Barking Dogs

I’ve been working at this pizza shop for almost a year. Every night I leave through the back, I can the dogs barking on the other side of the alleyway fence. Rain or shine, hot or cold, I can hear them barking, sometimes howling, but always painful. It’s clear animal abuse, and I wanted to notify the local ASPCA to get them help. But the fence is high, the chain links are woven tightly with vines, and the top is covered in barbed wire. There are a number of houses back there, and I didn’t know which one held the dogs. So last night when I got off work, I decided to do some investigating. I needed some proof, a picture, an exact address, so I could help those dogs.

The pizza shop isn’t in a great part of town. The alleyway behind the restaurant dead- ends in a wall always tagged by the local gangs. There’s a nice part of town only a couple blocks away, but the shop is right on the border. I don’t know who lives in those houses behind our restaurant. The only things I know about them are what I can see through the part of the fence not covered with vines at the end of the alley. The backyards I can see have the remains of sheds, of cars stripped down, of old children’s toys. Through the houses’ back windows, I can see what look like normal lives with the remnants of children. But somewhere in that thicket of houses are a couple dogs being abused, locked in cages that probably flood when we get any rain.

It was raining last night. It wasn’t raining hard, but my hair still picked up drops in the mist. I left work and the dogs were barking, like they are every night. But last night I worked up my resolve to do something about it. I’ve been such a coward, not doing something about it sooner. I got into my car to leave, to drive around the block and see if I could see their cages from the other side of the street. But when I pulled around, the buildings revealed themselves to be multi-family houses stacked at least three houses deep, like dozens of separate enclaves. It was dark, and I couldn’t see very well into their backyards, so I turned around and went back to the alleyway.

I drove up slowly, listening for where the dog’s barking was clearest, and stopped my car, waiting. But it was strangely quiet. I killed the engine but left the lights on. I got out of my car to smoke a cigarette. The air was filled with the lingering smell of iron. I struck my match and puffed to get it going in the damp. When my eyes focused away from the ember, I saw something moving towards the bottom of the fence towards the alleyway’s dead end. It wasn’t a part of the fence I could see through, but it wasn’t where I thought the dogs were being held either. It was a space in between. I walked closer to see what it was, and saw the leaves and vines at the bottom of the fence moving. Something was trying to push its way out from underneath the roots.

I cleared some of the vines away and felt something warm and wet on my fingers from beneath. At first, I drew my hand back sharply, but when I went to clear away more vines, I could see that it was a nose. A dog’s nose. Maybe a German Sheppard or a Doberman. But I couldn’t tell from just the tip of the nose. As I pulled more away, I started to reveal more of the dog’s muzzle – brown and dirty. I could feel it’s hot breath on my hand and its tongue against my palm. But as it struggled to push through from underneath, it became clear that it was in pain and couldn’t get through. It hadn’t dug deep enough; it was scraping its face against the bottom of the rough chain links. Quickly, my hands became covered in blood. I worked furiously to pull away as many vines as I could, tearing away at the bottom of the fence to try and reveal more of the dog, but I must have pulled one of its whiskers out, because it yelped and pulled itself backwards quickly. It left a hole damp with rain and blood.

I like to be prepared. I carry tools and emergency supplies in my car. I also never know what life might throw at me, so I also carry a crowbar and a set of heavy bolt cutters (I had an ex who locked the back axel of my car to a light post, but that’s another story). I grabbed them both and set to cutting a hole in the fence so I could get in there and help that dog. I worked as quickly as I could, to punch my way through. I heard a lot of yelping, and what sounded like some scampering away to my left. I peeled back a section of the fence and ducked in, letting the flap snap back covering my exit.

I turned on my flashlight and scanned the yard. There was an old swing-set playhouse, and a shed for tools made out of tin. The house’s lights were off. I stood and began looking for any sign of the dog. I didn’t have to look long. My flashlight glinted off a trail of blood leading left, towards the fence that separated this house from the next. The fence between the houses was made of wooden slats, but there was a dog-door sized hole in the corner. There was more blood smeared around the outside of the gap. I crouched on my knees and shined my flashlight through the hole. I couldn’t see anything, so I got on my stomach and started to make my way through the hole, putting a hand through, and then my head. The windows of this house were also dark, but as my flashlight spread across the yard I began to see something closer to what I had expected: cages.

The house had five large cages around the outside of the yard. Big enough for each cage to house a couple dogs or something larger. But they were all empty. I pulled the rest of my body through the hole in the back. I stood up and scanned the yard. There wasn’t a gate. I could have left if I wanted to. I could have just walked right out to the street. But in the opposite corner, there was another hole in the fence. There was more blood. And as I walked closer to that hole I saw something else on the ground. It was bloody and brown, almost like a dead squirrel. I turned it over with my foot to reveal the very same nose and muzzle I felt against the back of my hand.

I literally jumped backwards, away from the gap in the fence and the trail of blood. I started to hyperventilate. I wanted proof of abuse. This was proof of abuse. I took out my phone and took a picture, my other hand illuminating the nose as best I could. But no matter how close I got or how much light I shed on it, I couldn’t get a good shot. The rain kept making the camera auto-focus on other parts of the ground. I got frustrated and scared. I put my phone away and turned off my flashlight for a second. I needed to think.

I didn’t have a plastic bag with me. I didn’t want to pick it up and put it in my sweatshirt pocket. Just the thought of that animal’s pain was too much. I couldn’t imagine bringing it to an office; they’d throw me out. My knees shook as I thought about what I should do, but my planning was cut short. A light went on in the house. A large, bald white guy with walked into view. He didn’t see me, but I could see him clearly. He had thick rolls of neck fat. His eyes were red. He didn’t seem to have any eyebrows. He turned away and picked up a cluster of chains. He threw them over his shoulder and walked towards the back door.

Immediately, I had to find an exit. The closest one was the gap by my feet. I scrambled through the hole as quickly as I could, pulling my toes through just as I heard the door swing open. I waited by the fence with my breath held tight. I couldn’t move until I knew the man on the other side was gone or pre-occupied. I heard his footsteps swish against the wet grass, and the clanking of the chains as he set them down. He walked back inside and the door slammed. I turned and exhaled relief. I was so scared I had forgotten to breathe. But as soon as I did, my nostrils were overcome with the smells of iron and excrement. I didn’t want to turn on my flashlight. I knew I was in the backyard where I heard the dogs barking. And yet, it was so quiet.

There was no moonlight to light my way, and the streetlamps didn’t reach this far. It was black and I could just make out the edges of another set of cages. There was no grass in this yard, only mud. My phone’s flashlight is weaker, so I decided that would be my best bet to keep hidden. I took out my phone and opened the unlock screen. The moment it lit up, the backyard erupted in howls, barks, and screams. Every one of the cages was packed full of snarling mouths, snapping teeth, and frothing gums. Each cage had dozens of glinting yellow eyes swirling around me. But I had to get a picture. I turned on my flash and snapped a couple, trying to get as much as I could. But the light was so brief, I couldn’t even see what was in the cages myself. I shut my phone and fumbled with my flashlight. I’d take a look and then leave. I had the proof I needed.

I raised the flashlight up with unsteady hands, ready to turn it on, when the light in the house went on instead. Through the back door’s window, I saw the bald man again. His eyes darted around, searching for the cause of the disturbance. I had to scramble back, hands and knees on the muddy ground. I pulled myself through that hole in the fence as

quickly as I could. I tore up my hands and my sweatshirt, leaving tufts of black cotton and blood on the wood’s jagged edges. But I turned around to look back one last time.

The bald man had turned on the back porch light. He stood on the threshold and told the “mutts” to “shut the fuck up”. But in those seconds I saw the inside of those cages as clear as day. They were packed with scrawny, naked men, standing on their hands and feet with arched backs, or sitting on their haunches, licking the blood that seeped down from the muzzles strapped to their faces. Their eyes were milky and serene.

The light went off, the back door shut. The bald man was gone. I ran for the street as fast as I could. And the dogs in their cages began snapping and barking again, like they do every night.