Number 9, March 1999 IN THIS ISSUE... Dawn over Boggy Creek Road by Patricia Akhimie Ladies of the Road by John Lindenbaum Highway 9, 26 West by Richard Johnston Dogs by Tristan Snell

DOGS       A quick explosion of thunder and a deluge opened on the seven or eight people still clustered like horseflies around the policeman, who kept his sunglasses on and seemed oblivious to the marble-sized drops beating down on his wide-brimmed navyblue hat. A subtle smirk crossed his lips as he opened the door to his cruiser and sat down in the driver's seat, hunched over the notebook he'd been scribbling in.       "Keep going-" he addressed a man in a long yellow tanktop, which in its now drenched state drooped completely below his nylon jogging shorts.       "Uh… sir… officer…" The man was distracted by the water pouring down the incline along the curb, washing the blood from the carcasses into the storm drain roughly 15 feet away, creating a puddle, clogged with grass clippings, water the color of dying roses.       "Don't you need to take pictures of the… I mean, the-"       "Oh none of the TV crews came did they? Hmph."       As he spoke, words coming in a clipped drawl, the next car over the hill was a white van with a little satellite dish on the roof. People returned from their houses with windbreakers and umbrellas. The officer brought his sun visor down, lifted the cover to the mirror, adjusted his hat and picked something out of his front teeth. He sucked in his paunch and sauntered to the van in a slow strut as the other people scurried behind him.             "We're here now in Summerglen Terrace, the site of the incident, with Officer James Mitchell. Officer, could you tell our viewers exactly what happened?"       The anchor matched the officer's perfection of appearance in the midst of the storm: blue power suit, blue umbrella in one hand, microphone in the other. She was succinct and efficient, qualities desired in TV.       "Well, I wasn't really here, you see. When I arrived on the scene, I found the man, surrounded by people from the subdivision, maybe thirty feet away, and the dogs. I cleared the scene and assumed control of the situation, eliminating the animals. It just seems to have been a tragic accident."       "Will charges be filed with the dogs' owners?"       "Well no one was home, one of the cars is gone, and several of the people said that the folks there are probably on vacation. The department is trying to contact them."       "Thank you, officer."       "You're quite welcome."             The first interviewee was the archetypal nice old lady who would have some good, generalized things to say about the victim and how to prevent a repeat of the incident. Several damp gray curls were plastered to her forehead beneath her bright green raincap. She spoke into the proffered microphone hesitantly as if she feared being electrocuted.       "Mr. Warren was a very good… neighbor… Always said hi, never drove his car too fast, always willing to stop his lawnmower for a talk. Never had any unruly company or suspicious characters coming around. Kept a tidy yard over there, he did. This is just… tragic… That's the only word for it. Tragic. This neighborhood… will be less of a place without him."       "Do you feel that something needs to be done about dogs?"       "Well naturally… this type of thing ought to be avoided, and, well… people just need to be more careful what they do with their pets and such."       "Thank you…"             The fence was the wooden three-slat model mandated by that subdivision and others like it; this one had green wire fencing stapled to the posts. The dogs, both Doberman pinscher males, always issued their gunshot barks at passersby, foaming spittle spraying through the wire onto the sidewalk. As always, they followed him as he jogged past, running forward with their heads turned towards him. Their yard ended and he kept on down the hill, firing a glance at his watch.       Thirty feet later he heard the barking stop as the dogs forgot their interest and darted around the fence behind him, back and forth several times. They stopped suddenly at the corner of the yard. One, then the other, nosed through an opening in the wire where the stapling had come undone. Together they darted as if in pursuit of a squirrel or a rabbit. Continued...