Then there were the guard dogs. Uncle Sandy started making money in town. Even as puppies these dogs weren’t interested in playing, would stare just over your shoulder, waiting for a chance. Impressive! people would say. Bigger than wolves, smarter than coyotes, Uncle Sandy would answer. Stories came in about this dog fighting a raccoon off a chicken, that dog crushing a snake in his jaws. For a time Uncle Sandy was an emperor. Then one night a man in a plaid coat laid his dog on the doorstep. Uncle Sandy recognized her from the white patch over her eye. She’s done for, the man said. The next night, two more dogs. The night after that, Uncle Sandy’s entire empire had returned. Back legs useless as fish tails. They dragged themselves toward him with their front legs, an army of half-deads. We watched one die of fright at the sound of a coyote yipping miles away. Uncle Sandy shot each one in the head, sometimes twice.

The cutie dogs came next. Uncle Sandy had a vision of all the old ladies in town doting on these white balls of fur like children. He’d make a fortune and a half. He couldn’t pronounce what they were so he made up a name: Snowball Esquires. All white save for their eyes, two pools of fudge. Uncle Sandy kept them in a picnic basket, stood outside the church in a blue suit. Come home, that basket would be empty. One Sunday the pastor pulled him aside, asked him why was he selling old ladies blind or deaf white-haired animals? Did he not see how that might trouble a soul? Uncle Sandy went for a visit. The old woman never heard the doorbell. The dog heard it but couldn’t see what was there. Through the window he watched the old woman rocking, the small dog barking at the wall until it gagged. Fudge eyes filmed with milk. Two doors down he heard a warbled voice calling and calling. The dog was at the mailbox, didn’t hear a thing. Uncle Sandy put all the Snowballs he had left in a basket, walked off toward the river.

Then it was like Uncle Sandy got desperate. We started making dogs big as horses, dogs with heads like they’d been chipped from a block. Get too close you could hear how something wasn’t right, their hearts beating like a clock dropped in water. Like they had a question but there wasn’t enough breath to ask it. One by one they folded down and died, right there on the wood floor, didn’t even bother to find a rug.