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Clyde Edgerton 
FAISON stepped over the car engine in his living room floor on his way to his bedroom to look out the back window for the dog that had been barking for two days--more like a yell than a bark. He couldn´t see the dog because of a row of bushes at the far end of his back yard. He headed for the kitchen, stepped over the car engine again, opened the refrigerator door, got an Old Milwaukee, fipzed the tab, took a swig. He knocked on the front screen door and then waited on the porch. A TV was on somewhere inside. He popped the side of the beer can in and out with his thumb. There was one window on each side of the front door. The window shades were pulled down--dirty gold colored. He waited. It was cold. He blew warm air into his fist, opened the screen door and knocked on a glass pane. The door came open on its own. The screen door rested on his back. He stuck his head in. TV noises came from in there in that first room on the left. Fishing gear--surf rods and two tackle boxes---was on the floor of a hall which ran the length of the house. He closed the door behind him, tried to see what make the reels were, knocked on the room door. Yeah? --I need to talk to somebody. Just a minute. The door opened. Short, stocky man, black hair. Yeah? he said. --I got a complaint. That dog out back´s about to drive me crazy. He´s been barking for-- Sorry, man. Ain´t my dog. The man had a scrawny mustache, clusters of black hairs. --Whose is he then? My brother´s, but he´s asleep. The man shifted his weight. He´ll be leaving in a week or so, and he´ll take the dog with him. So you don´t have nothing to worry about. --Well, you go wake him up, because something´s got to give here. That dog´s driving me crazy. Hey. The guy´s a Vietnam Vet. He´s got a alcohol problem. I can´t bother him right now. The man looked over his shoulder at the TV, then back. --Can´t bother-- You live around here? --Yeah. I live right out there. Well, he´s asleep now, and I can´t wake him up. He´s pretty nervous. --Look, man, either somebody shuts up the dog, or I shut up the dog. I don´t have to sit in my own house and be disturbed out the ass by some goddamned dog after I give a warning. This is a warning. Okay? I mean this has been going on two whole days and nights. It´s driving me crazy. Give me your phone number. I´ll tell him to call you. Faison gave him the number. The man wrote it down with a stubby pencil on a newspaper. --If I ain´t heard from him by five o´clock, I´ll figure nothing ain´t going to be done. Whatever. I´ll tell him. He´ll be up in a little bit. He´ll be up by five. Faison went in his own back door--with the dog yelping---got a beer out of the refrigerator and sat down at the kitchen table. The dog stopped. Then started up again. I go out and talk to this guy. He acts like I´m the one bothering him. He´s mouthing off at me. Now ain´t this something? This is the guy with the barking dog. And who´s mouthing off at who? There´s people like this all over the world. They don´t think about nothing but theirselves. They´re everywhere, and when you bring it to their attention, they go all to pieces. And a bigger problem is the people who let them get by with it. You got jerks all over the place that won´t say nothing to these kind of dickheads. They´d rather get run all over. They´d rather avoid a little trouble. They´re what´s wrong with this country. Faison got his twelve-gauge Remington automatic from the back corner of the closet in the bedroom, tossed it on the bed, found a box of shells, buck shot, in his top dresser drawer, got out seven, dropped them on the bed. --Hello. You the one wanted me to call you? --Yeah. Something about my dog? --Yeah, I complained. He´s been barking for two solid days and nights, and it´s driving me crazy. If you can´t shut him up, I´m going to have to do something. I think I can get him quiet. --I mean shut him up for good. You want to take him in the house, fine. It ain´t my problem. But if I have to, I´ll-- Where you located? --Come out your back door and look to the left. That´s my house. I´ll meet you at the bushes. When they met, Faison said, You´re the same guy! Nah. He´s my twin brother. --You kidding. Naw I ain´t kidding. Why would I kid you? Look, the dog was just barking, that´s all. --I know he was just barking. That´s the problem. That´s what he´s been doing for two days and nights. He´s just a puppy. Just needs a few days to settle down. He needs a little time to settle in to a new place and then I think he´ll be okay. --Listen, I just want the dog quiet. Tonight. I feel like I ought to warn you. That´s all. Okay? The dog started yelping. Faison yelled, Shut up. The dog stopped barking. The guy looked at Faison, at the dog. Good boy, he said to the dog. There was a break in the bushes between Faison and the other man--a path. Faison started through. Let me see the dog, he said. I know something about dogs. The dog was in a double garage. A blue motorboat on a boat trailer--the trailer hitch propped up on a little rusty refrigerator--was in one side, in the sun. The other side was shaded and empty. The dog stood in the shaded part in back, not in a cage, breathing vapor, with a chain from his collar through a hole in the back wall. He wagged his tail, almost pranced on his front paws. Faison walked over, put out his fist. The dog licked it. --It´s a doberman, or mostly doberman, said Faison, squatting down. Another dog, a pointer--liver and white--stood up from behind a cardboard box behind the boat. He stretched and shook himself all over. --Whose pointer? He´s right pretty. Jimmy´s. I brought them both, gave Jimmy the bird dog. He is pretty. --Looks like a bird dog I used to have. I was going to give my boy a bird dog. Why didn´t you? --He died. I had a pit bull die on me about three years ago. But he´d been eat up pretty good before I bought him. --My boy died, got killed. Oh, I´m sorry. What happened? --Car wreck. Damn. --You hunt? Used to. --Bird hunt? Oh yeah. --Around here? Yeah. Jimmy goes all the time. We´re going bird hunting in the morning. Try out that dog. He´s trained. You want to go? --Well. Yeah, I´ll go bird hunting. I´ll go bird hunting. The dog barked again. --But we got to do something about this barking dog. We´ll work something out. We´ll bring him inside if he keeps it up. Can you be out here about 6:30 in the morning? --Both of you going? Yeah. --I´ll be here. I love to watch a good dog work. I hope he´s a good dog. He´s a good dog. He better be. In the woods next day, Faison and the twins were eating canned sardines and beans off paper plates and drinking cans of Red White and Blue beer from a cooler. They sat on the tailgate of Jimmy´s new white Ford pickup truck. --Good looking dog, said Faison. He hunts pretty, too. My uncle used to train bird dogs. He was good at it. Mean. But good. He´d kill them or break them. He´d shoot a dog. You know, with bird shot. Wouldn´t kill him, but it would get his attention. They loved him. Who? said Timmy. --The bird dogs. Loved Uncle Shade. Oh. Sounds like the trauma method. The born again method. Realignment of learning molecules. Talking about training, said Jimmy, spooning beans, I sent my application in on the 24th of April, nineteen hundred and seventy-seven--to the community college, you know--and I got me a letter of acceptance on the 26th of April, nineteen hundred and seventy-seven, and that ain´t no lie. They just took me like that. Jimmy snapped his fingers. A one day turnaround. One day. And Timmy didn´t hear shit. Did you Timmy? Didn´t hear shit. My application was exactly the same except for the T and J. That´s when we both started going to school with one name. One of us would go on odd days, the other on even days. Hell, we figured we´d both be using the diploma. We got to date two women that way--I mean each one of us was dating two women that way---that was before the tattoos--and none of them knew the difference. That was the fun part. We still switch. We switch names every day. Except after the end of a thirty-one day month. In other words, on even days I´m always Jimmy. They ate without talking for a while, then Timmy looked straight at Faison. If somebody tells me I can´t feed my family because of a goddamned turtle... Faison plastic-forked a sardine, shook off the oil, started it to his mouth. It broke in two. He glanced down at the half in his plate, mouthed the other half, said, --What do you mean? Timmy glanced at the fallen half, then looked back into Faison´s eyes. I´m talking about a goddamned turtle. I got friends in Morehead City, their family´s going hungry because some goddamned sea turtle is a so-endangered species. Their livelihood is fucking endangered--my friends I mean. That´s what´s endangered. You see what I mean? --Yeah. Faison spooned beans. What I want to know is how the hell they going to count all them goddamned sea turtles. I mean there´s a lot of ocean out there. And what you see is only the top. Know what I mean? What you see is only the top. And let´s say they all do die. So what? There´s plenty of pictures of them. And films of them. Why should a man´s livelihood be endangered because a goddamn sea turtle is endangered? That look like to me it´s putting the horse before the cart. We´re talking a human being and his family´s livelihood. I mean first things first. Really. And what we´re talking about anyway is the whole goddamned species, not just that one turtle. See what I mean? --Oh yeah, I see what you mean. I agree a hundred percent. Politicians. Faison chews, takes a swallow of beer. I mean I can see regulations, though. You got to have regulations in this day and age, but it does get ridiculous when you start messing with a man´s livelihood. That means you´re messing with his family. I mean he might have kids and all that. That´s right, said Timmy. God expects you to take care of your own. If there is a God. His jaw popped each time he chewed. I tell you I got it figured out. Let´s say there is a God. Okay, now look at Mother Nature. You got animals killing other animals all over the place. You think God expects man to be different? Why, hell no. Now, on the other hand, let´s say there ain´t no God. Okay? Well, in that case it don´t make no difference about nothing. You can kill whatever you want to. See, I´ve spent some time thinking about this. --I can tell. Either way it works. --Yeah, I see what you mean. Jimmy, the other twin, stood at the front of the truck, pissing. He waved his penis in circles and watched the yellow stream break up into big, individual drops. And I tell you something else, said Timmy, when you start pointing your finger you better know what you´re doing. You better have all the facts. I don´t care if you´re a politician or not. I give a rat´s ass. I tell you what I do. Timmy leaned forward, looking into Faison´s eyes. Faison was looking down, scraping his paper plate, scraping up some paper. I tell you what I do, said Timmy, waiting for Faison to look at him. What I do is, I treat people the way I want to be treated. What I can´t for the life of me understand is why people don´t treat me the same way. Can you answer me that one? --No, I can´t. I sure can´t. Faison turned up his beer can, then tossed it. It´s a political world, said Timmy. That´s what I say. It´s a political world. And I think it´s a shame. --It is a shame. Like you coming out to my house, talking about a problem you had. That´s the way I treated you. And I appreciate it. --Yeah, well, I appreciate you seeing what I´m all about too. Let´s work that dog a little bit. Shoot some birds.
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