At the River

   / At the River #1  

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Note....this is a dark story, mildly graphic.



I took my kids down to the river one day last summer to fish and swim. The river has gators in it, everybody knows that, but we also know what to watch out for. When one comes floating down the river it's 'everybody out' until he floats on by or if he decides to stop and check out the area, it's time to go.

The river is full of people and gators all the time, it's just a way of life, so far as I know no one in this area has ever been attacked.

On this particular day though, the dangerous beast was not in the water or even an alligator. It was a boy. If I live forever, I'll never forget this boy. In my opinion, he was evil incarnate.

I saw him when he came out of the woods. The only thing really alarming about his sudden appearance was the emmaciated pit bull dog that he had tied to a short length of rope. It wasn't until I engaged him in conversation that he began to scare me. Badly.

"Nice dog." I said, even though it was an outright lie. The dog was practically starved to death, had runny eyes and assorted scrapes and cuts. The boy, probably in his late teens said...

"Thanks, but I'm trying to get rid of him."

Why's that?" I asked, shielding my eyes from the sun with one hand.

"He's dangerous. Tries to bite."

I calculated the distance between myself and the dog, did a quick inventory of the length of the rope and the distance between the three of us and my kids, who had as of yet, not noticed our visitor. The boy went on, providing the following information like he was relating a weather report.

"I tried drowining him in the river, but he swims too good. I haven't fed him in days, but he just won't die. A couple friends of mine tied him to a tree in the woods and threw stuff at him but he just went behind the tree."

It occurred to me that I was not dealing with someone who was right in the head. My immediate reaction was to set about putting as much space between him and his dog, and me and my kids as quickly as possible.

My stomach had a knot in it the size of Idaho as I began to back away. The kids, by now, had noticed the boy and were one by one moving toward the bank. The intent was clear, they were coming out to meet our visitor.

"You kids, get your shoes and walk along the bank to the ramp and get in the truck. We're gonna be late, Your dad is waiting for us."

"What about the cooler? You can't carry it alone." Jake called up.

"Never mind the dam* cooler, I'll get it, just do as I said." I snapped. The boy hadn't taken his eyes off my face. Despite my fear, I had to tell him what I thought. I got the feeling that he wanted to hear what I thought.

"You know what you're doing is wrong. You know you can take that animal to the pound and they'll find him a home. Why torture him?"

I bent down to gather up the blanket, empty soda cans and stuff them in the cooler. The boy took a step forward, I saw his feet move toward me as I was bent over involved in my task. It dawned on me suddenly that I had nothing to use for protection. The boy wasn't in much better shape than the dog, but if he wanted to try something I had not only him, but the dog to deal with.

"Because he's mean. Always has been. He'll bite you as quick as look at you."

I had everything all crammed in the cooler, and now only had to figure out how to get it to the truck alone. I stood and gazed down at the dog.

"Did it occur to you that maybe he's mean because he's been mistreated?" I felt a lump come up in my throat and was dangerously close to tears. I had a strong suspicion that the boy had been mistreated too, there was something about it in his eyes. Something like jealously, and hatred, and the loss of hope.

"I treat him the way I do because he's mean!" The boy raised his voice a notch and the dog's head swung around and he pinned his eyes on me, letting out a soft growl. Even after the hel* of his life at the hands of this boy, the dog was prepared to protect him.

"Well, I guess you do what you have to do." I said, and grabbed the handle of the cooler. I started dragging the cooler in the direction of the truck, my heart pounding a hundred times a minute.

Here this boy was, wandering the river with basically a loaded weapon tied to the end of a short frayed rope, neither he nor the dog in a sane state of mind, people everywhere. It was only a matter of time before the dog 'lost it' and either attacked someone for food, or just out of sheer desperation.

I managed to get the cooler loaded and jumped in the truck, and made a bee line to the nearest pay phone.

"Sheriiff's office, this line is being recorded, state your emergency."

I related what I had seen, I stressed the fact that I thought the dog was dangerous and not well restrained. They gave me the same old rigamarole that a crime had not been committed and there was nothing they could do.

"If I told you that he was walking around down there waving a loaded machine gun, would that make a difference?" I asked incredulously.

Yes, that would have made a difference. That would have been something they could have reacted to. They didn't want to hear about what I thought, or what I felt, or what I suspected could happen.

"Try animal control."

At animal control there was a recording. I left my message and drove my kids home, to safety. A better person than me would have maybe taken the dog, but I couldn't, I was afraid. When an animal has been so mistreated it's like handling a grenade with no pin. You never know when it's going to go off and how bad it's going to be. Hel*, I would have taken the boy if I thought there was any hope for him.

My kids asked me this morning to take them to the river and I said no, out of sheer reflex. I'll admit it, I'm still afraid. With any luck at all, the boy succeeded and the dog is dead by now, which can only be a good thing. That animal was ruined beyond any repair. What worries me is that dogs are a dime a dozen, how long til the kid finds his next 'mean' dog. How long until I meet him at the river again with his next victim. How long until his next victim is a person.
 
   / At the River #2  
Wow, Cindi!! Scarey stuff!!! Nothing upsets me more than someone who abuses an animal, especially a dog. You're right, there's gotta be something wrong with that kid, he's much scarier than a gator!!

I don't blame you for not trying to take the dog, there's no telling what the dog or the kid would do. I just hope the dog somehow gets away, and finds a good home. As for the kid, I don't even know what to think. Any kid who could do what he was trying to do to his dog is pretty scarey, and from some sort of place that I never want to go to. Since I was 4 years old, when I got my first dog, there's NOTHING I wouldn't do to protect my furry friends. To see a kid try to torture and kill his dog....wow, he must be from another planet where evil is normal.
 
   / At the River
  • Thread Starter
#3  
I don't know what it is but these people gravitate to me like iron shavings to a magnet. I have street people constantly wanting to tell me what led them to the state they are in. I must have this look about me. He could have approached any number of other people. I have to learn to stop making eye contact.
 
   / At the River #4  
Yikes, yet another similarity between us!!

When I owned my antique shop, I always had all manner of unusual people come into my shop. Some either they scared the heck out of me, or I befriended them. My wife used to say that I was running a shelter for "abused souls". Now, one of my best friends is a social worker, and you should see the trouble she gets me into with "unusual people". She claims that they're drawn to me, but of course she always sets up the situation. Then my wife will complain, but then she's in the middle of trying to help these people out too.

I think "abused souls" seem to know when they see someone who either may care or that they can take advantage of. I always try to figure out which one I am. /forums/images/graemlins/tongue.gif
 
   / At the River
  • Thread Starter
#5  
I filled in as secretary for the company my husband worked for while the regular took her vacation. The first day a man came to the door. He was wearing one shoe and two socks, an overcoat, a battered hat and smelled strongly of alcohol and urine. I had three dollars in my pocket. I gave it to him. Not because I felt sorry for him, but because I wanted him to leave. I was alone there.

The boss was livid when he found out.

"Now he'll be back everyday!"

I was there four more days and he never came back. I always wonder how people get themselves in such sorry shape. I will help if I can, but usually I want to see some sign of a handicap or some reason other than 'choice' for them being in that state. Although I do realize that some handicaps are not readily/physically apparent.
 
 
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