The Pletcher boys were pretty much on their own. They had lost their mother to tuberculosis the summer before. Dennis would never forgive himself for choking on his tears as he tried desperately to tell her that he loved her one last time from the other side of an insurmountable wooden door. He feared she would not even know that it was he, mixed up in a quarantine haze as she was. After she passed away, their father used any spare money for a proper burial. Without farm hands, the boys had chores both before and after their lessons. This kept them all so busy that they never even seemed to sit down for a simple dinner with their father. The boys were allowed one day off per week if their father felt they had earned it, and although that day most often did not include their father, that day was to be cherished.
Dennis led Ethel the German Shepherd along, his pointer finger gently pulling up on her leather collar, as his brothers argued over which sport they would be playing when they reached the grass field that Sunday.
“I want to play baseball. We never get to play baseball,” Auldin complained, alternately kicking and dragging his feet in the dirt.
“We played baseball last week,” Weston said reasonably.
“And it’s football season anyway,” Earl shouted from behind the rest of them. Never having quite recovered from the polio, Earl still had to pull his right leg along as if it were still in a brace, but his wiry arms still had the strength to operate the largest plow on the farm.
It was Earl who had encouraged Dennis to discipline himself when it came to his hobbies. He had once told Dennis that if he wanted to be good at basketball, he would have to get up every morning to shoot one hundred baskets in the hoop over the barn. Since then, even if Dennis had to wake up at four o’clock before his chores, he would be up and practicing. Every few days Dennis would see Earl watching from the window with a hard, blazing look in his eyes. Dennis would remember this look in a flash when he visited the farm all those years later after Earl’s death, holding an old rusted hoop gingerly in his hands.
Auldin changed his whining tactic. “Why can’t I carry the gun?” Auldin was the only brother to stay behind in the Second World War. He was too young, with a father too wary to provide an opportunity to run off with a forged birth certificate. Dennis and Auldin lost touch after the war, like they all did, but it was Auldin Dennis saw in his son’s eyes whenever he grumpily stuck his thumb into his mouth.
“You’re carrying the sports supplies, which are much more important,” answered Weston.
Earl attempted to pick up his pace to catch up with Auldin. “You know as well as anyone that Weston’s the best shot in the country.” He was that, and more. It was Weston’s example that Dennis remembered as he took aim across a boat deck to keep his men in line, the only time he would actively fire in war despite his position. Like Dennis, Weston disliked violence and, while the most practiced shot in targets, refused to kill anything unless it was an act of mercy. Weston lived out his life at least as happily as Dennis did, after working whatever way he could in the war, with his wife Elda and tons of animals, though not on a farm. There was just too much pain with that lifestyle.
“Besides,” Earl continued, “you’re too little. And I bet you’d be too frightened to shoot an Indian anyway.”
Dennis had always thought Weston a patient person, but at this comment, Dennis saw that Weston had to try his best not to look agitated. “I’m not going to be shooting any Indians. They’ll never trade with Pop again. This gun is just for bears or mountain lions…”
“Or wolves!” exclaimed Auldin.
“There are no wolves in Wisconsin anymore, you idiot. Don’t you ever listen in school? Earl said.
Auldin and Earl bantered on, Weston trying to keep the peace, while Dennis listened bemusedly and Ethel trotted along, unbothered, beside him. Eventually, the boys reached the grassy field where they spent most of their Sundays and, after a bit more moaning from Auldin, decided to play two on two football. Weston took Auldin on as a team member and Earl conscripted Dennis. Ethel had laid down placidly and, one paw resting over the other, watched over the boys as they played. Although Weston and Auldin seemed to have the advantage as Earl couldn’t run, Dennis was the fastest of the lot and Earl’s throwing distance was only outmatched by his aim.
“Touchdown!” Earl shouted again, lifting his hands over his head as Dennis ran clear and away into the makeshift end zone marked by miscellaneous items from the makeshift sports bag. Weston clapped good-naturedly while Auldin, as ever, kicked the grass at his feet.
Dennis smiled and dropped the ball at his feet before hustling back to meet Earl. One his way back across the field, however, he noticed that Ethel was now standing, back arched and teeth bared, staring past Earl towards the outskirts of the clearing. He heard a low growl and knew instantly that something was wrong. He slowed to a stop and followed Ethel’s gaze. He sucked in a sharp breath when he saw it.
His brothers simultaneously whipped around to see what the trouble was and found themselves gaping at the white-grey wolf waiting about a hundred yards away, but nonetheless looking ready to pounce.
And Earl was by far the closest to it.
“Auldin?” Weston spoke in a measured voice. “Can you please bring me my gun? Slowly.”
Auldin, not arguing, for once, that he should be the one to shoot, cautiously picked up the shotgun, which had been laid haphazardly on the ground some few feet away, and handed it to his older brother.
Weston brought the gun up to his face in one swift motion, the butt pushing into his shoulder and his cheek nearly touching the wood near the trigger, almost as if he were an archer rather than a gunman. He squinted and adjusted his aim. Although Earl was dangerously close to the wolf, Weston had a clear shot. He fidgeted a bit with his stance, cocked the hammer. But Dennis saw the conflict in his eyes as they darted back and forth below a crinkled forehead.
“Go on, Weston. Shoot it!” Auldin’s voice sounded even higher than usual.
Dennis watched the beads of sweat fall from his brother’s face and realized before he did that he was not going to shoot anything. Weston slowly pulled the gun away from his face.
“No,” Dennis said softly, his attention back on the wolf, who picked up one paw, then the other as if preparing for a sprint.
Earl’s face was whiter than Dennis had seen it since their mother’s death and Dennis suddenly realized that he couldn’t take it anymore. He broke out in a run, disregarding the shouts of the brothers he left behind him, and tackled Earl to the ground, hoping to shield him with his body. Earl tried to cover the back of Dennis’s head with his hands, to shield his brother somehow, too, but Dennis, his ears pounding with adrenaline, managed to pin Earl’s hands to the ground as he spread his body over him.
He at least expected to hear a snarl before the end, but none came. Instead, Dennis heard the alarmed sound of Weston’s voice shouting “Ethel!”
Dennis lifted his head, making sure that Earl still lay safely on the ground, and watched as his dog lunged at the wolf. The wolf dodged Ethel, and then they began to circle one another, snarling and snapping as they did so. The wolf trusted forward to grab Ethel’s leg, but she stepped out of the way just in time. Dennis watched helplessly as his beloved pet, his helpful friend, battled the wolf on his behalf.
It seemed that no one dog had an advantage over the other. Soon Dennis was torn between hoping the fight would end quickly and wishing for his own sake as well as his dog’s that the brawl would go on. There was no way of moving Earl even while the wolf was distracted, for Dennis seemed to have injured Earl’s leg further when he knocked him down. And there was no way Dennis would leave Earl or Ethel out there on their own. Neither Weston nor Auldin had run for help; Weston kept lifting his gun then lowering it and Auldin stood transfixed. Dennis was relieved they remained. He thought it might be too big a risk to take the wolf’s attention away from Ethel by making sudden movements.
Dennis, feeling powerless, further attempted to flatten Earl to the grass and buried his own head into the ground at the crook of Earl’s neck, moving his arm to cover Earl’s face. No longer able to look, Dennis listened to the gasps of his brothers and the final yelps of a dog, and stiffened his shoulders in a resigned preparation. He felt four paws shaking the ground, coming closer and closer…
“Dennis, it’s all right,” Weston’s hands touched Dennis’s shoulders and Dennis jumped involuntarily. “It’s all right – it’s gone.”
Dennis lifted his head once again in disbelief and saw Ethel standing over the wolf, panting and wagging her tail, looking pleased for having done her duty.
Dennis jumped up as Earl groaned beneath him and ran over to Ethel, falling on his knees and petting her, scratching her behind the ears, even hugging her.
“What a good dog,” he said into her fur. “What a good, brave dog.”
Once Earl had been helped to his feet and positioned with his arm draped across Auldin’s shoulders, Weston made his way over to the wolf and examined it.
“Well,” he said, poking at the bites along the wolf’s neck, “We’re going to have to tell Pop.”
“What do you mean?” asked Dennis.
“If there are wolves in the area, that can mean nothing good for the cattle or the sheep. Besides, it might have had rabies or something.”
“Now hold on a second, we can’t tell Pop. He’ll shoot Ethel if he thinks the wolf had rabies.”
“Well it could have done, Den.”
“Come on, Ethel wouldn’t be acting like this if she had rabies. Besides, she saved our lives.”
“Dennis…” Earl said.
“No,” Dennis said. “We’re not telling Pop.”
“Dennis, how are we going to explain Earl’s leg?” Auldin asked, his knees buckling under Earl’s weight.
“We’ll tell him I tackled him, which is technically true. Come on, Weston, do you really want to watch Pop kill our dog?”
Weston looked at Dennis for a moment, trying to look firm. But then Dennis saw a shift in Weston’s eyes for the second time that day.
“All right,” Weston said. “But we’re going to have to get rid of the wolf.”
Earl had to be lowered back onto the ground again while Weston, Dennis, and Auldin carried the wolf across the field and back onto their father’s property. It was much too likely that Pop would come out into the field with the cows, see it, and ask his sons unanswerable questions. Or, he might forbid them from spending their days off in the clearing. Unsure where to hide the wolf on the property at first, Auldin jokingly pointed out a manure pile under which they could hide it. Desperate, Weston and Dennis quickly agreed.
They spent almost an hour moving the top of the manure pile, situating the wolf in the middle, and piling the manure back on top of it. They wandered back to where Earl sat, patiently waiting for them. “Whew, you smell terrible,” he quipped, in good humor despite the new pains in his leg.
Their father didn’t think much of Earl’s new injury or the smell, though Dennis thought he saw something in his father’s eyes that suggested he understood more than he let on. Pop merely suggested that it might be time for a collective bath. They were all getting a bit big to share the tub, but at the moment, they were simply happy not to have been found out.
A few weeks later, on a day the rest of the boys were needed at home to herd and milk the cows, Auldin came running home from the schoolhouse with news.
“There’s a twenty dollar reward for any adult wolf, dead or alive!”
“Are you sure about that Auldin?” Earl asked, shakily standing up from his stool behind a cow’s udders.
“I’m sure! There were posters all over the trees on the walk home, and I heard teacher talking to Kahl’s father about it.”
“Do you think that wolf’s still hidden in that pile, Den?” Earl asked.
“I don’t know…” Dennis said warily.
“You are not going to dig through that pile again,” Weston said.
“Why not?” asked Earl.
“I already feel bad about lying to Pop the first time – we can’t very well lie about where we got the twenty dollars.”
“I think,” said Dennis hesitantly, “that Pop won’t really care where we got the money if it helps to fix Earl’s leg.”
Earl and Auldin voiced their agreement as Weston looked hard at Dennis, not unlike the way he looked at him the day Esther killed the wolf. As guilty as Dennis felt about forcing his older brother to lie for him, he knew Weston felt even more guilt for his inability to protect his brothers that day, maybe as much guilt as Dennis felt for injuring Earl’s leg. This was the only way he could see to make things better.
“All right,” said Weston. “But I’m not coming with you.”
Weston did indeed stay behind to milk the rest of the cows while Auldin and Dennis ran to the manure pile, Earl limping along enthusiastically behind. The boys shovelled away the pile as quickly as they could. Auldin was motivated by the fact that he had never seen twenty dollars before, and Dennis repeatedly reminded himself that it was his fault Earl’s leg was worse, digging furiously into the pile.
Earl was the one whose shovel hit something hard, and they hurriedly used their shaking hands to wipe away the manure.
But the wolf’s body had all but rotted away.
This is based on a true story, told to me by my incredible dad, who was told it by his incredible dad, Dennis Benjamin Page. Happy birthday, Pop Pop! We miss you lots.
Anxious Adventures with Abs 