Chapter 41
“Where’s my beer?”
Sparky dropped two plastic bags on the floor in front of Frank. The dog fell over himself to dig into the bags.
“I had a few problems finding the flea killer, and they asked to see my I.D. at the register. The lady said that beer was a restricted purchase.”
“If you didn’t get beer, you’re going back!”
“It’s in there. I had that man’s license that I showed the cop earlier, they didn’t ask questions.”
Frank could tell he was holding back. “What else?”
“Well I think people are looking at me more with this mask on.”
“Well why not? You look funny! You picked the gauntest looking mask on earth. You look like you have some kind of disease!” Frank pulled the flea killer from the bag. “Super-Mart Flea-away? Could you have gotten something that looked more deadly? This doesn’t even have the pictures of the dogs on it or anything.”
“It’s the cheapest, so it’s got to be the best!”
“You’ve got to be kidding!” Frank raised his paws in disbelief. “You have it backwards, if you pay more, it’s a better product. This stuff will leave me bald.”
“Are you serious?”
“Well hopefully not on the first use, these fleas are killing me,” Frank opened the box and pulled out the small tube of cream. “Oh no, it’s the cream stuff. This garbage is not even legal some places,” Frank unfolded a long paper covered front and back with black text.
“Does it kill fleas?”
“Guaranteed or our money back!”
“Good.”
The truck came to a sudden stop. Frank tumbled into the floor. Sparky stared blankly at a mother carrying her young daughter. Her scolding glare kept him glued to his seat back.
Sparky waved his white-gloved hand, not sure what else to do. The woman kept one eye on the truck; the child stared at him. As the two cleared the truck, the little girl extended her finger and screamed.
“Michael!”
Her mother’s expression changed from scorn to fear. She darted away with her daughter.
“What’s all that?”
“I don’t know,” Frank was still in the floor, searching the bags. “Where the beer, goat?”
“It’s there Frank, can you get that map out while you’re down there?”
“Sure, once I find my beer. Where the hell is it?” Frank tore apart the plastic bags, realizing he still was holding the flea cream. “You want this?”
“Do I just rub it on?”
“Just dab a little under your neck and near your tail,” Frank finally procured the can from the bag. “God damn!”
“What’s wrong?”
“This is good beer! I’ve had this before!”
“Oh. Hey, I got some coffee, too. Would you mind handing me that?”
Frank reached down into the plastic again, sorting past the extra flea cream. He pulled out a vacuum-sealed bag of Colombian roast. “This?”
“Yeah.”
“These are beans.”
“Yeah, they looked good.”
“You know you are supposed to use a coffee maker for that, it's not cooked yet.”
“Really?” Sparky looked down at the bag. He read the front of the package for use in in-home coffee makers. “This isn’t the same stuff?”
“It is, sort of, once you put it in a coffee maker.”
“Are these any good?”
“I don’t drink that stuff, it’s not healthy,” Frank was struggling to pop the top on his beer.
“Well, I can’t just go to sleep.”
Sparky adjusted himself in his seat, dropped the beans next to him and tore open the bag. He threw off the mask and tossed one of the beans into his mouth.
“These are ten times better than that stuff at the coffee house!”
“Just take it easy okay, no one likes a user,” Frank tilted the beer can back and poured the bubbling liquid down his open throat, rapidly gulping its contents. As he lowered the empty can his tongue rolled out of his mouth. The can dropped to the floor and he put his head on his paws.
Franks eyes drifted shut.
Chapter 42
It was dark when Frank’s eyes re-opened. The goat next to him appeared to be just as wide-awake, but the road around them was blanketed with the darkness of night. There was no traffic.
“Where are we?” Frank asked. The mutt’s eyes were still filled with haze.
Sparky’s eyes were suspended forward. They were vigilantly tearing through the darkness, searching out the road ahead. He didn’t speak. His head drifted around his shoulders and found Frank, painted with an eerie grin.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” Sparky’s voice sounded like he was at the other end of a long distance call.
“Where are we?” Frank lifted himself further, surveying the land from his window. The countryside was blank of any light. They were driving into nothingness.
“Somewhere in Ontario. I saw a sign, it was beautiful.”
“I think you need to cut back on the coffee.” Frank peered over at the bag of beans. The coffee was all gone, the bag was half eaten. “At least for a little bit.”
“I feel so alive.”
“You’re almost out of gas again.”
Sparky’s head slowly tilted down as he viewed the console, and then over to Frank. “I love you.”
“You’re scaring me. Take the next turnoff and we’ll take a break.”
Sparky followed the canine’s instructions. His own mind was too busy to come up with anything to say back.
“Welcome to Deneda, Meat Capital of Western Ontario!”
“What?”
“That’s what the sign said.”
“Oh,” Frank’s eyes remained fixed on the goat’s shaky hands.
Sparky grumbled under his breath, as he pulled off into the small town. The advertising of their animal market started his mind rolling over his stolen herd. Criminals, all of them were criminals.
The truck slid in alongside the pump. Sparky tossed his hat back on and exited the truck. He inserted the nozzle into to the tank and depressed the handle. He felt as though his senses had been sharpened. On the nozzle he noted a small metal tab. He flipped the tab and it locked the handle in place. “How convenient.”
He made the most of his time swinging his arms, designing his own short workout to shake free the stiffness accrued while driving. Frank watched him through the open door, perched in the driver’s seat. He yawned as he watched the goat’s faux yoga routine.
The gas pump clicked.
Sparky trotted over and hung up the hose, smiling. He wandered up to the small cashier’s booth and dropped his money in a little drawer marked for late night purchases. His money disappeared into the little stall operated by an older woman. The lady cashier rang him up without a word, and the drawer popped back out with his change and a receipt.
He swiped the money and danced his way back to the truck. Frank was still sitting on the seat with his ears perked and a very serious expression.
“Come on,” Sparky motioned Frank to get back into the passenger’s seat.
“Don’t you hear that?” Frank’s head was strained forward.
Sparky flipped back his ears with a jerk of his neck, still dancing in place.
“Nah.” His ears settled back down beside his head.
“Shh.” Frank jumped from the truck and galloped over to the roadside where the light from the station faded abruptly. Sparky waltzed over swinging his arms.
“What? What is it?”
“It, it sounds like,” Frank took another step, completely leaving the aura of the station's light. In the darkness he waited, sorting through the noise. From the freeway the sound of a large truck echoed in the pits of his ear canals. Behind it all there was something else, a constant jabbering. “It sounds like crying.”
“We should check it out,” Sparky didn’t hesitate and climbed back i
n the truck. Frank was still on the street. “Are you coming or not?”
The dog kept his ears up as he ran back into the cab, crossing the goat’s lap and settling in the passenger seat.
“Where is it?” Sparky questioned.
He raised his paw, wordlessly giving direction. Sparky started the truck.
They next few minutes were spent driving and stopping on the back roads of Deneda. At each pause the dog would check to make sure they were getting closer to the source of the disturbing sounds. Their journey ended abruptly as they came across a private property sign and the end of the road.
Sparky shut off the truck.
“What do you think?”
“Open the door,” Frank was unsettling to look at. Behind his fear filled eyes Sparky could tell there was more going on, but he didn’t press it. Instead he opened the door. The sound poured in. It was a crying that Sparky recognized. It was livestock; cows, goats, pigs, and poultry all mixed together. The sound was desperate.
“Do you see anything?” Sparky asked. Along the tree-shrouded road was a metal fence. “No,” the dog’s expression went from concern to fear. “I think we should get out of here.”
“Yeah,” As Sparky jumped out of the cab his hooves clicked on the asphalt.
“No, Sparky, we should get out of the area, keep driving.” He waited for his companion to respond, but the goat just crept closer toward the fence. “Sparky?”
Sparky wasn’t listening to him. The goat was only listening to the sounds from the far side of the fence. The sounds of trapped goats. Could they be there? He shook the wire fencing with his hooves. He had to know, he had to find them.
“What are you doing, goat?” Frank was calling to him from the edge of the driver’s seat; refusing to leave the cab.
“They could be there.”
“I thought you said they were in Montreal.”
“I don’t know where they are, they could be here.”
Sparky looked over the chain link barrier. It wasn’t very high, just over his head. It would be no problem scaling it. He had to know.
“You coming, or staying?” He didn’t turn around to speak to the dog. He was surveying the best place to jump the fence.
Frank looked up and down the pitch-black roadway; the only light around was that from the cab light in the truck. He looked at Sparky who was still sizing up the fence.
“Damn you,” the dog jumped from the truck and walked slowly over to the goat. “You can’t carry me over can you?”
“You’re not that heavy Frank,” he lifted the dog from the ground, Frank immediately pawing at the air.
“Oh no, I’m not made for this!”
Sparky heaved the mutt underhanded, the dog’s belly just cleared the bottom of the fence, Frank crashed into the ground on the other side.
“You son of a bitch,” Frank struggled to find the air to speak. “That hurt.”
“Just relax,” Sparky sealed his coat and hat in the cab of the truck and made his way over the fence. As he joined the recovering mutt he realized the trees were thinner than he had suspected. “See anything?”
“No, I think you knocked my eyes out on that landing.”
“Oh, why don’t you-”
“And don’t expect me to scout ahead, I’m not your sidekick,” Frank barked as they proceeded into the brush.
Sparky didn’t comment any further as they made their way into the brush beyond the fence. Ahead through the thin wall of arbors was a bright light, it could have been the dawn. Sparky lead the way forward, emerging onto a hilltop.
Chapter 43
“I knew this was a bad idea, let’s get out of here.” Sparky seized Frank as he turned to leave.
“Shhh.”
They were lying in the grass at the edge of the wood. After emerging from the trees the situation had become very clear. The livestock they had heard were being ushered about in the middle of the night and loaded onto trucks. His family wasn’t there, these animals were strangers.
“We shouldn’t be here.”
Frank’s mind was elsewhere. The scene before him was taking him back to a point he had blocked out. Before his time in the circus, before the time with his first family, to his first memories. “I’m not going back goat. I won’t do it!”
“What?”
“We should go, if they catch us, it’s over, they’ll cut us up on a table somewhere.”
“What are you talking about? These animals need us.”
“Look down there. You’re crazy. If you try to help them those men will get you, and then your family will have no one.”
No one.
“Who’s going to save them if we don’t, Frank?”
“No one Sparky, no one.”
No one.
It was the stimulation of the coffee combining with adrenaline. Sparky’s breathing quickened as his mind raced to make a plan.
“We have to free them.”
“No, I’m going back, I’m not getting caught.”
“I won’t force you to come, Frank.”
Sparky darted down the hillside and jumped the fence. Immediately swimming in a sea of his peers. Mixed in with the goats were some cows as well. The giant bovines were lumbering quietly over the panicked goats. At the far end of the pen were large spotlights, shining out over the animals. Behind them a massive truck was working its way back to a loading ramp. Sparky imagined a similar scene occurred the night his family was taken.
Sparky leaned up on one of the cows, peeking over, trying to get a better vantage. The large creature turned to him. He smiled at the animal’s blissful expression, watching the bovine chew cud for a moment. As Sparky returned his attention to the people he counted at least ten men. A fight was out of the question.
Sparky hopped down and made his way through toward the loading ramp. Two men were standing and smoking cigarettes waiting for the first truck to be backed up before they opened the gate.
“Too bad those trucks didn’t show up earlier, could have had this done hours ago,” the first man was discussing.
“Won’t be any problems, Ted, so long as the cattle don’t spook again.”
Spooked cattle. He could rouse the animals, but without an escape route, it wouldn’t help. He mingled back toward the rear of the fence line. He checked and rechecked. The posts were solid.
He looked behind and confirmed the men were still occupied in the distance. He hopped the fence and headed toward the barn which appeared to be empty. Sparky stayed low as he crept through the dark. Entering the barn he wedged himself through the narrow opening. It took him a moment to find a light switch. When he flipped it on the entire room illuminated with a series of overhead lamps.
The space was deserted. The animals had been moved not long ago as their smell still hung strong in the air. On the far wall was a selection of tools. Sparky approached the assortment and started shopping through the various items. There were a few shovels and post diggers, beyond that were some tools for grooming and some harnesses for goats. He scowled at them. Even further down were some very large bolt cutters. Sparky lifted them from the wall and then gently placed them back. Then his eyes settled on a silver cloth case hanging at the end. Sparky unzipped the bag.
Superman Razor Chainsaw 2000.
The name glittered on the monstrous device. The teeth on the machine gleamed in the light. He raised the chainsaw from the sack. The goat moved it back and forth, wielding it with the fury of Excalibur.
It would take time to cut through the fence. The saw would be loud. He would need some form of distraction, something to keep him from being assaulted until he had cut the fence through with the chainsaw. He needed something more.
“What the hell are you doing in here?”
The saw dropped to the floor, its fall padded by the hay. One of the farmers was standing in the doorway to the barn, eyeing him.
“You should be in the pen,” the farmer’s eyes fell to the chainsaw. “How the hell?”
Sparky fell on all fours.
The broad shouldered man stood in a cloud of smoke rising from his cigarette. Sparky waited to see what the man would do.
The man puckered his lips and kissed at the goat several times. "Come here goat."
Sparky trotted over to him.
“Damned goats!” the man swung his hand at Sparky. He ducked out of the way. The man laughed and took a drag from his cigarette.
“Don’t run off now, I’ll get you in with the others.”
Sparky sized the man up. He was a good solid build, wearing overalls and a flannel shirt. Covering him was a tattered suede jacket and a baseball cap. It was blue with little white wings on the front. It would make a good disguise.
Sparky stood upright. The farmer opened his mouth in time to catch the goat’s first swing into his jaw. He doubled over as the second hoof struck his belly. Sparky swung a final time, his hoof connecting with the man’s skull.
The farmer went face down in the straw.
Sparky crept up to the doorway and looked outside. The loading had already begun. The other men were busy clapping and yelling orders to the penned animals. Slowly the creatures were piling into the trailer.
Sparky turned back to the chainsaw and then to the man on the floor. He shut off the light and got to work.
Chapter 44
The farmers were working to make up for lost time and unfortunately the animals were not at all cooperative. The trucks were supposed to arrive by noon and this work should have been finished in the daylight, but due to a hold up at the meat company the trucks had been late. Twelve hours late. The animals were restless and the men’s strength was wearing thin.
The late trucks had led to even more problems.
The goats were supposed to be sorted into their own trucks, and therefore had been previously sorted into their own pen. During the delay, the goats had become restless and discovered a way to navigate between their pen and the loading pen for the cows quite easily.
None of the men had noticed before it was too late, and the goats were already at work eating the grass from the cow pen. This had caused a more serious problem with the cattle. The cows had defended their food injuring two of the goats and spooking the rest. The farmers had been forced to sort out the mess until well after sundown.
They had been completely unsuccessful in segregating the animals. The easier solution came down to simply feeding them all from the hay stocks. It had won peace.