The Dogs that Didn’t Bark

Welcome to the Spot Writers. This month’s prompt: Write about something that involves large quantities of chocolate.

This week’s story was written by Phil Yeats. In September, 2021, he published The Souring Seas, the first volume in a precautionary tale about the hazards of ignoring human-induced climate change. The second volume, Building Houses of Cards, appeared in May 2022. Book three should be out soon. For information about these books, visit his website–https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com/

 

The Dogs that Didn’t Bark

by Phil Yeats

 

I noticed the silence as I approached a neighbour’s house three doors down on the way to the major crossroad. He owned three large dogs that lived outside in a fenced enclosure that surrounded his entire property behind the front façade of his house.

Whenever I approached his property along the public sidewalk, the dogs would charge, barking their bloody heads off, at the fence on the nearside of the property. After I crossed the front of his property, they’d repeat the process, crashing into the fence on the far side, barking the whole time.

I was puzzled when I walked past this afternoon without attracting the usual reception. Was it like Sherlock Holmes in The Hound of the Baskervilles? Was their silence a clue that would solve the mystery of…? I hesitated, shaking my head. My mind was playing tricks on me. Tomorrow was Valentine’s Day, the first since my wife died. Any other year, I’d be coming home with flowers and chocolates. Today my satchel contained everyday groceries.

I was old, alone, and bored. A mystery, even an improbable one, was the perfect remedy for my apathy. I rushed home as fast as my septuagenarian legs would carry me, dumped the groceries on my kitchen counter, and hurried from my back door. We’d experienced one of those mid-winter thaws, and walking in my yard would be treacherous. I dared not risk it, but I could check out part of the dog’s enclosure from my back deck.

I saw two figures, males in their late teens or twenties, staring at the dogs from the scrubland behind our properties. The dogs were sprawled on the ground, whimpering.

The young men suddenly disappeared into the woods. Had they noticed me watching? Would there be repercussions? I returned to my house, put away my groceries, and wondered what trouble I’d gotten myself into.

At 6:30, my neighbour, the dog owner, arrived on my front stoop. “You know anything about it?” he demanded when I opened my door. As usual, he was as noisy and aggressive as his stupid mongrels.

“About what?”

“About my dogs. What do you think?”

“Nothing, except that they weren’t barking their stupid heads off when I walked by on my way home about five.”

He stepped closer. “And what did you make of that?”

I shrugged my shoulders while reminding myself to choose my words more carefully. He was twice my size and twenty-five years younger. “Maybe they’d escaped again, but I couldn’t see or hear them. Or you’d taken them somewhere.”

“How many times must I tell everyone? They can’t escape.”

“Notwithstanding the time you dragged one away from next door’s fence. His yappy little terrier was terrified.”

“That was years ago, before I reinforced my enclosure. Anyway, they didn’t escape. Someone fed them chocolate.”

“Chocolate? That’s bad for dogs, isn’t it?”

“Toxic, makes them seriously sick. Large dose can kill them. What can you tell me about earlier in the day?”

“Not much. Went out to meet someone for lunch at about eleven. They barked as usual when I went by your place. After lunch, I spent some time at the library, then the grocery store. Got home around five, as I already told you.”

“Bullshit. You’re always peeking out from behind your curtains and poking your nose in everyone’s business. You must know something.”

I noticed my next-door neighbour, the one with the terrier, standing in his driveway, watching us. His presence gave me a little courage. “I’ve had about enough of this. I have my supper cooking, and I must get back to it.” I stepped back and slammed my door in his face.

No way I was telling him about the young people I saw after I got home. Everyone agreed he was a jerk who needed to do something about those dogs. Too bad, though, that they had to get sick. Their owner’s mistreatment wasn’t their fault.

 

*****

 

The Spot Writers – Our members:

Val Muller: http://www.valmuller.com/blog/

Catherine A. MacKenzie: https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/

Phil Yeats: https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com/

Chiara De Giorgi: https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.com/