Chapter 1 A Dog who Bites


There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream,

   The earth, and every common sight,

          To me did seem

   Apparell’d in celestial light,

The glory and the freshness of a dream.

It is not now as it hath been of yore;—

        Turn wheresoe’er I may,

            By night or day,

The things which I have seen I now can see no more.

William Wordsworth Ode: Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood

CHAPTER ONE

            “They eat dog in Vietnam, you know.”

            “Jeez, Aaron. How about ‘good morning’?”

Cooper – who was now supposed to be her dog – his tail thumping the oven door in their grandparents’ kitchen, stopped his rush outside to lean into Justine’s brother.

            “Just want to impress upon you the seriousness of his situation.” Aaron had one hand in charge of the bacon on the stove, the spatula dripping grease, and the other kneading one side of Cooper’s head.

            “I hate walking him. Let me do the bacon.”

            “And let you get grease spatters all over your pretty pj’s?”

She wanted to tell Aaron she had nightmares – I dreamt I was naked on the first day of senior year, she wanted to say – but what’s a nightmare to someone about to ship off to Vietnam? She swiped her overgrown bangs and tucked them behind her ears.

“You have to be firm is all.”

“I am firm.” Her bangs fell into place alongside her nose.

            “Walk ahead of him. Make him follow you.” Aaron grabbed Cooper’s leash off the green counter and clicked it onto his collar. He massaged the thick blue-merle fur on both sides of Cooper’s thick neck. “I can’t take him with me where I’m going, Justine.”

            Justine sank into a chair at the green and white Formica table.

            “You are my only hope,” he said, handing her the leash.

            Cooper licked three fingers before she could raise her hands out of his way. She crossed her arms tight against her flat chest. The dog chewed on the leash dangling from her fist.

“He won’t listen to me.” I don’t want to let you down, Aaron, but I won’t be good at it. I’ll let you down. I know I will.

Justine bit into her cheek to stop the tears. Aaron didn’t listen to her, either.

Cooper hooked his thick claw in the ruffle of her pink baby-doll bottoms. Helplessness turned to anger. She exploded out of the chair and felt his claws scratching into her bare thigh. She looked at her older brother. Couldn’t he see?

The big dog followed her over to the sink, jumped up, and put his paws on her back.

Justine felt pressure rise into her throat.

“Get down.”

            “He doesn’t understand ‘down,’” Aaron said, all calm, like it didn’t matter.

            “He’s getting me dirty.” Justine cowered over the sink. Cooper nuzzled in her long brown hair and licked her neck.

            “Off, Cooper.” At the sound of Aaron’s voice, Cooper’s paws hit the linoleum.

Biting into her lip this time, she watched as her brother put Cooper through his paces. Sit. Stay. Come. Aaron’s pink scalp seemed polished under his cropped hair. Before the Army, his dingy brown hair, just as stringy and long as hers, hung down his back in a ponytail. They’d been mistaken for twins. She almost came up to his height at 5’ 9” and had his hazel eyes, his olive complexion, his long, skinny legs.

Why don’t I have his way with Cooper?

She clamped down on her lip even harder. No tears. Not here. Not now. The pain of her lip conquered the ache in her throat, successfully defeating the onslought of tears.

            “Come on, Cooper.”

             The dog did not move until the squeak of Aaron opening the screen door on the back porch. Then he jerked Justine through the open door, down the back steps, and out into the yard where he lifted his leg on the first tree he could find.

The spooked starlings, fleeing the oak in her grandparents’ backyard, rippled toward the flat horizon. Justine wanted to stop, have a cigarette, let Cooper run free. She’d sit here on the rope swing she and Aaron used to fight over. But what would her grandparents think if they saw her smoking? She didn’t even smoke in front of her brother.

She watched the birds disappearing into the forever flat of the Central Valley. If she were quiet, she wondered how long it would take for the birds to return.

            Yesterday, she and her brother brought Cooper out here, to the ranch. Aaron parked in front of the back door at the end of the long, dirt driveway, right there, where Grandma and Grandpa would see first thing, so confident the dog’s charm would win them over. Aaron even let him out without a leash, he was so sure the ranch needed Cooper. But Cooper stormed the chickens. Aaron had forgotten the chickens would be free at this time of the evening.

After she and her brother cornered the dog in the garage, Grandpa said it didn’t matter if the dog did have one blue eye and one brown, he was no ranch dog. It’s a wonder if the chickens’ll be able to lay for a week, he said.

            And Aaron? He announced that it was settled then. Justine would take care of Cooper at their parents’ house in town.

“You’ll have to put up a fence.”

            “Can’t Dad do it?”

“In his suit and tie?” Aaron wiped drops of sweat off his upper lip. “It’s just the challenge you need.”

How can I build a fence when I can’t even figure out what to wear on the first day of senior year?        

Challenges made Justine’s heart speed up and her mouth go dry.

             Almost every night, the dream. Senior Court of Kawea Union High School in the heat of the Central San Joaquin summer. Everyone laughing. At her. She realizing why: She was naked.

           

Cooper finished sniffing and hiking his leg around the tree trunk and headed toward the side yard. He yanked her to the cherry tree, where he hiked his leg again. Then, the flowerbed. The leash sliced into her hand so she ran to keep up with him, trying not to step on the bees buzzing all over the clover blossoms in her bare feet. He hiked his leg on anything of any height at all, giving her some chance to catch her breath and wipe the sweat from her eyes.

            The rooster crowed and Cooper headed toward the chicken coop where they remained safe through the night. 

            “Oh, no you don’t.” Justine wrapped the leash around one hand and grabbed fistfuls of fur along with Cooper’s collar in the other.

The dog snapped his head around, teeth bared, and growled. The panic sent shards of pain to her fingertips and she let go of him and the leash.

            A covey of quail scurried across the side yard and disappeared into the cornfield. Luckily, they changed the dog’s mind. He ran to the cornstalks and she didn’t know what to do.

            Aaron, he growled at me. I’m afraid of him. He’s loose in the cornfield.

But he began circling on the grass. She watched him hunker down over his back legs. He didn’t look scary like that.

            But I don’t know how to build a fence.

            After completing his business, Cooper trampled flowers in Grandma’s front flowerbed.

“Not Grandma’s flowers.” Cooper cocked his ears but not at her whine. She heard it, too. Crop duster.

            The red bi-plane dropped down and swooped over the corn, spraying insecticide mist.

            “Gross,” Justine said. “Let’s go inside.”

            She thought about picking up his leash since he was just standing there, but she was afraid.

“Hungry?” 

Cooper disappeared around the corner of the house. Maybe that did the trick.

Not the chickens!

And she ran the other way to head him off at the pass. There he sat on the stoop by the backdoor, smiling, his tongue dripping. He’d taken her for a walk and was now ready for his breakfast. She leaned over his head carefully to open the screen door and let him in.

I have to make Aaron understand. I can’t take care of Cooper. I’m afraid of him.

            Determination melted as soon as she saw Aaron in Grandma’s forest green apron, the one that matched the brik-brak curtains on the window over the sink. Flour handprints dusted the front and he was putting the biscuits on the cookie sheet into the oven. Was there anything her brother couldn’t do?

Justine went to wash her hands, mostly to let some cool water ease the leash burns. Aaron passed her behind her and grabbed the dog food.

            She clamped down hard on an already sore spot on her cheek.

            I was supposed to feed him.

Cooper danced after Aaron. His nose followed the bowl to the linoleum floor. 

            “See?” Justine sank into the kitchen chair. “I’m telling you, he’d be better off without me.”

            “Jeez, Justine. You’re so dramatic.”

            Aaron stood in front of her and placed his hands on her shoulders. The weight of him pushed her into a slump. She could smell the coffee on his breath.

“Today I’m taking you on a long explore,” he said.

“Like Pooh Bear and Christopher Robin.”

It was Grandma, scuffing into the kitchen in her slippers and pink housecoat, the metal clippies still making curls on each side of her short, gray hair.

Oh, God. Wait till she sees the garden.

Aaron walked over and put his arms around Grandma.

She’s not going to like him doing that.

Grandma nestled into Aaron’s chest. 

            “Mother, don’t block the doorway.” Grandpa, all dressed, his hair slicked back, tried squeezing by Grandma then gave up and reached his arms around both Grandma and Aaron. He winked at Justine, waving his hand for her to join them.

            What a trip.

No one in the family hugged except maybe Christmas after presents. Aaron was the one. It seemed like he brought hugs home from the Army. She stayed put in her chair, arms crossed across her flat chest. She imagined Grandpa’s disappointment in her and felt awkward for not joining them.

Cooper, finished nosing his dish across the floor, put his paw on her thigh again.

“Off,” Justine whispered.

            “That goddamn dog,” Grandpa said, rubbing the top of Aaron’s head on his way to the coffee pot.

            “Walter,” Grandma said to her husband. “Watch your language in front of the children.”

            “Don’t think you can leave that dog here,” Grandpa said, pouring a cup of coffee. “I won’t have a dog that chases chickens.”

            “Justine’s keeping him for me,” Aaron said. “She’ll train him.”

            “Can’t train the blood out of ‘em, Aaron.”

            “He’ll be a fine dog,” Grandma said.

            “A dog that bites is a dog that bites,” Grandpa said.

            Bites?

            “What’s that burning?” Grandma asked, opening the oven. “Justine, did you make biscuits?”

            “Smells like Justine burned the biscuits,” Grandpa said.

            Well, if biscuits are burning, it must be me.

Justine bit her swollen lip and then her cheek to check the flood of tears.

Aaron would never burn biscuits.

She wanted to let the tears fall and stomp out of the kitchen. No one had ever said anything to her about Cooper biting. Instead, she sat in restraint, tasting blood. First, Aaron. Then Grandpa. Aaron and Grandpa talked about B-52’s. Where he’d be in Vietnam. What he’d do.

Justine pushed the fried egg around on her plate – the yolk hard and dry. Justine blended into the Naugahyde. Even when they looked at her, they didn’t see who she really was. Even Aaron reacted not to her but to some watered down version of himself.

Why can’t they see me?

She smashed the yolk with her fork, rocking the fork back and forth, and pondered the contrast between her naked nightmares and this current aggravation over no one seeing her.

Maybe I don’t want to be seen.

Justine stood up and let the chair scrape against the linoleum. Grandpa said didn’t Aaron want more coffee or maybe another biscuit to go with that butter on his plate? Grandma said didn’t he want another egg, over hard the way he liked it?

The way he likes it.

Justine left the kitchen right about being invisible.

Cooper saw her. The now-known biter shadowed her to the bathroom. He watched her brush her teeth. Justine, careful not to hurt the sore spots, and there were many, took her time.  The dog watched her brush her hair back into a high ponytail, a low ponytail, then take it out and brush it long again. He followed her into the bedroom and watched her take off her baby-doll pajamas and put on matching plaid yellow shorts and shell. Cooper nosed the clean pair of Peds® and chewed the shoelaces of her white Keds. She wore them with everything. He watched as she stared in the mirror, wondering what Aaron meant by “a long explore,” tucking the top in, pulling the top back out. Justine didn’t want to look like she cared too much about how she looked.

Hungry after not eating her breakfast, she sneaked out the front door, jogged across the lawn and dirt driveway, and stepped into the shade of Grandpa’s orchard.

Justine’s Intimations:

            Nature’s chaos cultured into rows.

I slip the fuzzy skin off and let it drop onto grass and weeds in the orchard. Warm peach juice drips from my chin and down my neck where I will notice an illusive itch later.

The smell of rotting fruit, food for the ants, summer wine for the bees.

Grandpa could recite The Ancient Mariner in its entirety; Grandma knew the names of the wildflowers that bloomed in the valley, the foothills, and the Sierra Nevadas. Both used pesticides as needed—on peaches, asparagus, strawberries, corn. Both referred to well-dressed white people as “good people,” the rest as  “white trash,” “coloreds” or “dirty Mexicans.”

By the time Aaron deployed in the summer of ‘68, opinion polls said over 50% of all Americans thought the war in Vietnam was a mistake. But Russian tanks rolled into Czechoslovakia. Grandpa, and many like him, believed if South Vietnam fell to the communists, another and then another country would surely follow.

Ignored, but closer to home, a report came out saying pesticides enter the body.

           I knew some about pesticides, less about racism, and nothing about war. In my innocence, I took pleasure from that peach.