authorjeffbaker

Author’s Note: I’ll be off watching the eclipse Monday, so enjoy this way early! —-jeff

                                      Hark, Hark, the Dogs Do Bark

                                                     By Jeff Baker

            He heard the dogs again, yelping, barking, whining. When Raymond Nash was younger, he might have worried about burglars in the neighborhood. Now, he reassured himself he had set security before he went to bed and rolled over in the covers and blankets, imagining wolves cavorting in the snow.

            By daylight, the neighborhood looked like a set for a ‘50’s T.V. show. 1228 Elmwood Drive looked exactly like 1231 just across the street. Well-kept houses, fresh-mowed grass, middle-aged men already mowing their weekend lawns. Nash wondered about the dogs he’d heard-did they run through neighborhoods in packs? Were they even local? He doubted it. He hadn’t noticed any dogs, not even any being walked in the evening. Nonetheless, he drove slowly down the street, turning on to 25^th street and then the highway. Dogs were forgotten.

            He stayed up late that night as he was off-work the next day. He was crawling into bed when he heard the dogs again. He checked the alarm clock; 11:35.

            “Somebody needs to call Animal Control,” he grumbled as his head hit the pillow.

            Nash was standing in his backyard, surveying his mangy lawn with its patches of dirt when he saw one of his neighbors glancing over the hedge.

            “Coming with us tonight?” the man asked.

            “Uh, don’t think so,” Nash replied. None of anybody’s damn business what he did, even if he did nothing. Watched T.V. and ate after work, maybe had a beer. No social life. He went back inside.

            Dogs invaded his dreams.

            Monday after work Nash was standing on his porch in the dusk sipping a beer when the neighbor wandered over and started chatting.

            “Love to have you,” the neighbor said. “You really should join up.”

            “Join up to what?” Nash said. This guy was too old to be in a gang.

            “Basically a neighborhood society,” the neighbor said. “We patrol the neighborhood at night. We make sure that all is well.”

            “Like a neighborhood watch,” Nash said. “You aren’t burning crosses are you?”

            The neighbor laughed. “Heavens no! We don’t even knock anything over. Tell you what; you look around and see if you find anything different. If you do you may be ready to join.”

            Then the man walked off.

            Lying in bed, listening to the dogs, Nash wasn’t sure what the man had meant. The next evening, he walked down the sidewalk in the cool of dusk. Nondescript neighborhood he thought. Lawns, flowers, cars, kids, backyard fences, swing sets. Wait. He walked back along the sidewalk, looking carefully. There were no backyard fences. And no sign of dogs, no tell-tale holes in yards, no “presents.” He looked up at the sky.

            That night, Nash woke up to the sound of barking. He hadn’t remembered getting in bed. He did remember making sure the back door to the porch was open and that the porch screen was unlatched. The barking grew louder. He hopped off the bed, a long way down suddenly and ran across the floor towards the open doors, panting with excitement, furniture towering over him in the darkened house. He bounded out the door onto the porch and out the screen door announcing his arrival with a series of barks and howls. He heard the barking in welcome response and wagged his tail. He stared into the night, hearing night birds and other animals and smelling them as well.

            For tonight, at least, he was running with the pack.

                                                  —end—

                                                 Night Class

                                                 By Jeff Baker

            Feb. 1.

            Dear Mom and Dad:

            Hi! Greetings from your college boy! The football season is now over and Coach wants us to knuckle down this semester. He gave us a list of extra classes we could take and I picked one. Coach says we have to show up but it’s no sweat. We will pass as long as we show up. I’ve never been in a class in McAdoo Hall before, I don’t think I’ve ever been inside. We used to jog around it in the morning. It’s on the north corner of the campus. Big stone building next to the graveyard. Kind of spooky! (Ha-Ha!)

            This class is in the evening, and I showed up a couple of minutes late, just as they were sitting down and the teacher, Professor Lucien was rolling up this flag so I guess they were saying the Pledge of Allegiance. Nice to see that people still do that! They keep the room kind of dark (saving money for Football! Yay!) And the flag looked kind of red and black.

            I apologized for being late, and Professor Lucien said I could sign my name in blood later (Funny guy!). He also said that most of the work was going to be in-class anyway. He pointed me out to the class and said “Now we have someone on the football team.” The class applauded and I felt proud.

            Well, I’m up late! Better get to sleep, got more classes tomorrow!

            Your Son,

            Bruno.

            February 19.

            Dear Mom and Dad:

            Well, I missed my night class last week. I fell asleep after dinner. The thing was, the class was going to meet after midnight for, I guess, a field trip. Professor Lucien had said we were going to “Summon ball.” I’d never heard it called that before, but I was all for playing ball. The basketball team does a midnight practice but this was going to be off-campus. I apologized to Professor Lucien (who is never on campus during the day) He said we needed the whole class plus him. (Did I tell you the class is small, only twelve students plus Professor Lucien?) He said we would do it next month when the moon was right. This class must be getting into astronomy too.

            Professor Lucien said something familiar; that we were all going to be making sacrifices. That sounds like what Coach always tells us!

            I better let you go! Gotta study!

            Your Son,

            Bruno 

            March 10.

            Dear Mom and Dad:

            By now you heard about the mess with the football program. They fired Coach and disbanded the program and a lot of us transferred out. That is why this letter is coming to you from Keller College and not Argo State. Luckily my scholarship transferred too. I’ll have to redshirt next year, but I will be on the team my senior year! Go team!

            I’m doing okay in my classes here, and I have one souvenir. Professor Lucien just up and left, I guess they were investigating some of the professors too, so I still have one thing he gave me for the midnight field trip we never did. Cute little fella, I guess he was going to be the class mascot. I don’t know where the Professor went, so I have no way to send him anything, so I guess I have a pet now. They said his name is Nicky, and I’ll send you pictures. Like I said, he’s a cute little fella.

            I’ve never seen a black goat before!

            Your son,

            Bruno.

                                                   —end—