Karma

"I hope this isn't true, but people are talking how you shot my dog," I confronted Brad who had pulled into my dirt driveway with Delmar, his co-worker, riding in the passenger seat.

"Well, I won't lie," he nervously replied while looking everywhere but at me. "Your dog was running our cattle and I did shoot him...and...um...Bob told me to," Brad claimed. "He didn't suffer. It was a clean shot," he added.

With that, they drove off with my mind reeling with the news. Hugo, my red heeler, had been missing for a few weeks and I knew, but would not accept, something tragic had happened. He was not only my best friend, but also my lone roommate in the ranch house. He was lean, athletic and a savvy cow dog who enjoyed grabbing a nose if someone turned to challenge him while driving the herd. With a loud beller, the offender would spin around to join everyone and Hugo would reinforce their direction by dropping off their nose and biting their heels to get them to push up into the group. He only worked when told.  It was calving season with expecting mommas and newborns in our front yard and his disappearance had me concerned.

Brad lived over the nearby adobe hillsides and I knew him to be one of those dipshits who sickly enjoyed shooting and killing things...for any reason...just to see if he could. My gut feeling was he killed Hugo, but I had no proof. Armed with only a deep suspicion, when he and Del rolled into my driveway to chat over irrigation water, it was the ideal opportunity I had asked for to confront him.

After their departure, my heart sunk as I had closure, but a dark cloud settled in my mind. Later the same evening, a knock was heard at the old wooden front door that echoed throughout the ranch house. I peeked out the window and recognized the truck. Bob, the cow boss on the neighbor's ranch, was at the door and rage began to burn through the dark cloud as I remembered Brad claiming, "Bob told me to..."

I jerked the door open, ready to administer some justice for Hugo, as Bob threw his hands up.

"Hold on! Hold on! I didn't tell Brad to shoot your dog!  Del just told me what had happened and I wanted you to hear it from my mouth," Bob quickly blurted.  "I didn't tell him to shoot your dog," Bob repeated.

"Well then, that makes Brad a liar," I responded where Bob promised that he would address it himself.

Not long after Bob left, Del pulled into the yard. I always liked Del and he walked up with a grin deeply buried under his big gray beard.

"You sucked Brad right in, dint you?  You got him to admit to it...that was good!" Del chortled.

"I only had a gut feeling," I mumbled to Del in a monotone voice. "But, I really want to bury my dog."

"Hmmm," he groaned while rubbing his beard.  "I'll see what I can do."

After Del left, I stewed and stewed to the point I got in the ranch truck and headed to Brad's house, fueled with vengence. A huge rooster tail of dust kicked behind the truck while I was romping it down the dirt roads when a voice spoke to me to not take matter into my own hands. I slid around corners and kept the dust cloud swirling behind the truck as the voice got louder...and louder...and louder. Reluctantly, I caved in and returned home still seething with anger.

Several weeks later, Del pulled into the yard with a shallow wooden box. I flipped the lid and Hugo was inside, having died with a snarl cemented on his face; gut shot with a brief battle trying to fight the unseen enemy. And Brad said it was a clean kill...what a liar.

"Thanks, Del." I offered, knowing exactly where I would lay Hugo to rest up along the ridgeline.

"Have you heard the latest?" he curiously asked. "Brad was changing a tire on a split rim where it blew apart.  When it shot up, it nearly cut his right hand off. Doctors tried to reattach it, but it didn't take so they removed it."

"Guess it'll be a long time before he shoots someone else's dog," I flatly replied.

Karma!