The Subjective Uses of Shadow

The Saturday Evening Post



Picture a Norman Rockwell; the cover of the Saturday Evening Post. A heartwarming scene of a peaceful suburb on a warm and bright sunny day. Round faced boys and rosy-cheeked girls in grade school. The boys have neatly combed hair and the girls wear perfect pony and pigtails, not an errant hair to be found. Joyful children with scrubbed and shining faces, open mouths full of pearl white teeth. Picture plump and happy moms waving to each other and to their little ones. Perhaps a woman holding her little dog as she watches from behind a white picket fence, as her daughter begins to ride her new bike toward her. A happy scene of children after school, making their way home on bicycles and on foot. Innocent faces laughing, some mischievously.

Now we change the picture slightly. Picture one of those little boys, not smiling, a vacant expression on his face, uninvolved and out of place in this touching scene. See him and three other children lying on the pavement at the top of the steps that lead down into the schoolyard. See the torn flesh, the pooling blood, the round and rosy faces twisting into grimaces of terror and pain. See the children and parents screaming in horror. One mother rocking her daughter in her arms as the blood from her shoulder wound covers them both. Picture a woman using a belt as a tourniquet on a young boy’s gushing leg. Do you have that picture? Can you see it? If so, then you have a sense of what happened that day in the village of Devon.





The Sweep



Skirting the Connecticut coastline, the Boston Post Road (U.S. Route 1) is a two-lane drawbridge as it spans the Housatonic River, just a mile or two north of Long Island Sound. South of the bridge, the east bank is prime riverfront, gradually giving way to an apron of marshland that sweeps around to the east, affording a shoreline for the myopic little suburb of Devon. A place where in the late 1960s, doors remain unlocked at night, keys are left in ignitions so as not to lose them, and children roam the landscape, free-range and unfettered. There is no crime here, although a ten-minute drive in either direction on Route 1 would find some. But in Devon, no one worries about strangers or bad-guys. They are all known to each other. They are all safe with each other. They are all the same as each other. In fact, it will be several more years before people of varied complexion will even begin to arrive. Until then, this apathetic middle class is content to practice its own mild form of white on white ethnicism.

To this community, the glut of watershed world events is just something to watch on the television. The recent, newsworthy deaths of a Baptist minister and an Irish Catholic politician, matter less than who is appearing this week on the Ed Sullivan or Jackie Gleason shows. Barring any surprises, it won’t be until the advent of busing that Devon will one day arise; an angry bear startled from its winter nap. But for now, it is normal not to know exactly where your children are until they come home at mealtime. Here, young kids walking back and forth to school unsupervised, is just the way it is. On one scorching June day though, this insular village is harshly rousted, slightly ahead of schedule, when three children are attacked and severely injured, one of whom will later die at the hospital.





The Stairs



Housatonic Drive runs from the drawbridge, in a loose “L” along the Devon shoreline, to end at Granville Avenue, which several houses down on the right, comes to an abrupt dead end. From there, a concrete staircase and a narrow asphalt ramp drop down beneath the trees to the northwest corner of the schoolyard. Stairs to which the neighborhood issues its little ones each morning and from which, reclaims them at the end of the school day.

At the bottom of the stairs is a tube-steel bike rack and just beyond that, implying a softball diamond, is a rusty chain link backstop, set cattycornered to the half dirt, half asphalt lot. From where home plate would be, an average bat could knock one out to right field and bounce it off the eighth-grade classroom windows.

The staircase is bordered by a chain link fence that separates it, and the west side of the schoolyard from the swath of marshland and patchy coastal forest that fingers in from the river. The pavement at the top of the stairs is stained red, as if with blood.

It isn’t blood.

Red paint is reapplied here annually by the local children to mark the spot, and the event it calls to mind, in a Halloween tradition.







Shadow



Shadow was a longhaired, black German Shepherd of massive size, who through mishandling and neglect, grew to be dangerously aggressive. In his five years of life, he had never done harm, and behaved well with his own people, but strangers who approached his enclosure, were invariably terrified. His owners, the Dorsey family, occupied the last house on the left at the end of Granville Ave. The parents worked during the day, and their two boys attended Catholic school in another town. The stairs and bike ramp spilled out in front of their house and so, three times a day, children would fill the street. Shadow was rarely seen, fenced in behind the house, but they could hear him just fine. It was normal and expected that the dog go berserk as they passed by and so the kids learned to ignore him.

School let out at three o’clock and at any minute, the staircase would be pouring out grades 1 through 8. Nobody was home at the Dorsey house and no one noticed that Shadow was calmly lying on his master’s front steps. Across the street and two doors up, Mrs. Barrow stood inside her white picket fence holding her little Yorkshire Terrier in her arms as always, waiting for her daughter. Her girth made it necessary for her to wear tent like housedresses, usually of some gaudy floral print. Though her front yard was less than a hundred feet from the ramp, her daughter Sandy wanted to ride her new bicycle to school. She was very excited about it and that is why she was one of the first to appear at the top of the ramp. Three more children popped up at the same moment. Gordon Swift was one of them. Between Gordon and Sandy were the Taylor brothers. They were all several yards ahead of the crowd. The normal sounds that occurred at this time everyday were welling up. As the level of noise increased, Shadow began to shake. Gordon was the only one to notice him on the Dorsey’s front porch. Their eyes met.





Waiting their Turns



The attack was over in less than ten seconds. The dog was so fast that the victims had no time to react. It was as if they were waiting their turns. Down the slope of the Dorsey’s front lawn, Shadow flew at Sandy. She had just straddled her bike and was about to push that pedal when the dog’s jaws closed on her upper right arm and shoulder, and slashed down to the artery. As she was flung to the ground, her bicycle fell into Ronny Taylor, whose turn came next. Shadow grabbed him by the back of his neck and head and sank his teeth in. Shadow then moved on to Ronny’s older brother Kenny. His turn. He buried his fangs into Kenny’s right knee, shook him like a toy, and crushed bone as he pulled backward. His footing gone, Kenny fell back and cracked his skull on the pavement. Shadow backed into Gordon Swift and knocked him to the ground. He released Kenny and spun around. Gordon looked up at Shadow. Shadow looked down at Gordon. Shadow lay down by Gordon’s left side, his back against the chain-link fence, and licked his hand.

The screaming had started before Shadow reached Sandy. Elaine Barrow had seen the dog bolt, and with a soprano wail, dropped the yorkie, and sprinted to her daughter. The first half dozen or so students to reach the top of the steps turned to run back the way they came. They were screaming. Children who were behind them were knocked down and trampled in the panic and so they were screaming. Several neighborhood moms ran out to the street. When they reached the scene, most of them, after seeing all that blood, began to scream. Because it was such a hot day, there was only Ronny Taylor’s t-shirt standing between fang and flesh, and the involvement of arteries meant there was a great deal of blood. One housewife ran back to her home and called the police. Everyone seemed to be yelling, crying, or screaming except for Sandy and Gordon. The yorkie was running around, barking at everything and then suddenly stopped and sat down next to Shadow. Gordon pushed himself up on his elbows and looked around. Elaine Barrow was cradling her daughter in her arms. Sandy wasn’t moving. They were both quite bloody. The Taylor boys were lying to the right of Gordon. They were screaming and trying to slide away from Shadow. The dog just sat there on Gordon’s left, panting a little; calmly watching the action, now and then licking his bloody muzzle. Injured children were down on the steps crying. Gordon got to his feet. Shadow looked up at Gordon. Gordon looked down at Shadow. He grabbed Shadow by the collar and led him back to his home, up the driveway, to the backyard.





Layer of Dust



The deer fence of Shadow’s enclosure was torn away from the wood frame. It was clear to Gordon that the dog had done it. He brought Shadow inside, found a piece of rope, and tied the fence back together as best he could. There was a dog run rigged up inside and he followed the wire to the chain that hung from it. He clipped the chain to Shadow’s collar. He found the plastic water dish. It was dry, with a layer of dust coating it. Gordon located the hose bib by the back door of the house, washed out the dish and filled it with water. He set it down in front of Shadow and in a moment had to fill it again. This happened one more time. When the dog’s thirst was finally quenched, Gordon closed the gate behind him and walked back down the driveway to the staircase to retrieve his book bag. He threw it over his shoulder and started walking home. Only Charlotte Black, one of the neighbors, was doing any good. Using his belt, she’d tied a tourniquet around Kenny’s leg and was trying now to staunch the flow of blood from Ronny’s arm. Soon the sounds of Mrs. Barrow and the others began to fade in the distance. If Gordon had been at all interested, he would have noticed that Shadow was barking. Before long, all of it was drowned out by police sirens.





Gordon Swift



Later that afternoon, a police car arrived at the Swift home. Two officers came to speak with Gordon and his parents about the incident. It wasn’t easy to track Gordon down, as most people at the scene couldn’t remember him. One of the uninjured students told them it was the new kid, and from that, with a teacher’s help, they were able to narrow it down. They talked with Mrs. Swift in her living room while Gordon sat up in his room and stared at his homework. The officers told her what had happened and were worried that Gordon might have been bitten on the hand. Mrs. Black had seen blood on it. Both officers were surprised by Mrs. Swift’s languid reaction to this news, and one of them had to request that she call her son downstairs. The first thing they both noticed about Gordon was that his left hand had dried blood on it The second thing was that this was one dull boy. One of the officers examined his hand while his mother sat on the sofa watching. He hadn’t been bitten but there was a small scrape. The kind you get when you put your hand out to break your fall. He explained to her that it was just dried blood and a scrape and that his hand was fine. She nodded. The other officer questioned Gordon about the incident with Shadow. He told them Shadow bit Sandy, Kenny, and Ronny. Yes, he put Shadow back in his yard. No, he wasn’t afraid. No, he didn’t know why Shadow didn’t bite him. No, he had never met Shadow before. When asked how he came to have blood on his hand he said, “Shadow licked me.” The officers agreed that the blood must have come from the other children and had been on the dog’s muzzle. They drove away from the Swift home feeling uneasy about those people.

“That was one weird kid,” Bob Rua said from the driver seat of the police car.

“So was the mother,” Ray Williams replied. “But damn it, she’s a knock-out.”

“Yeah… too much make-up though.”





Suburban Legend



The day after the incident, Ed Dorsey ran his garden hose down to the staircase and washed away the bloodstains from the concrete. Shadow was destroyed a few days later. In a time before rampant activism, before the legislating of certain dog breeds into the category of outlaw, and before laws were passed that would have held Mr. Dorsey criminally liable, there was no clearly defined procedure for this situation. Criminal charges were not a foregone conclusion, and the zeitgeist did not cry out for unrestrained civil litigation as it would in years to come. The problem was solved in the short term when Dorsey immediately agreed to put down the dog, cowed as he was by the tenacity and sheer volume of Elaine Barrow and the Taylors. Luckily, for him, they weren’t out to kill Ed Dorsey, just his dog.

Sandy Barrow recovered from her injury and loss of blood but Ronny Taylor died a few weeks later in the hospital. He never came out of his coma. His blood loss had been too great and he somehow succumbed to infection. The Swifts did not attend the funeral. They had only lived in Devon for a year, and didn’t know anyone. Kenny Taylor walked with a limp thereafter and became something of a celebrity. Sandy didn’t return to school, as her coma lasted one week longer than the semester. She completed the sixth grade over the summer. Kenny was moving on to high school. The other kids, especially the younger ones, were enthralled by Kenny. He was at the center of a huge event in their lives. He was devastated by his brother’s death and could barely function at school. He refused to talk about it. Others who had been there to see it had their own stories, all slightly different, and with countless retellings, myriad versions sprang forth. Kenny had no interest in correcting any inaccuracies. Eventually two camps were formed. The differences were in the ending and Gordon Swift’s role in it. Either he was the hero who stopped the attack by taking control of the dog or he was the cause of it because the dog knew him and was protecting him from some threat. Whichever version people chose to go with, it took no time at all for Gordon’s name to be omitted.

Gordon never did draw any attention to himself. He just blended in. He had no friends but he had no enemies either. When he was involved in some altercation, it was usually just a case of being bumped into or getting knocked to the ground because he hadn’t been noticed to begin with. Then someone might tell him to watch his ass or get it kicked, but that never happened. No one ever bullied Gordon. It never occurred to anyone.

For now though, the version of the story in which he knew the dog gained momentum. The hero version faded away. The final incarnation was a tale of a boy who commanded his dog to attack and kill innocent children. But that would come much later. Although this boy became nameless in the suburban legend of Shadow, Kenny Taylor never forgot Gordon.

The collective local mood was different now, especially for those that fed their children to the “Shadow Stairs” as they came to be known. For a briefer time than might have been expected, the dog-owners of Devon were persuaded to keep their animal confined or tied up. Mothers were taking turns shepherding the kids to and from school and at lunchtime, they were made to eat in the cafeteria. Mrs. Swift never participated but Gordon was swept into the flock anyway





Sean Swift



Gordon Swift sat in the passenger seat and stared straight ahead, as his father drove them to the dog pound. Sean Swift had returned from his fishing trip the night before and heard about the dog attack. The highlights anyway. His wife and son were not great communicators. He had been gone for two weeks, and after a thorough recounting of her activities and an unsatisfactory explanation of why she hadn’t picked up when he called once, Melanie gave him a stale report of a few kids being bitten by a dog and Gordon putting it back in its yard. It gave him the idea that perhaps a pet might be what Gordon needed to come out of himself. Maybe his son had a way with animals. After all, he had controlled a vicious dog and nothing could have surprised Sean more. Now that school was over, it would be nice not to have Gordon sit around and watch the tube all summer.

Glancing over at the boy, Sean winced. He wasn’t even looking out the window. He was just staring at the glove compartment. Sean just didn’t get it. Why couldn’t this kid be the Gordon he once knew and loved? Of course, he loved him, but it was all different now. Something went wrong. Granted, this boy was well behaved and always did what he was told. He was a solid C student. But he also never inquired about anything, never initiated a conversation, only answered questions, never cried, never laughed, and had no interests. He did like television. He was willing to watch whatever Sean wanted, and always got up to change the channel for him, but he had no curiosity, no energy, no spirit. For the first few years of his life he seemed like a fine boy, but the older he got the less he fulfilled the promise. Sean felt a little guilty for not loving his son more, but he knew it wasn’t all his fault. His mother wasn’t exactly helping.

Melanie Swift performed her tasks. She kept Gordon clean, fed, and healthy. She also never hugged him, played with him, or taught him anything. Sean Swift was creeped out by the both of them. His wife was one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen and he knew that was why he married her. She had problems though. She was cripplingly shy, had no self-confidence and believed she was ugly. Sean knew that was probably why she married him. Her need for constant reassurance was exhausting and he no longer indulged her. Sean didn’t feel ensconced in the loving embrace of his family. He felt beset.

So, Sean Swift was not the happiest of men, but he considered there were many who were a lot worse off. You wouldn’t call him an optimist, but he was pragmatic. And he did feel like he had gone the extra mile for his family. He was trying his best. Today he was trying again.

Gordon was indifferent to this whole dog thing, and that came as no surprise to Sean. He hoped the kid might get excited when he saw the dogs and could pick one out. That would be a first. They’d never tried a pet with him before. They could hear the noise from the dog pens as they pulled in and parked. Bypassing the main office, they walked up the drive to the cages.



Penny Dalton was in the main office finishing up the paperwork for a beagle adoption. She had been at this for so long that the sound of a hundred dogs barking was just background noise to her now. They barked all day long but really got going when prospective owners were at the cages. A man and a small boy had just walked by the window. It would get loud any second now.

It took a moment to sink in. All the barking had stopped. The beagle family had just stepped out the front door and Penny raced out the back to see what was wrong. What she found was the man and the boy standing at the entrance by the first row of cages. The boy was staring at the ground. The man was staring at the boy. She passed by them and went up and down the aisles checking the dogs. They all seemed fine. They just weren’t barking. Even the dangerous ones that were segregated at the far end, the ones that would eat Penny if they could, were just sitting around, scratching, licking themselves and enjoying the day. She came back over to man and boy. “Do they always get this quiet?” Sean asked.

“Never happened before,” she said.



Getting Gordon to choose an animal was tough. He had no interest. How about that one? I don’t know. That one is nice. I don’t know. Do you like this one? I don’t know. The dogs had no more interest in Gordon than he had in them. After a few minutes of this, Sean imposed his will. He asked Gordon if he wanted to go home. Gordon said he did. Sean told him he couldn’t leave until he chose a dog. Gordon immediately pointed to the dog that was closest to him.

“Fine Gordon, we’ll take this one.”





The Puppy



Sean and Gordon were in the backyard with the dog. Melanie Swift came into the kitchen and watched them through the window over the sink. Gordon was sitting in a lawn chair. Sean was trying to engage the puppy with one of the squeak toys they had picked up, on the way home. He was calling him and making those kissing sounds. The dog sat beside Gordon and would have nothing to do with any of it.

The receipt for the pet store and the papers from the shelter were on the kitchen counter. Melanie looked them over. She was shocked by what she read, and then took a close look at the puppy through the window. She called to Sean, and asked him to come into the house. She was looking at him with a severe expression and handing him the papers as he stepped in the door.

“What, Mel?” he asked as he glanced at them.

“Did you choose that dog?” She asked him in a strong voice.

“No, Gordon did.”

“Who named it?”

“Gordon named it.”

Melanie stared at her husband. Her expression was a mix of shock and anger. Sean’s expression was changing from mild confusion to something dangerous. He wasn’t picking up the thread and never liked it when she spoke to him that way, infrequent though it was. “Are you making a point?” he snapped.

Melanie lost her resolve. She had been here before. She looked down at the floor and her voice was soft as she said, “The dog that attacked the children was a black German Shepherd named Shadow.”

Sean looked at the papers in his hand. “Jesus Christ!”





Banshee



Melanie Swift was in the bedroom of their Cape Cod. She could hear her husband and son talking in the backyard, then the whining of the puppy, followed by a quick chuckle from Sean. She lay on the bed and thought about the close call she had just had. Her shock had made her behave carelessly. Gordon had nothing to fear from his father. If he upset Sean enough, it was taken out on her. He just might be a little afraid of his son. God knew she was. The boy just would not engage. But every now and then, he would make eye contact with her. There was nothing there to read. He was empty. Absent. But it was more than that. Sometimes she felt like something was hiding in there. Something that made her feel out of her depth. Something important? Something big. A thing that she hoped wouldn’t show itself. However, that was only occasional and fleeting.

They’d had Gordon examined. Autism was ruled out only because of the late onset of this new behavior. The doctors declared him healthy and functional.

Sometimes Melanie wouldn’t even know he was in the room, moments after he’d just walked in. Gordon was always on the periphery, never quite in focus. And he was heavy. They both were. Heavy on her mind and heart. Her strange boy and relentless husband, bearing down on her, constricting her, compressing her chest. If she could take a deep breath just once. That would be good. Melanie’s recurring fantasy was of filling her lungs with air and screaming as loud as she could. She was a banshee and her scream would kill Sean dead. It would startle Gordon into awareness. He would step over his father’s fallen body, put his arms around her, and say, “I love you, Mom.” That would be good. It was her favorite daydream but she would usually only have it at night, when Sean was asleep, when breathing was just a tiny bit easier. No daydreaming during the day. Her days were the nightmare.

Melanie was sleepwalking through her life. She wouldn’t look back on it, wouldn’t recount the events that had brought her here, not for any amount of money. They had all been happy once, ecstatic. She had once adored her husband and he had cherished her. That was a long time ago. They had both changed and Gordon wasn’t the same.

Although she didn’t believe it herself, Melanie was a natural beauty, the girl next-door. She had a face that when make-up was applied, her beauty was not enhanced but diminished rather.

She had been able to stop caking it on a few days ago. She only wore it when she had to cover something. The bruising around her eye was gone now, and she wished she could throw away what she privately referred to as war paint, but she kept what was required in the bottom drawer of the dresser, knowing that at some point she would need it again.





Who’s on First?



Sean Swift went back outside. Gordon was still sitting in the chair. The puppy was still sitting next to him. They were both just staring off into the distance. He asked his son, “Gordon, Why did you choose this dog?”

“You told me to,” he answered.

“No, I mean why this dog?”

“So I could come home.”

Jesus, Gordon. This is ridiculous.

“Why didn’t you pick a different dog?”

“The other one’s gone,” he said.

What was this? An Abbott and Costello routine?

Sean sat down on the picnic bench. He admitted to himself that he’d been a little impatient at the dog pound. It was just so damned annoying trying to get Gordon to make a choice. When he finally did, Sean barely glanced at the thing. It was black and small and had floppy ears. Thinking about it now, Sean was sure he hadn’t been told the Dorsey’s dog was named Shadow or that it was a black German Shepherd.

“Why did you name him Shadow?” Sean asked his son.

“The other one’s gone.”

Who’s on first?

“The other what, Gordon?”

“Shadow.”

What’s on second?

“Why didn’t you name him Duke or Lucky or something?”

“I don’t know.”

I don’t know…Third base!

“Never mind, Gordon.”

The other one’s gone? What the hell was that? The other what? Shadow? An alarm went off in Sean’s head. Drop it! He wouldn’t allow this new thing to take shape. Besides, enough things were nagging at his mind. They wouldn’t form into coherent thought, but had to do with how Gordon was able to control a vicious dog when other kids were prey, how an entire kennel of dogs went quiet when Gordon was there and how it happened again at the pet-shop on the way home. Gordon had waited in the pick-up with the puppy while Sean ran in. The clerks were remarking on how the dogs in the store had all suddenly gone quiet. And now this business with the name and breed of the puppy. He wasn’t putting it all together. He just felt unsettled.

Sean wasn’t sure that having a duplicate of that ferocious dog was a good idea. Maybe another breed would be better. This family was strange enough. They certainly didn’t need to serve up a constant reminder of the tragedy to the neighborhood. They were having trouble fitting in as it was. “Gordon, this dog is just like one that attacked the kids. Maybe we should take him back and get a different one.”

At that moment, the puppy left Gordon’s side and bounded over to Sean. It put its paws up on his knees and tried to climb up. It was whining and wagging its tail, ears back. Sean picked the dog up and set it on his lap. It licked his face in that frantic way that puppies do. A surprised laugh escaped from Sean. From that moment on, Shadow was his dog.





A Malevolent Force



Life was good at the Swift home. If you asked Sean. It had been for some time now. He and Shadow were joined at the hip except for when Sean was at work. At those times, the dog would focus his attention on Gordon, who would have none of it. They never played together. Any affection the dog received when Sean was away came from Melanie. If Shadow accidentally got too near him, Gordon wasn’t above kicking him. Shadow didn’t seem to mind. He learned early on to keep his distance from Gordon but was always attentive and followed him everywhere. Gordon never uttered a word to him.

Shadow never wandered off the property. There were no fences but he seemed to know where the lines were. When Gordon started the seventh grade, Shadow had just turned six months old. He would follow Gordon to school if he could get out of the house. When he couldn’t, he would make such a racket that Melanie was forced to let him out. Then he would sprint until he caught up to Gordon, and always he would hang back several yards. Shadow would wait at the top of the stairs until Gordon entered the school and then would run back home.

At three o’clock, Shadow would be waiting at the top of the steps. It made Melanie wonder why they couldn’t call him Lassie. All the kids loved Shadow and looked forward to seeing him every morning and afternoon. For now, no one was making any associations with him and his namesake. He was just a puppy and anything but frightening. Someone called him Wolf one day and the name caught on. Shadow learned to respond to it. Even Elaine Barrow, who had become something of a malevolent force in the neighborhood, who was nowadays walking Sandy up to and from the school doors, saw Shadow daily and was charmed by him. He was playful and friendly, and as he kept several yards away from his owner at all times, Gordon was free to go unnoticed as usual.

Sean had been in a great mood since bringing the dog home. He rarely raised his voice anymore, and of course, Melanie never did. They were getting along better than usual. There was only an occasional slap when she forgot her place. She fed the dog and cleaned up after it and they got along, but Shadow was Sean’s dog through and through. When Sean disciplined his wife, Shadow would be right there by his side. Sometimes he would growl softly as if in support of his master’s position.

Melanie remained reclusive while Sean was making friends around the neighborhood. He was drawn to the hunters, many of whom lived on the south side of Housatonic Drive. Their backyards rolled down to the creek that ran parallel to the road. Beyond the creek were the vast marshlands, sprawling fields of pale green grass, carved up randomly by narrow waterways as they spread south to the sound. Most of his new buddies had their own docks and their own boats. Labrador Retrievers were the dog of choice around here with a few exceptions. Sean hunted with his new friends that winter and ended up loving it more than fishing. He knew German Shepherds were not water dogs and if he were going to hunt seriously, he would eventually get himself a Lab.

For now, he loved Shadow, the neighborhood loved Shadow, the other dogs loved Shadow, and Shadow loved everyone, human and canine. Since the kids in the area had taken to calling him Wolf, the name stuck. Sean liked it. He didn’t want to deal with that whole reminder thing. Even he called his dog Wolf, and he instructed his family to do the same. As far as he was concerned, the name change was permanent. Melanie was happy to call the dog something other than Shadow, and Gordon never called him anything.





The Chessie



When Wolf was eight months old, Sean had a fence installed around his backyard. White picket of course. He had recently learned that the dog had been going back and forth to school with Gordon. He was still uneasy about the neighborhood making comparisons to the other Shadow, and as the dog grew larger, he was looking formidable. At eight months, Wolf weighed 70 lbs. That was already close to the size of some mature males and Wolf had a long way to go. He thought it would be best to keep the dog out of sight.

Sean’s new hunting pals had filled him in on the attack. Roy Cowan showed him a newspaper article he had saved. He wasn’t surprised that his wife had told him so little. Sean learned that the Taylor boy had died, the Barrow girl had been in a coma, and the dog had been put down. It had been enormous, just like Wolf was going to be. He learned that Elaine Barrow was insane. She was so messed up by what happened to her daughter (she rarely mentioned the Taylor boys), that the Dorseys moved, just to get away from her. The Swifts lived about a half a mile from the school, which meant they didn’t have close relationships with the people living right above the “Shadow Stairs”, and Sean and his new buddies all lived no more than three or four houses apart. This meant his black male longhaired German Shepherd could be kept out of the Barrow’s and Taylor’s lives.

Tommy Haig was the only person who didn’t like Wolf. Tommy was odd in that he didn’t own a Labrador like most of the guys. His was a male Chesapeake Bay Retriever. A fantastic performer, not much bigger, faster, or stronger than the Labs but an imperious animal with the personality of a wolverine. Neptune was always snarling about something and when Tommy went out on the marsh to hunt with the other guys, his dog would dominate the hell out of their dogs. Neptune never did any harm, (few people in this area new that “Chessies” snarled and bared their teeth when they were happy) but he was disliked by all. Tommy lived across the street from the Swifts and down a few on the waterside. He came over one day with Neptune when the fence was being installed, to visit with Sean and probably get a look at his wife. Tommy and Sean talked in the backyard while the two dogs ran around together. Wolf was as friendly as ever. The dogs had known each other for many months now. Wolf was smaller than Neptune and several years younger. They played and wrestled and the Chessie would growl, snarl, and show his fangs, but now and then, he would also lie on his back, exposing his belly to the shepherd. Tommy didn’t like that one bit. He pretended not to notice, but got Neptune out of there quickly. Sean didn’t know anything about dogs so Neptune’s submissive behavior escaped him. Being tough was important to Tommy. He cooled off toward Sean, didn’t like Wolf, and was thinking less of Neptune as well.





Sinbad



Devon regressed to a languorous mood over the next two years. Sean was an accomplished hunter by then and had given up freshwater fishing for salt. Winters on the marshes and summers on the sound. Gordon was two years older and just as dull as ever. Melanie remained loyally at her station, serving her family. Wolf, when not indoors, was spending his life within the confines of the white picket fence. The only real change was the addition of the new dog.

Shortly after the fence had been installed, Sean came home with a Yellow Labrador puppy that he’d named Sinbad. At six months of age, Sinbad was three months junior to Wolf. They bonded immediately and adored each other. With the help of his friends, by the following duck season, Sean had turned Sinbad into an excellent retriever. This of course meant that Sinbad was away with Sean quite often. Wolf didn’t seem to mind. No matter how long or short the separation, an hour or a day, when reunited, the two dogs behaved as if it had been weeks.

Things had been chilly between Sean and Tommy Haig since the day Neptune submitted to Wolf, but after the arrival of Sinbad, Tommy took Sean under his wing. He’d helped immeasurably with Sinbad's training and the following autumn they, with their dogs, were out on the marshes knocking down ducks.

Things changed during the next hunting season, after Sinbad had filled out to match Neptune in size and strength. In stark contrast to Neptune’s severe and authoritative demeanor, the younger dog’s exuberance would now and then, stoke the ire of the Chessie. Blood was drawn only once so far and it was just a nip, but the constant snarling was getting on Sean’s nerves as well as Sinbad’s. It’s fair to say that Tommy was enjoying it quite a bit.

It may have been inevitable. Neptune acted with impunity and was relentless in his domination over Sinbad, who by the end of December had had his fill. He stood up to Neptune one day in the middle of Tommy’s skiff. Before either master could react, Neptune ended the stare down by grabbing hold of Sinbad’s shoulder and puncturing the flesh, but not without earning a torn ear for his trouble. That ended the friendship of Sean and Tommy. Sean found himself ostracized by the rest of the gang, and with the season coming to a close, he no longer approached them. Sinbad healed up okay through the spring and joined Wolf in his tiny world of grass and white picket.











The Snowball



Sometimes the tiniest variation in a routine can have a huge effect on what happens next. Sometimes the most presumably obscure event from across an ocean can cause it. It’s conceivable, for a life spent hiding in plain sight and honing unprepossession to an art form, a life spent wearing the pile from the carpet and the bright from the soul, a life of non-event and rote action, that one aberration could change all that, not just a bit, but greatly and in a single day. Nothing ever happened to Gordon Swift until the day when those many big things did. And the things that happened to Gordon that day can all be credited to the dissolution of a rock band. That is not to say that Gordon wouldn’t have been changed by some other means, on some other day. Just that the snowball may have rolled down the hill in a different way.

What a big day. Gordon was about to ask a question for the first time. When school let out, he set off on his usual route, which took him past the music room. He stopped dead in his tracks, listened for a moment, and then walked into the room where the music teacher, Mr. Terrill was playing a record. Gordon just stood inside the doorway listening. When the music ended, he said, “What is that?”

The entire faculty knew Gordon well enough to know that he didn’t ask questions, ever. That surprised Mr. Terrill, for a moment, from his own personal grief. His eyes were wet as he stared at the boy. He removed the needle from the vinyl. “It’s the Beatles,” he said, with a crack in his voice. Gordon walked over to the table with the phonograph on it and saw the album cover. Sgt Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band.

“Oh,” he said and headed for the door. He stopped and looked back at Mr. Terrill who was still visibly upset. “It didn’t sound sad.”

Mr. Terrill was setting the needle back down on the vinyl. He said, “It’s not supposed to be. Today it is.” Gordon sat down. He had never heard anything like it. All that time spent listening to music with his father. It was like listening to nothing, or the sound of the vacuum cleaner running. How had he never heard this before? A result of always keeping his head down. He didn’t even have a radio in his room. All he ever heard at home was Frank Sinatra, Perry Como, Robert Goulet and that kind of music. Something awoke inside him just now that he never felt before. He felt…happy. A moment later, he felt angry. The two emotions mixed into a strange potion. Gordon was instantly addicted to it. He was tired of being quiet, and tired of missing out. Gordon listened to the whole album. It was the first time he’d ever stayed late at school. He knew no one except Shadow would worry. When the album was finished playing, Mr. Terrill told Gordon that the Beatles had just broken up and that this was the greatest music of all time. He was sad because there would never be anything like it again. Mr. Terrill went on to explain what the music was about, what the lyrics meant, what was special, innovative, and progressive about the music. Gordon ate it up. Mr. Terrill offered to lend another Beatles record to Gordon. He accepted and left quickly. He wanted to hurry home to play it. He wanted to listen to that music every single minute for the rest of his life.



A Path Along the Bank



Something was wrong with Wolf. He was pacing in his white picket world, clearly agitated, whining and growling. When Sinbad tried to interact with him, he was firmly reprimanded. Dogs develop a sense of routine that can be quite accurate, as if they can tell time. Long before they can hear Sean’s car coming down the road every evening, Wolf and Sinbad are at the gate impatiently waiting to greet him. Dog owners see this kind of thing all the time.

Gordon was late. He arrived at home every afternoon at 3:25. Every afternoon, without fail. At precisely 3:50, Wolf leapt over the white picket fence. It wasn’t difficult. He did it all the time, though no one was aware of it. He flew across the street, up the Keegan’s driveway, through the backyard and down the wooded slope to the marsh below. Over the years, kids had worn a path along the bank just out of the soggy grasses. Wolf flew down this path to the school. It ran parallel to Housatonic Drive and ended just below Charlotte Black’s house, the last house on the right on Granville Avenue. At the side of her yard was a low point in the chain link fence that separated her property from the marsh. Wolf leapt over it and walked out to her front lawn. Gordon and another kid were just reaching the top of the staircase. Wolf flopped down next to the fence, a few yard away and waited.





Paul McCartney



Because of the damage done to the bone and tissue in his knee, Kenny Taylor was driven to and from high school for the first two years. Until he fell for Donna Williams. Lately, he was walking her home from school. His leg just wasn’t that bad anymore and this was worth it. She lived in the same direction as he did and after kissing her goodbye, he could cut through the grammar school property to get home.

If Paul McCartney hadn’t announced he was leaving the band, Mr. Terrill wouldn’t have been in mourning, wouldn’t have been playing that music at that moment, and Gordon wouldn’t have stayed after school for the first time. At ten till four, as he was leaving the building, Kenny was just passing by. Gordon was in the eighth grade now but hadn’t changed much in two years. Kenny recognized him. It was awkward that they were going the same way and were walking together. Gordon slowed his pace to let Kenny go on ahead of him. Kenny slowed his pace to match Gordon’s.

Over the past two years, the trauma of the attack, the grief over his brother, and the distortion of myth had Kenny believing that this kid walking beside him now, between him and the chain link fence that separated the schoolyard from the marshes, had sicced his killer dog on them and walked away scot-free. Kenny’s’ mind wandered. He was thinking about his brother now, and about how his life had been since Ronny died. He thought about his family and school and his new girlfriend. He forgot about Gordon entirely for a moment. He snapped out of it and continued to walk with Gordon, intimidating him until they reached the top of the “Shadow Stairs.”

“Your dog killed my brother,” he said

“It wasn’t my dog.”

“Why didn’t he attack you?”

“I didn’t want him to.”

Kenny pushed Gordon up against the chain link fence and held him there with the invisible force of his extended index finger. He was thinking about that dog. It had been enormous, a giant wolf, and black like dusty coal. Flying down from the Dorsey’s front step. Ronny screaming, bleeding, fangs sinking into arms and legs. The mother holding her little girl. The sirens. No, not yet. The sirens came later. It was the mother screaming. Then the dog being led away by Gordon. Nearly as tall as he was.

Kenny had forgotten about Gordon again. Once again, he snapped out of it. Disoriented, he looked around. That weird lady, Barrow, was in her front yard as she always was.

Kenny yelled into Gordon’s face, “Shadow killed my brother! You should be dead!”

Kenny didn’t know what to do. He thought, at the least he should smack this kid around a bit while he thought things over. At the most, he should kill him. He chose the former and landed a left hook just under Gordon’s right temple. Gordon fell.