Chronogram received dozens of entries for this year’s Story Contest. The guest judge was Abigail Thomas,
author of best-selling memoirs A Three Dog Life and Safekeeping, two novels, and two collections of stories.
She writes: “For First Prize, I chose ‘Red Rover’ by Timothy Tocher. I tend to read for voice, and if there’s
a narrator I would keep turning pages for, I pay attention. Tocher’s narrator is fresh, funny, and sympathetic.
I’d follow this story anywhere, and not just because it includes a dog. The runner-up is ‘Falling From the Garden Into Wonder’ by William Sheldon. I’d also like to include for Honorable Mention two other stories I admired: ‘Happy Valley’ by Jennifer Wai-Lan Huang, and ‘A Partial Catalog of Harold’s Major and Minor Epiphanies’ by Brent Robison.”
First time I saw that dog, he was lying between the marble pillars that flanked the front of the Richardson house. I pushed aside some leaves and twirled the dial on the binoculars until he was in perfect focus, red coat gleaming in the summer sun.
“What kind is it?” I asked Eddie, tilting my head toward the higher branch where he was hidden. Eddie is only two years older than me, but for as long as I can remember, I’d looked to him for answers.
“The kind that’s in our way,” he snapped. “How are we supposed to rob the place with that dog there?”
The dog stiffened, then raced across the lawn. I swept the binoculars after him, making myself so dizzy that I almost fell out of the tree. I lowered the glasses and watched him speed for a squirrel that sat on the grass. The squirrel let him get within 20 feet, then zipped across the road to safety.
The dog gave a disappointed yip and headed back to the porch. I looked at Eddie. “Invisible fence,” he said. “Dog goes near the edge of the property, he gets zapped. There’s a sensor on his collar.”
I felt relieved. Maybe for once we could leave a town without doing something that would prevent us from ever coming back. I made the mistake of joking around. “Too bad we can’t take the dog. He’s a beauty.”
Eddie leaned down and slapped me on the back so hard that my knees nearly lost their grip on the branch I straddled. “That’s it. I’ll bet Richardson will pay plenty.”
We returned after dark, creeping close to the front lawn. The dog sensed we were there, and started barking. I wound up and chucked a baseball-sized hunk of chopped meat toward the sound. In a split second, the dog was too busy inhaling beef to make noise.
The following night he bounded toward me, a happy woof his only sound. I threw the meat closer to the sidewalk. While the dog bolted it down, I moved onto the lawn and squatted in a spot where I was screened from the house by a large tree.
The beef a fading memory, the dog trotted over to say thanks. He flopped on his back so I could scratch his belly. While one hand dug in and made his leg thump the ground, the other loosened his collar. When it came off in my hand, the dog shook free of my grip. He let loose a howl of pleasure, and streaked for the road. Before I could react, he was racing down the block, his long ears stretched out behind him.
A light came on in the Richardson house, and I took off myself, bent low, and keeping the tree between me and the front porch. I knew Eddie was somewhere nearby in his van. Two blocks ahead, he snapped on the headlights, and I caught a glimpse of the dog as it sped past him. The van pulled away from the curb and I ran after it. Eddie would expect me to go in the opposite direction, leading trouble away. I was too scared. All I could think of was climbing into the van and roaring out of town for good.
I heard a crash as the dog sent a trash can flying. The headlights showed that everything except his thrashing tail and hind legs had disappeared inside it. Eddie eased the van to the curb, got out, and opened its side panel door. I sucked in air and ran harder.
Eddie circled behind the dog, hoping to grab him and wrestle him into the van. Before he could try, the dog backed out of the trash can and stuck his nose in the air.
Something in the van attracted him, for he scampered across the sidewalk and jumped inside. I piled in after him, sliding the door closed. Eddie hopped into the driver’s seat and gunned the engine.
The dog lay on the floor, happily nuzzling through the greasy potato chip bags and other garbage that had piled up during our weeks on the road. I went to wipe the sweat from my face and discovered that I was still clutching his collar. My eye was caught by a metal plate bolted to it. “Red Rover,” I read aloud.
The dog abandoned the trash, clambering across the seat to smother me in drool. Eddie slowed to a normal speed and headed the van toward our campground. I was half drowned by a hot tongue coated with bits of garbage and greasy chips. It made for a long ride.
Red Rover didn’t care much for the final mile, which was off road. The van lurched over rocks and bounced in and out of ruts. I should have gotten suspicious when he calmed and lay on the seat, his head in my lap. But it took me by surprise when he upchucked the meatball and everything else he’d eaten since he met us.
The smell was so bad that I almost lost it myself. Eddie cursed and cranked his window. Mine only went down halfway, but I stuck my nose out the opening and kept it there. The second we came to a stop, I was out of that van, stripping off my barf-covered clothes. My other jeans and T-shirt were hanging from a tree branch. They weren’t quite dry, but they were a big improvement on the set Red Rover had christened.
“Soon as you’re dressed, clean the van,” Eddie called. Typical. Eddie had stuck me with every dirty job that had come up since we took to the road. I’d cleaned fish, changed a tire, even dug the latrine for our campground. My folks thought we were traveling from farm to farm, picking crops—not that they really cared. When Eddie told my dad his cock-and-bull story, he hadn’t asked for details. He was busy figuring out how much money he’d save, not having to feed me all summer. Eddie promised my mother he’d bring me back by the time school started, and off we went.
Our crimes were petty. Eddie would cruise some little town after dark. We’d look for unlocked doors or windows on any gas station or convenience stores we came across. Surprisingly often, we found them.
But they were the kinds of places that didn’t have much worth stealing. We lived on the singles and coins people didn’t bother to take out of their cash drawers before closing up shop.
I’d never stolen before, and didn’t much like it. Eddie said that if folks were too dumb to lock up proper, they
deserved to be ripped off. We were doing them a favor, teaching them to be more careful, and all it cost them was chump change. I knew it wasn’t right, but sleeping under the stars with Eddie was a lot more peaceful than lying in bed at home listening to my parents fight.
Then our wanderings brought us across the state line to the Richardson place. Once Eddie saw it, he was determined to break in. “We’ll clean up enough cash to take a couple of weeks off and enjoy ourselves,” he promised. I wasn’t tempted by the vacation. I just didn’t know how to say no to Eddie.
By the time I had cleaned the van and rinsed my dirty clothes in the creek, Eddie had cooked hot dogs. I thought the smell would attract Red Rover, but he was nowhere to be found. “He took off two minutes after we got here,” Eddie said.
“How are we going to collect a ransom for a dog we don’t have?” I asked.
Eddie spun Red Rover’s collar on the end of his finger. “We send this with the ransom note, and Richardson will believe we’ve got the dog. We get the money without the trouble of returning him.”
I worried about Red Rover. That crazy dog would charge into anything and we’d turned him loose in the wilderness. He was liable to get killed. Hungry as I’d been an hour earlier, I couldn’t finish a single hot dog. I stuck half in my pocket in case I wanted it later.
I didn’t think I’d be able to sleep, but I must have dozed off. I awoke with a start when a huge set of choppers tried to bite through my jeans. Once my heartbeat slowed, I saw that it was Red Rover. Before he could eat my leg, I fished out the half hot dog I’d saved. He swallowed it whole, then set to licking my face. I felt twigs and brambles tangled in his coat and promised myself I’d comb them out in the morning. Red Rover walked in a circle three or four times, then settled down with his rear end in my face, and went to sleep.
Waking to the crash of thrown objects mixed with cursing made me think I was home. But it was Eddie causing the ruckus. He would have lobbed our frying pan at Red Rover, but I jumped between them. When the dog smiled his thanks, I noticed that his mouth was covered with something white.
“That fool ate our pancake flour,” Eddie fumed. “No breakfast this morning.”
I made coffee, filling the pot from the creek and setting it on a rock at the edge of the fire to perk. Red Rover was smart enough to stick close to me as I worked. Before the coffee was ready, Eddie jumped into the van. “I’ll eat in town. I bet there’s lost-dog posters all over.”
Camp was peaceful without Eddie. I enjoyed combing the snarls out of Red Rover’s coat, even though I snapped most of the teeth off my comb in the process. Only problem was, I was starving. I might have salvaged some of the pancake flour if Eddie hadn’t kicked the box around until it was empty.
I couldn’t stop myself from running over like a little kid when I heard the van. I hoped Eddie had brought doughnuts to celebrate our soon-to-be-made fortune. He got out empty-handed, slamming the door and glaring at me. “There’s not a sign anywhere. I ate in the diner, and no one so much as mentioned a runaway dog.”
Eddie paced. I kept hold of Red Rover. Suddenly a grin spread across Eddie’s face. “Richardson must have figured out that someone took the dog. He didn’t find the collar, and knows the dog wouldn’t leave the property with it on. That’s it! He’s waiting for the ransom note.”
I tried to smile. “Well, go on,” Eddie said. “Write the note.”
“What do I write?” I asked. It figured that it would be my handwriting the police got to study.
“Keep it short,” he said, rubbing his chin. “At 10 tonight, leave $500 in the trash can near the O. Henry statue, or never see Red Rover again.”
I’d noticed the statue in the town square, a guy in an old-timey suit, wearing a derby. “Who was O. Henry?” I asked.
Eddie glared. “He invented the candy bar. Write the note.”
I was looking for something to write on when I noticed Red Rover’s collar on the ground. I pulled out my pocketknife and carved the letters on the inside of the collar. Then I blackened them with a stick from the fire.
It looked crazy enough to be a ransom note, and no way did the letters resemble my normal handwriting, especially with Red Rover bumping my elbow every few seconds as I worked. I handed Eddie the collar.
“Outrageous. Sometimes I think there’s hope for you yet.” I slumped to the ground, my back against a tree, scratching Red Rover behind the ears. “Get up, man. We’ve got a ransom note to deliver,” Eddie said.
“I’ll stay here with Red Rover.”
“We’re both going. What do you think—I’m going to park the van and ring the doorbell?”
I did what Eddie said, as usual. But I didn’t forget Red Rover. I used a length of rope from the van to tie him to a tree. He was so busy licking me that he didn’t realize he was a prisoner until I got into the van.
Eddie cranked the radio loud enough to drown out his howling, and off we went.
We circled Richardson’s block, trying to come up with a plan. Then we spotted the mail truck. It stopped in front of the house, and a woman snaked out an arm and stuffed his box with letters and catalogs. Soon as she was off the street, Eddie pulled the van up next to the mailbox, and shoved me out the door. I wrapped the collar around a stack of envelopes, and jumped back into the van.
I watched the rearview mirrors all the way back to camp, but no one followed us. Eddie was in a great mood. He said we could go for coffee in the all-night place across from the park while we waited for the ransom. In the meantime, he’d make more hot dogs to keep us going.
Soon as we reached camp, I knew something was wrong. The rope drooped from the tree, but Red Rover was nowhere to be seen. The loose end was wet with saliva where he’d chewed through it. “Good riddance,” was Eddie’s comment.
He had more to say when he reached his bedding. Red Rover had torn through everything he owned. “That mutt never liked me,” Eddie complained. More likely, he had left the hot dogs hidden in his stuff, but I didn’t argue.
Camp was lifeless without Red Rover. Eddie was sulking, so there was no one to talk to. We had no food, and no prospects of getting any until we went to the coffee shop. It was so quiet that I could hear Eddie’s stomach growl. We passed the hot afternoon in an uneasy doze.
Then Red Rover pranced into the clearing, an animal of some sort dangling from his mouth. Eddie and I jumped up and I’m sure my jaw dropped as far as his. “I can’t believe it,” Eddie said. “Maybe this dog’s not totally useless after all.”
Red Rover came closer. The creature he held wasn’t the rabbit or squirrel I had expected, but a porcupine. Somehow he had clamped his jaws on its head before it had a chance to stick him. Eddie said, “Humph. I guess they’re edible. Drop it, boy.”
Obediently, Red Rover dropped the porcupine at our feet. Eddie bent for a closer look. Whack! The porcupine’s tail whipped around and smacked him. A half dozen quills buried themselves in his forearm. Howling, Eddie grabbed the piercing quills. He succeeded in breaking them, driving their points deeper into his skin.
The porcupine shot up the nearest tree. Red Rover reared, his front legs against the trunk, paws scraping bark. But even a dog quick enough to catch a porcupine without getting stuck himself couldn’t climb a tree.
Eddie hopped in a circle, cursing a blue streak. I got the tool kit from the van. Eddie wasted a few minutes trying to punish Red Rover who thought it was a game and effortlessly dodged Eddie’s kicks, tail wagging. Then I went to work with the pliers. I grabbed each quill as close to the skin as I could and pulled. Each time one popped free, leaving a blood-capped hole in Eddie’s arm, he punched me in the shoulder. It was no fun, but I wouldn’t have traded places with him.
By the time the last quill was removed and Eddie had worn himself to a frazzle chasing Red Rover, it was dark. He pulled on a sweatshirt to cover his chewed-up arm, and we headed for town. The thought of the ransom must have cheered him, because he stopped cursing by the time we reached the blacktop.
We left the van on a side street and walked to the coffee shop. A sign out front said “Open Mike Night,” and the place was packed. While Eddie was getting our order, I leaned against a wall and listened to a bearded guy who held a microphone in one hand and a glass coffee mug in the other.
“Thanks for turning out for this special event marking the one hundredth anniversary of the publication of The Heart of the West by the great O. Henry. Many of the stories are set in our neck of the woods. In his honor, the poems read tonight will have a surprise or ironical ending, like an O. Henry story. Now I’m going to stop gabbing, and whoever picked number one will come up and start the program.”
I tried listening to a couple of the poems, but it was hard to concentrate. Through the window I could see the statue of that O. Henry dude in the center of the square, lit by a full moon.
Eddie brought us slabs of pound cake and tall containers of black coffee. I loaded mine with cream and sugar. They had cinnamon you could sprinkle on top, but that seemed a little girly, so I didn’t try it. All the seats were taken. We stood at one of those tall tables that you lean on. It gave us a place to set our food, and we could see the statue from there.
A girl with tattoos peeking from every opening in her clothes was next. The only surprise ending that interested me was what the hidden extremities of those tattoos looked like. I was speculating on that when Eddie elbowed me. A silver SUV had stopped across the street. The driver got out, walked into the park, and tossed a brown paper bag into the trash. Then, looking as if he was laughing, he got back in his car and drove away.
I took a step toward the door, but Eddie grabbed my arm. “Don’t be too eager. It could be a trap.” The girl with the tattoos brushed past us as a few people clapped. I was too distracted to study her. Eddie’s words had me expecting to hear sirens at any moment.
We stayed for two more poets—a man with a crew cut, who no one liked, and a chunky girl who read a poem about her dark, strong true love. When it turned out to be coffee, she got a few laughs. Eddie said, “I’ll get the van. Give me two minutes. Then grab the ransom and walk down the street. I’ll pick you up.”
Before I could argue, he was gone. I looked around, but no one was paying me any attention. All eyes were on the tattooed girl who was up for a second turn at the mike. I made for the door, fighting a knee wobble, she waved her arms over her head, exposing her belly. A tattoo of a hand reached from her waistband as if it was trying to pull down her shirt.
There was no traffic. Good thing, because I stumbled into the street without looking, intent on the trash barrel. It was one of those wire mesh baskets, and when I got close, I could see the brown bag, its top rolled, sitting on a pile of empty coffee containers.
I snatched the bag, spun, and walked to the street, my heart struggling to break through my chest. I refused to look back, convinced that I would see someone following me. I covered three blocks before Eddie pulled up beside me. Only then, as I climbed into the passenger seat, did I dare look over my shoulder. The street was deserted.
Eddie drove, drumming the wheel with excitement. “Did you look? Is it there?”
I opened the bag. There was a folded note, and underneath that, a stack of paper napkins. I dumped the bag on my lap and looked to Eddie for an explanation. “Are you kidding me?” he yelled. “Read the note.”
It read, “Dear Dognappers, Hope you’re enjoying Red Rover. He wrecked my house and sent my kids flying whenever they tried to play with him. My wife was too softhearted to get rid of him—until last night when she saw what it felt like to get a peaceful night’s sleep. Now she’s as happy as I am.” It was signed, “Forever in your debt, Ralph Richardson. P.S. I figured you could use some napkins to wipe off his slobber.”
We were quiet for a while, unless you count the things Eddie was mumbling under his breath. It was our roughest ride yet to the campsite, Eddie beyond caring if he broke an axle. When we pulled into the moonlit clearing, we spotted Red Rover, sitting on Eddie’s sleeping bag, a tattered T-shirt hanging from his mouth. For a second, I was afraid Eddie might kill us both, trying to run him down. But he shut off the ignition and took deep breaths.
“Pack up. I’m going to see if there’s anything that dog hasn’t destroyed. We leave in five minutes.” Eddie got out, slamming the door.
Red Rover ran to my door. When I opened it, he put his big head in my lap and leaned into my fingertips. I scratched his snout. “Don’t let him in the van. He’ll ruin that next,” Eddie called.
I got out, crossed the clearing, and sat on a boulder. “Hurry up, man. I’m not waiting for you,” Eddie said.
My voice was shaky. “You go on without me, Eddie. I’m staying here.”
Eddie froze, holding an armload of chewed-up clothing. He threw the stuff on the ground and said, “Get in the van. We’re leaving.”
“I’m staying with Red Rover.”
“Who’s going to tell you what to do—the dog?” He doubled over, laughing.
I was scared. I’d never been on my own. For just a second, I thought of giving in. All I had to do was go along, and Eddie would decide what we would do next. Then Red Rover walked to the van. Staring at Eddie the whole time, he lifted his leg and relieved himself against the driver’s-side door.
Eddie grabbed a rock. By the time he cocked his arm, Red Rover was gone. I bolted too, crashing through brush in the darkness, ignoring the thorns that tore my bare arms. The dog was waiting alongside the creek. As I collapsed by his side, the van roared to life and bounced down the trail.
We watched the moon for a while, his hip pressed against mine. I didn’t know what the morning would bring. All I could think was to walk until we came to a farm, then ask for work. It wouldn’t be easy, but Red Rover needed me. We were a family now.
