March/April 2008

Nobody knew why we kept him. To tell the truth, I didn’t exactly know, either. We named him Badger for the brown-gold stripe that ran down his muzzle, and later on, we would say that it fit his personality too. He wasn’t exactly an aggressive dog. He was, however, a jumpy, biting, rebellious dog. But he was beautiful and cute, and we loved him. Mom once commented, “It’s a good thing he’s so adorable…” She’d always trail off, whether to add emphasis or to search for words, I don’t know. Badger was a male version of Miss Congeniality and probably the most well-loved mutt among the people at the puppy training class, too, for Badger was Prince Charming in fur. He was always happy around new people, always wagging his tail, always squirming for attention. That personality was his downfall. Sure, he was cute. My younger sister Sierra was always shrieking, “Isn’t he adorable?!!” The youngest, Clarabelle, would always chime in, “I know; he’s the cutest.” I, however, demanded discipline and respect. They demanded cuteness. He was good at that. Good, I mean, at looking cute with pillows in mouth, Kleenexes shredded all around him, and towels slobbered upon. Of course, everywhere Badger went, mischief was involved At first, we thought it was just puppy energy But as he grew into a big, strong, naughty golden retriever, we quickly changed our thinking. Wherever Badger roamed, trouble was to follow. Anyone who had to live with Badger knew that… *          *          * I clamped the hand brake back, and wiped a hand across my brow. It was late March, but the snow was all melted away, the temperature in the high eighties, and the river unfrozen. As I rested on my bike, I gazed at the crystal-blue water through the thick sumacs. Thin layers of ice still covered some of the Wolf River, but most of it was thawed. Ducks, geese, and sea gulls rested on the remaining ice, making a loud racket that was a mixture of honks, croaks, and shrieks sounding like women screaming. “Amazing,” I breathed. I had lived in Wisconsin for several years, but I was always dazzled by the river in springtime. I got a good view, too. My house was situated about fifty feet from Stumpy Bay’s bank, and the bank was surrounded by sumac trees and long, itchy grass. Stumpy Bay was where we got our water supply (filtered, of course), but it was off-limits for swimming. Stumpy Bay was named for the deadheads, algae, quicksand, muskies, and snapping turtles that lurked in the murky water. In the spring, it was clear and blue, like the rest of the river, but in the summer, it was covered in a film of green algae, which looked disgusting. It also smelled horrible, especially on muggy days. “Come on, Lu!” Sierra was calling, speeding down the gravel driveway with Badger at her wheels. “Beat you to the road!” “Just try!” I shouted back, digging my feet into the pedals. I easily caught up with Sierra, and we both nearly collided with Clarabelle and Badger, who were coming back. Sierra and I turned around carefully and then raced back, laughing lightheartedly. Badger had dropped back to my spokes, for he was becoming winded from the exercise. Of course, everywhere Badger went, mischief was involved. That’s why my skirt was muddied by Badger’s dirty lips and my leg had a scratch from some stray teeth. “Git, dog!” I yelled, thoroughly sick of having to discipline this unintelligent mutt. Badger looked at me daringly with his hazel-brown eyes. He moved closer again, and I was tempted to run straight into him and teach him a lesson, but refrained. A bite on my leg was the reward for my mercy. “Badger!” I braked so suddenly that I nearly flipped off. I threw my bike down and lunged toward the puppy, whose tail was wagging in merriment. “No, don’t give me that ‘I don’t care’ look!” I hissed. Badger danced on his legs, eyes twinkling. My anger boiled even more at his nonchalant attitude. “Do you want to go up? Do you want a spanking? Do I have to drag you to your kennel?” Badger wasn’t the least bit subdued, and immediately turned around and ran off to Sierra and Clarabelle, who were slurping down Gatorade. Tears stung my eyes as I picked up my bike and slung my helmet onto the handle. Why care? I thought. He doesn’t. I pour my life into him, trying to make him happy, and all he does is attack me. Why? Why does he prefer Sierra over me, when I am the one who regulates what he does and does not do? I was jealous, hot, and upset. I loved Badger; where was the love I deserved? I had read story after story about how dogs were the most loyal friends a girl could have, but where did Badger fit into this category? I had had so many high hopes of him becoming a therapy dog, or an agility competitor, but he couldn’t even sit for two seconds. I walked my bike back up the driveway, Sierra and Clarabelle both asking what was wrong. I ignored them—and Badger—and parked my bike in the garage sullenly. If he hates me, I decided, then I will hate him too. I glanced at Badger one more time, then turned and left him, slipping into the house and slamming the door shut. I stomped up to my room and threw myself onto my bed, glaring at the design on my pillowcase. I looked up above my bed where a framed photograph of Badger and me hung. Daddy had snapped it when Badger first came home; when he was arm-sized, cuddly soft, and oh-so-sweet. I was smiling—my cheek buried into the top of his fuzzy, honey-colored head, my left arm wrapped around his chubby chest, the other supporting his bottom. His eyes were squinted, nothing like the expressive eyes