Man's Best Friend
It was called simply “The Sand Hills”, not the most imaginative of names. But it might as well have been another planet. To the kids of south Ogden The Sand Hills was, the desserts of Tatooine, the Jungles of Africa and Asia, or the battlefields of Middle Earth. The Sand Hills were the center of the collective imaginations of many childhood friends and enemies.
Alan and his three friends Brandon, Scott, and John scurried over the creek and out of the suburbs into the world of imagination. The scrub oak nearest the creek opened up to the lower weed covered hills. As they hiked and saw the larger sand covered area, which gave the vacant undeveloped land their name, they heard a sound. It was a simultaneous cry with surrounding laughter.
The cry was unmistakable. It was a dog in distress. The laughter shattered the cry with a vicious cable that could only be multiple voices.
The boys ran toward the sound, and crested the little blue to witness a dog in the center of a clearing of scrub oak, yelping as three older and larger boys took turns shooting it with a BB Gun.
An immediate fear came over the four boys, they didn’t want to have a run in with these kids. They looked like they were in High School. There is something about the difference between a 15 year old going on 16, just leaving Junior High and a 16 year old going on 18 who is already driving cars, dating girls, and living a life of freedom. It’s almost as if the two groups, only a year apart, are from different planets both physically and socially.
The hesitation to get involved, subsided when Scott, called down, “Hey, quit it!”
Brandon joined in, “Come on guys he hasn’t done anything to you.”
The three boys looked up the hill to see Alan, Scott, Brandon and John sanding nervous yet defiant on top of the hill.
“He is just a dumb dog.” One of the boys called up, “Are you going to come down here and make us?”
Just then, one of the other boys leaned in and whispered to the other. The four boys could tell what the older boys were saying.
“You better not tell anyone or your dead,” the apparent spokesperson said. “If your Dad talks to my Dad, I will bust you.”
The four boys weren’t for sure but they assumed this boy was talking to Alan. Alans Dad seemed to know everyone in the neighborhood. He had been injured during the war, everyone knew the guy in the wheelchair at the end of the road. Alan assumed that’s why they were worried he would tattle on them.
The three older boys walked away, and left the frightened dog. As the four boys scurried down the hill they could hear the 3 older boys jump into a utility truck and start the engined which clattered and bellowed smoke out of a broken muffler. They could hear the muffler long after the truck had left the vicinity.
Approaching an unknown dog, who was as frightened as this canine gave the boys cause for caution. But Alan wondered why the dog didn’t immediately run away like most stray would have.
Alan couldn’t believe that this was actually a dog. It looked more like an Ewok from Star Wars, pawing around on all fours, than it did a dog. As the boys approached the dog jumped and spun, but seemed reluctant to run. Brandon spoke the dog, quickly easing into a nurturing tone of voice.
“Hey, buddy. It’s alright,” he said. The dog looked past Brandon and Alan thought that maybe it was blind. Brandon reached a hand and touched the dog on the matted ball of fur that was the dogs back. The dog snapped but had little energy to retaliate.
“What do we do?” Alan said. “Is there any tags on him?”
“Nope,” Brandon said after inspecting around his neck.
“We need to call the pound,” Scott said,
“Oh no we don’t,” Brandon said. “This dog won’t last a week before they put him down.”
“What do we do?” Alan said. “I don’t think my parents will let me keep him.”
“Mine neither,” Brandon and Scott said simultaneously.
“I guess we have no choice,” an said. “We have to call the pound.”
“What are you talking about?” John said. It was always surprising when John spoke, he usually just plodded along in the background while the three other mor gregarious boys did most of the yammering. “Did we save him from those kids so that we could just take him to be killed?”
John didn’t say much, but when he did speak it was always well placed. Wether the boys needed to be serious or were joking around. Alan, Scott, and Brandon talked and joked on and on, but when John decided to join in he was always poignant or hilarious or both.
“We need to take care of him,” John said. The words came with no argument from the other boys.
Alan and his three friends Brandon, Scott, and John scurried over the creek and out of the suburbs into the world of imagination. The scrub oak nearest the creek opened up to the lower weed covered hills. As they hiked and saw the larger sand covered area, which gave the vacant undeveloped land their name, they heard a sound. It was a simultaneous cry with surrounding laughter.
The cry was unmistakable. It was a dog in distress. The laughter shattered the cry with a vicious cable that could only be multiple voices.
The boys ran toward the sound, and crested the little blue to witness a dog in the center of a clearing of scrub oak, yelping as three older and larger boys took turns shooting it with a BB Gun.
An immediate fear came over the four boys, they didn’t want to have a run in with these kids. They looked like they were in High School. There is something about the difference between a 15 year old going on 16, just leaving Junior High and a 16 year old going on 18 who is already driving cars, dating girls, and living a life of freedom. It’s almost as if the two groups, only a year apart, are from different planets both physically and socially.
The hesitation to get involved, subsided when Scott, called down, “Hey, quit it!”
Brandon joined in, “Come on guys he hasn’t done anything to you.”
The three boys looked up the hill to see Alan, Scott, Brandon and John sanding nervous yet defiant on top of the hill.
“He is just a dumb dog.” One of the boys called up, “Are you going to come down here and make us?”
Just then, one of the other boys leaned in and whispered to the other. The four boys could tell what the older boys were saying.
“You better not tell anyone or your dead,” the apparent spokesperson said. “If your Dad talks to my Dad, I will bust you.”
The four boys weren’t for sure but they assumed this boy was talking to Alan. Alans Dad seemed to know everyone in the neighborhood. He had been injured during the war, everyone knew the guy in the wheelchair at the end of the road. Alan assumed that’s why they were worried he would tattle on them.
The three older boys walked away, and left the frightened dog. As the four boys scurried down the hill they could hear the 3 older boys jump into a utility truck and start the engined which clattered and bellowed smoke out of a broken muffler. They could hear the muffler long after the truck had left the vicinity.
Approaching an unknown dog, who was as frightened as this canine gave the boys cause for caution. But Alan wondered why the dog didn’t immediately run away like most stray would have.
Alan couldn’t believe that this was actually a dog. It looked more like an Ewok from Star Wars, pawing around on all fours, than it did a dog. As the boys approached the dog jumped and spun, but seemed reluctant to run. Brandon spoke the dog, quickly easing into a nurturing tone of voice.
“Hey, buddy. It’s alright,” he said. The dog looked past Brandon and Alan thought that maybe it was blind. Brandon reached a hand and touched the dog on the matted ball of fur that was the dogs back. The dog snapped but had little energy to retaliate.
“What do we do?” Alan said. “Is there any tags on him?”
“Nope,” Brandon said after inspecting around his neck.
“We need to call the pound,” Scott said,
“Oh no we don’t,” Brandon said. “This dog won’t last a week before they put him down.”
“What do we do?” Alan said. “I don’t think my parents will let me keep him.”
“Mine neither,” Brandon and Scott said simultaneously.
“I guess we have no choice,” an said. “We have to call the pound.”
“What are you talking about?” John said. It was always surprising when John spoke, he usually just plodded along in the background while the three other mor gregarious boys did most of the yammering. “Did we save him from those kids so that we could just take him to be killed?”
John didn’t say much, but when he did speak it was always well placed. Wether the boys needed to be serious or were joking around. Alan, Scott, and Brandon talked and joked on and on, but when John decided to join in he was always poignant or hilarious or both.
“We need to take care of him,” John said. The words came with no argument from the other boys.
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