Saving the Animals
"All I know is that this world is really tough on quadrupeds, man."
My wife, son and I were examining a house for sale with our real estate agent, Sandra. It was a fairly ordinary seventies-style suburban tract home and we were not very impressed. I noticed that the adjacent property looked abandoned. I asked Sandra if she minded that I take a look at it. She said "Go ahead, but it's pretty run down and I don't think you'll like it." I told them I'd be right back and I left to go have a look at the abandoned house.
The home looked to have been built in the 1920s. I wandered through it and was amazed at the juxtaposition of many rooms and corridors, the ornate mouldings, the funhouse-style acute angles of trapezoidal rooms pierced by too-narrow doorways. It was like a maze in there. The whole place was in a bad state of disrepair too. Floorboards were exposed and rough, windows were distorted by the warping of their aged glass. Caulking was chalky and cracking from seams, paint was scratched, wallpaper torn and hanging in strips. The rooms themselves seemed marvelously contrived so that every turn or passageway would bring another surprise - a hallway would open into a small, oddly-angled room with a large picture window and two more rooms lurching off its other sides. I thought: "What a marvelous house - it's a shame it is in such a bad state. It would never be worth the cost of renovating it. I wouldn't mind living here - it's so unique, very surprising yet also oddly cozy, lke the ghost of an old family member." The place was eerie, but I chalked that up to its abandoned, broken-down state.
I decided to examine the back yard. After some difficulty I found the way outside. It too was enchanting though decrepit. Rough stone patios were sprinkled across the large lot and connected by winding pathways, obscuredby the dense overgrowth. Wandering through it, I could never be sure where would end up. A path might take me to a small, weed-choked pond, or a tiny clearing with an ivy-covered statue in its center. Stranger still, there were wooden posts set about the yard which supported a maze of interconnected balconies overhead. Upon these posts, aged wooden catwalks spanned the perimeter of the yard, leading to rooms that had been constructed atop platforms. I felt as if I had landed in some suburban Southern California portal to MYST.
I found a narrow stairway and ascended the creaky steps to one of these platforms. From its edge a catwalk led off into the treetops, fifteen feet off the ground. I followed the bridge across until I came to another platform, upon which two makeshift wooden rooms were perched.
At this time, I became aware of an oily, fatty, smoky scent, as if something were cooking. It was not pleasant. I approached the open doorway of one of the rooms and peered inside. It was barely a room, more like a shack or a large tree-fort. The walls were made of widely-spaced, broken slats and much of the ceiling was gone. Against the closest wall stood an enormous grill of some kind, rather like a big pit barbecue with a flat metal top. It was the size of a twin bed and about four feet high. Upon its surface were laid the bodies of several animals. Two large creatures that looked like they might be turkeys, another pair that might be antelopes of some kind. The animals were whole and unskinned. They looked as if they had been thrown, live, upon this enormous grill. Their bodies sizzled in fat upon the flat metal surface. The smell of charred flesh was atrocious. I swooned as it nearly overtook me.
I stood dizzily aghast, wondering why someone would be cooking in this manner, when I became aware of some movement in the shadows of the room next door. I turned and looked inside its open doorway. This room was darker than the other, having been sealed all around with tar paper. Wooden beams ran along the ceiling and chains dangled from the beams. Suspended from the chains were many animals, all alive, all bound about their forepaws by the chains. There were dogs, buffalo, beavers, many kinds of animals. Bound at their forelimbs, they were held upright on their hind legs by the taut chains, which bit the flesh at their wrists. They were all looking at me in this pitiable state. The closest beast was my old dog, Goldie. Her legs stretched over her head, she eyed me imploringly as if she wished to be either set free or killed quickly.
I turned and ran back to the house. Back to the first house where my family and Sandra were. When I arrived, I did not find them immediately, but stumbled upon one of the homes tenants. He sat sprawled in a low chair in a small room filled with papers, books, and cases crammed with more papers. Large shelves and file cabinets made the space impossible to enter. High over his head, atop a gray steel cabinet, was a clean and shiny metal cage with a young miniature buffalo inside of it. The man had wild, curly hair and dark soulful eyes. I blurted at him: "Hey - there's something terrible happening to animals in the house next door!"
He looked upward at me with sympathy and nodded. "I know, man. It's really hard for quadrupeds these days." He paused, then looked up at the buffalo in the cage over his head. "But not for me and Sarah. Eh, Sarah?" He stood and unlocked the cage. The buffalo came down (somehow) and joined him on the floor. The buffalo spoke in a low, simplistic voice "Sarah love John. John Love Sarah..." The man (John) stoked the buffalo affectionately as it nuzzled at his side. I flapped my hands and stammered at him in frustration.
"But, but, but... Cats are quadrupeds, and there weren't any cats next door!"
He shook his head. "Look, I don't know about the cats, okay? All I know is that this world is really tough on quadrupeds, man."
I left him petting his dwarf buffalo and searched elsewhere for someone who could help me, help the animals. At last I found Sandra. I told her about the animals being tortured next door. She sighed and shrugged at me in a reproachful way. "I said you wouldn't like it very much over there. Its a weird place, and its pretty run down. I don't think you want to get involved with what's going on over there. We are just looking at houses today."
I pleaded wildly with her for help. "But the animals are being cooked alive! We've got to stop this!" Sandra's tone became more matter of fact. "Look, it's not against the law for somebody to cook animals. We have houses to look at and we have to go."
I was amazed that nobody seemed to want to help. I stood there in disbelief, not knowing where to turn. Suddenly the door banged opened as another party entered. It was a troop of girl scouts. Not ordinary girl scouts - they were the girl scout police! They were all about thirteen years old. They wore blue uniforms with kerchiefs and badges and sashes and they all had their hair neatly arranged in French braids or pig tails. The leader was a serious and capable-looking little girl with blond hair and a firmly-set overbite. I knew she would help. "Miss, there are animals being tortured and cooked alive in the adjacent property." I pointed the direction to the next house.
She nodded quickly in affirmation. "Animal torture. We'll handle this, sir." She turned and addressed the other scouts in short staccato bursts.
"Troop 34, Fan out! Red Squad - take the back stairway! Yellow team - you'll run point! Meet at the front entrance - Rendezvous at thirteen hundred! Okay, let's move, move, move!"
The girl scout police sprang into action, quickly and efficiently
filtering out of the house, toward the abandoned property. As I watched them go in a flurry of blue bravery, I knew that I had done a good deed in alerting them, and I felt proud for the brave girls that were going to save the animals.
The home looked to have been built in the 1920s. I wandered through it and was amazed at the juxtaposition of many rooms and corridors, the ornate mouldings, the funhouse-style acute angles of trapezoidal rooms pierced by too-narrow doorways. It was like a maze in there. The whole place was in a bad state of disrepair too. Floorboards were exposed and rough, windows were distorted by the warping of their aged glass. Caulking was chalky and cracking from seams, paint was scratched, wallpaper torn and hanging in strips. The rooms themselves seemed marvelously contrived so that every turn or passageway would bring another surprise - a hallway would open into a small, oddly-angled room with a large picture window and two more rooms lurching off its other sides. I thought: "What a marvelous house - it's a shame it is in such a bad state. It would never be worth the cost of renovating it. I wouldn't mind living here - it's so unique, very surprising yet also oddly cozy, lke the ghost of an old family member." The place was eerie, but I chalked that up to its abandoned, broken-down state.
I decided to examine the back yard. After some difficulty I found the way outside. It too was enchanting though decrepit. Rough stone patios were sprinkled across the large lot and connected by winding pathways, obscuredby the dense overgrowth. Wandering through it, I could never be sure where would end up. A path might take me to a small, weed-choked pond, or a tiny clearing with an ivy-covered statue in its center. Stranger still, there were wooden posts set about the yard which supported a maze of interconnected balconies overhead. Upon these posts, aged wooden catwalks spanned the perimeter of the yard, leading to rooms that had been constructed atop platforms. I felt as if I had landed in some suburban Southern California portal to MYST.
I found a narrow stairway and ascended the creaky steps to one of these platforms. From its edge a catwalk led off into the treetops, fifteen feet off the ground. I followed the bridge across until I came to another platform, upon which two makeshift wooden rooms were perched.
At this time, I became aware of an oily, fatty, smoky scent, as if something were cooking. It was not pleasant. I approached the open doorway of one of the rooms and peered inside. It was barely a room, more like a shack or a large tree-fort. The walls were made of widely-spaced, broken slats and much of the ceiling was gone. Against the closest wall stood an enormous grill of some kind, rather like a big pit barbecue with a flat metal top. It was the size of a twin bed and about four feet high. Upon its surface were laid the bodies of several animals. Two large creatures that looked like they might be turkeys, another pair that might be antelopes of some kind. The animals were whole and unskinned. They looked as if they had been thrown, live, upon this enormous grill. Their bodies sizzled in fat upon the flat metal surface. The smell of charred flesh was atrocious. I swooned as it nearly overtook me.
I stood dizzily aghast, wondering why someone would be cooking in this manner, when I became aware of some movement in the shadows of the room next door. I turned and looked inside its open doorway. This room was darker than the other, having been sealed all around with tar paper. Wooden beams ran along the ceiling and chains dangled from the beams. Suspended from the chains were many animals, all alive, all bound about their forepaws by the chains. There were dogs, buffalo, beavers, many kinds of animals. Bound at their forelimbs, they were held upright on their hind legs by the taut chains, which bit the flesh at their wrists. They were all looking at me in this pitiable state. The closest beast was my old dog, Goldie. Her legs stretched over her head, she eyed me imploringly as if she wished to be either set free or killed quickly.
I turned and ran back to the house. Back to the first house where my family and Sandra were. When I arrived, I did not find them immediately, but stumbled upon one of the homes tenants. He sat sprawled in a low chair in a small room filled with papers, books, and cases crammed with more papers. Large shelves and file cabinets made the space impossible to enter. High over his head, atop a gray steel cabinet, was a clean and shiny metal cage with a young miniature buffalo inside of it. The man had wild, curly hair and dark soulful eyes. I blurted at him: "Hey - there's something terrible happening to animals in the house next door!"
He looked upward at me with sympathy and nodded. "I know, man. It's really hard for quadrupeds these days." He paused, then looked up at the buffalo in the cage over his head. "But not for me and Sarah. Eh, Sarah?" He stood and unlocked the cage. The buffalo came down (somehow) and joined him on the floor. The buffalo spoke in a low, simplistic voice "Sarah love John. John Love Sarah..." The man (John) stoked the buffalo affectionately as it nuzzled at his side. I flapped my hands and stammered at him in frustration.
"But, but, but... Cats are quadrupeds, and there weren't any cats next door!"
He shook his head. "Look, I don't know about the cats, okay? All I know is that this world is really tough on quadrupeds, man."
I left him petting his dwarf buffalo and searched elsewhere for someone who could help me, help the animals. At last I found Sandra. I told her about the animals being tortured next door. She sighed and shrugged at me in a reproachful way. "I said you wouldn't like it very much over there. Its a weird place, and its pretty run down. I don't think you want to get involved with what's going on over there. We are just looking at houses today."
I pleaded wildly with her for help. "But the animals are being cooked alive! We've got to stop this!" Sandra's tone became more matter of fact. "Look, it's not against the law for somebody to cook animals. We have houses to look at and we have to go."
I was amazed that nobody seemed to want to help. I stood there in disbelief, not knowing where to turn. Suddenly the door banged opened as another party entered. It was a troop of girl scouts. Not ordinary girl scouts - they were the girl scout police! They were all about thirteen years old. They wore blue uniforms with kerchiefs and badges and sashes and they all had their hair neatly arranged in French braids or pig tails. The leader was a serious and capable-looking little girl with blond hair and a firmly-set overbite. I knew she would help. "Miss, there are animals being tortured and cooked alive in the adjacent property." I pointed the direction to the next house.
She nodded quickly in affirmation. "Animal torture. We'll handle this, sir." She turned and addressed the other scouts in short staccato bursts.
"Troop 34, Fan out! Red Squad - take the back stairway! Yellow team - you'll run point! Meet at the front entrance - Rendezvous at thirteen hundred! Okay, let's move, move, move!"
The girl scout police sprang into action, quickly and efficiently
filtering out of the house, toward the abandoned property. As I watched them go in a flurry of blue bravery, I knew that I had done a good deed in alerting them, and I felt proud for the brave girls that were going to save the animals.