They Took Away The Dog

Davey was a cute kid. He had dimples and wide, alert eyes. His clothes were always simple. He followed directions well. And he didn't do much to draw attention to himself.

Like most boys his age he wore cuts and bruises on his arms and legs. When asked where they came from, the other boys would shrug, but Davey had a story for each one. They ranged from ordinary excuses like skateboarding or jumping off retaining walls to escape giraffes or high-speed chases. Davey had a good imagination.

Draper Street was home to many children, but only one lived in the gray house, and that was Davey. The gray house had missing shingles and grass that reached your knees. Behind the house was a metal chain-link pen that housed a dog. Davey's dog. Pepperjack.

Both Davey and Pepperjack were rarely at the gray house. They roamed Draper Street, aways together. Davey never used a leash. Pepperjack followed him closely wherever he went. When the other kids would pick at Davey's dingy t-shirts or take his skateboard from him, Pepperjack would growl and bare his teeth until Davey said, "Easy boy, it's okay. They're just playing" and laugh it off until the kids moved on and Pepperjack went back to wagging his tail. When the two were together, Davey's bruises seemed a little lighter.

The residents of Draper Street did not like the gray house. They would work for hours, manicuring their perfect green lawns so they could look down the road at the gray house and shake their heads in disapproval. When the fighting and yelling started at the gray house they would hush whatever guests had gathered for the holiday B.B.Q. and listen to the latest dispute. When the flashing lights sped down the road they would congregate at their mailboxes and discuss the details of the events at the exciting, yet still embarrassing, gray house. Davey and Pepperjack would sit on the curb with their heads bowed. Their opinions on the matter were seldom given and rarely asked for.

Often the screaming was accompanied by growls and yelps as Pepperjack was led back to his pen for a few hours. On one of these days Mr. Harper called the animal shelter and three days later the flashing lights took Pepperjack away.

As the summer came to a close the neighborhood saw less and less of Davey. And his smile, like Pepperjack, had gone completely. The marks on his arms and neck seemed to grow darker under the shadow of the small boy's eyes that once held such light.

Pepperjack's new owners called him Rex. Rexy. They had to bring him back a week later. They had a baby. They said every time they went to touch the child, Rexy would growl and stand in their way. He was such a good dog, they said. It's a shame, they said.

The last time the residents of Draper Street saw Davey they were standing in their driveways, leaning on their mailboxes, sitting on their stoops. They watched as the ambulance drove slowly by, carrying Davey along with it. They said it was a broken neck. Must have fallen down the stairs. He was a good boy, they said. It's a shame, they said.