• SECOND SNOW •
by Jonathan Carroll
The dogs had been gone almost three days when she called. “I’m in Phoenix.”
“The dogs aren’t back yet.”
“They aren’t? God, what are you going to do?”
“I don’t know.”
“Are you worried?”
He licked his lips and looked at a small cut on his finger before answering. “Not yet. They ran away once before, but it wasn’t winter. It’s pretty cold here. I keep wondering where they’re sleeping or getting food.”
The phone against his ear was loud with her silence. He knew she was trying to think of something reassuring to say, but somewhere in his heart he resented her not knowing exactly what to say immediately.
“I should be back at the end of the week. We’ve decided to cancel the Colorado thing because I’m too tired.”
“Good. I miss you.”
“I miss you too. Are you okay?”
“Yes, but I wish the dogs would come back, you know?” That phrase- the dogs- had taken on a special significance.
“They will. They love you too much to run away.”
“If they’re dead I’d want to know about it.”
He’d said the big word and now it lay between them huge and stinking, heavy as the world.
“They’re not dead. They’re dogs. They’re having an adventure. They’ll come home happy and embarrassed. They’ll sleep for three days and have great stories to tell.” She wanted to make him smile. It didn’t work.
“Yes, but they’ve been gone three days.” It sounded too much like a whine, but he had only said the truth. Three days was longer than ever before.
“I’ll be home at the end of the week,” she said and then she was gone.
After hanging up he went out onto the back porch and whistled for them again. Sometimes he was sure they were within earshot but now he thought of them as miles away. The cat, which had brought a half-dead mouse into the house earlier, stood beside him and then began walking slowly back and forth between his legs.
“Where’s the mouse? Did you eat it?”
It paid no attention to him and continued its figure-eight around and through his legs.
“She’ll be back at the end of the week.” While watching television, every noise he heard outside sounded like the dogs when they came up on the porch right before scratching on the door to be let in. After a while he had to stop himself from getting up to check. He knew the sounds they made and knew each time he heard something that it wasn’t really them.
There wasn’t anything on television and he didn’t feel like working. He wanted the dogs to come back. He wanted the dogs to come back even more now than he wanted her to come back. It was a ridiculous thing to admit but he knew it was true.
The snow had drifted up against the southern side of the house when he went out on the porch again. His TV show was over and he couldn’t decide on whether or not to go to bed. On sudden impulse, he decided to go for a walk. Delighted for the first time in several days that there was something he really wanted to do, he went quickly back inside for his sweater, socks, boots, coat.
The long heavy flashlight was on top of the kitchen counter and he chose to take it at the last minute. If the dogs had been there they would have been running around with joy once they saw him pulling on his boots. He smiled when he thought how accustomed the three of them were to each other’s habits. The dogs knew the difference between the command “get in the car” and “wanna eat?” although they showed exactly the same excited reaction to both. He had tried luring them home by shouting these questions across the cold winter nights. It made him feel vaguely guilty knowing that if they had come back then, he wouldn’t have fed or taken them anywhere. They would have to be disciplined for running away. When she was there and the dogs took off, she chided him about what to do whenever they came back.
“Why are you scolding them? They don’t think they did anything wrong. They’re just happy to see you. Why not give them something to eat?”
“Because they have to learn it’s wrong.”
He found their bodies at the bottom of the hill, this side of the small brook that ran through the property. The retriever lay with its legs stretched out in a running position. Its tongue was hard and cold when he touched it.
The coonhound looked like it was sleeping. Its legs were curled under, but when he came close he saw that its eyes were open. The next morning he called Oberkramer up the hill and told him what had happened.
The old man didn’t sound surprised. “I told you that sort of thing happens out here in the country all the time. I told you when you let them dogs run free like that things can happen.”
“But they look all right- their bodies aren’t cut or anything.”
“Could have been anything. Poison maybe. That would be my guess. Some sons of bitches out here like nothing more than to feed a dog a piece of poisoned meat and watch them bleed to death out the mouth. Now it’s Wednesday, right? I suggest you leave the bodies where they are till Friday, then put them out there with the rest of your trash for the garbage man to pick up. I did that once with a puppy we had that died. The guy saw it in the can and raised holy hell, but I said it was garbage, right? And he had to take it. “
He knew Oberkramer had liked his dogs very much, so his suggestion to put them in the garbage was even more shocking. Nevertheless he did nothing about the dogs’ bodies for the next two days. In his mind he kept bringing back images of the moment he discovered them. Their positions, the frightening coldness of one tongue, the darkness of their bodies against the moon-reflecting silver gray of the snow. Several times he went out on the porch and looked down the hill, half-hoping he would be able to see them. Even through the bare trees, it was impossible to see that far. But he knew they were there and knew he had done nothing about them. It was a betrayal. Not caring for them now was a betrayal of their long friendship. He hated himself for that but for the moment honestly couldn’t decided what to do about it.
He knew something would have to be done before she returned. He knew something would have to be done soon because he couldn’t very well leave the bodies out there for the rest of the winter. He wished he were a child again. Then someone else would have to take the responsibility for him.
The third morning after the discovery he woke both furious with himself and fully aware today was Friday, garbage day. If he were going to put them out he would have to do it before noon when the truck came. Still angry at his indecision, he ordered himself to act. Put the bodies out with the trash. Or bury them right now, this morning. Stop thinking about it. Do something.
After finishing a second cup of coffee, he clapped his hands together, sighed loudly and got up. As if the dogs were still there and he was going somewhere in the car without them, he said to the empty house “I’m sorry” and went to the closet for his coat.
The morning was clear and cold. The wind instantly cut across his cheeks. He smiled on realizing how childishly proud of himself he was for having made a decision. With a shovel in his hand, he was taking large confident steps down the hill. He had decided he would try to scoop up both bodies at the same time so he wouldn’t have to make two trips. One would be difficult enough. The idea of two of them stacked one on top of the other was oddly reassuring. He would do the retriever first because she had been with him the longest.
He looked toward them only after he was at the bottom of the driveway and knew there was no turning back now. He had to act. He had the shovel; she was coming home tomorrow, today was garbage day. Anyway, the ground was too hard to dig a hole in which to bury them.
The air was still. The only sounds were his feet crunching the snow and a lone bird scolding the day. A hundred feet away he finally looked toward them but saw nothing. He stopped, breath caught in his throat. He looked again. Nothing. The dogs were gone. He began to run toward where they had been. He fell twice in the snow. They were gone. He dropped the shovel. A second snow had fallen sometime in between and even the places where their bodies had printed the snow were now filled and smoothed flat with new white.All traces were gone.