly open behind you and that would be that.

“A man’s gotta fess up”

“But it ain’t like I’m lying about it!”

Davey didn’t even get anything out of it, they were his father’s blues but Bill’s pups or so he said, but it didn’t make a lick of sense to Davey. Bill could sell them all and Davey would still end up carrying spoiled ham for lunch, every dime went to Bill. So why the hell couldn’t he just oil the damn lock? 

“Man’s gotta fess up”

“I’m being straight with you!”

Davey knew Marsha was in heat, she kept em up late enough at night with her howlin. Long week too, Bill said they couldn’t bring the spike in for at least another week, buddy of a buddy or something, youda thought thata given him enough time to fix the lock! But all the block knew and all the mutts too. They just kept sniffing against the fence wood, bending it in with their wet noses. 

“Man’s gotta fess up” 

Davey had gone down to the match. It was fair, no matter what Bill said, it was fair.  Crippler Stevens was wrestling and Davey wasn’t going to miss it no how, but it really shouldn’t have made a difference, not if the lock was proper! Davey didn’t know that Wilkes’ Saint Bernard had been sniffing around, hell even if the lock had been working the thing was big enough to break down the gate anyways. It wasn’t his fault, but Bill caught them in the act and he swore it was. 

Wilkes’ poor Saint Bernard lost a chunk of ear Bill dragged him off so hard, but Bill swore it didn’t make a difference. 

“Man’s gotta fess up”

None of us were sure everything got done, but the spike was brought in a week later. Bill’s belt broke before he could tell Davey to pray they came out clean, he’d wear his rings otherwise. But it took months and none were sure, Davey hoped he’d just up and forget. 

Litter poor would keep Bill away from that new truck bed of his, a decent pure Blue could fetch 200 to the right eyeball. Bill would even throw in the collar for that price. 

Marsha didn’t do nothing, she could give up another litter, two or three more maybe before they came out foul, but the ones that came were mutts, real odd ones with a bent up noses and stuffy bodies. Not good for hunting or tracking, house dogs. 

Woulda thought it’d been Mom’s choice, maybe even Davey’s. They were his father’s pups if you track it down the line, shoulda fell to Davey. Not Bill, he didn’t see it thataway, was costing money to feed ‘em and more if you consider the loss of an entire litter of Blue Ticks. 

Bill brought home the burlap sack on one night home from work, big enough to fit a barrel or something, didn’t even do nothing with it at first, just left it sitting draped over the back of a chair. Let it go until after dinner when he set it down alongside a ball peen hammer. 

Davey tried to come up with tears, but they just couldn’t come out while trying to win an argument. He’d set them straight, keep them fed and find owners, it didn’t have to be done.  

Bill didn’t even look past his beer. 

“I’ll know if you don’t, then it’ll really pay. Man’s gotta fess up”

He tried to turn to his Mom, she shouldn’ta sanctioned it because it steamed her all the same. She didn’t approve, but it wasn’t her call, Bill swore up and down that it needed to be done. But he didn’t even fix the lock, things that needed to be done Davey didn’t think. 

Davey cried some, but the tugging on Bill’s pant leg didn’t help none. He just kicked him off and sent Davey through the screen door. 

Davey went out to the shed, easy enough to grab the pups while they were at the nip. He thought about throwing them over the fence, letting a few go and only doing a handful, but Bill would figure it out, see ‘em roaming or they’d break their legs on the way down from the fence. 

So he stuffed them into the burlap one by one, gripping the ball peen hammer by its splintered hilt. The soft mewling echoed through the burlap, Davey swore they’d only gotten louder. If only that damn lock had worked he told himself and even if it wasn’t his fault, he knew…

Man’s gotta fess up.