Excerpt from Death By Trauma

The next day’s event was again at Bright Meadow Farm and designed for families.  There was to be a scavenger hunt along with sledding, bobbing for apples, a best snowman contest, and snowball fights.  It was from one to three in the afternoon before Victoria’s screening of Kiss Me Before I Die at seven in the evening.

Baby and I got there about 1:30 pm because I wanted to miss the best snowman contest.  Yawn.

I pulled my toboggan from my VW bus and proceeded to the hill designated for the sledding party.  I just wanted to use my sled one more time before I got too old.  This was going to be my sledding swan song, and I wanted to go out in style. Of course, I had to wait until Baby tinkled at every tree and greeted most of the other dogs at the event as well. 

There was a bonfire at the top of the hill with lots of chairs and hot apple cider was being served to the grown-ups as they watched their children sledding.  I turned a blind eye to those discreetly pulling out flasks to spike their drinks.  I knew several people sitting near the fire, so I sat, drank doctored cider, and visited a spell with them. 

The day was sunny, and the air was crisp.  Over-stimulated children ran about with their happy cries piercing the quiet of the countryside. There was every type of sled imaginable sliding down the snow-covered hill including cafeteria trays, old hub caps, and homemade cardboard slat contraptions.

Dogs joyfully chased after the sleds or hitched a ride on them.  One Shepherd knocked his young human companion off the sled during the ride down only to drag the sled back up the hill and slide down the hill again by himself—much to the chagrin of his young human companion.  He complained bitterly to his mother sitting next to me—the child—not the dog.  She comforted her offspring, wiped his runny nose, and gave him a cookie.  Comforted, the lad sat on his mother’s lap while watching their pet have the time of its life sledding.

I laughed seeing all this commotion.  It surprised me as I hadn’t laughed since I broke up with Hunter.  Maybe I was healing.  It was wonderful seeing such contentment—good-humored children, yappy excited dogs, jovial adults, and even cheerful teenagers having a splendid time enjoying a beautiful day. 

Finally, Baby came over and placed his head on my lap—drooling.  I always carry a discreet towel with me, so I wiped the strands of slobber from his face and then my pants.  As I was performing this deed, Baby noticed the child munching on his cookie.  Before I could grab his collar, Baby trotted over to the mother, giving her a pleading look.  To those who don’t know Baby, his begging can look menacing.  I mean the dog is the size of a small pony with a head so large, one could serve tea off it.  Of course, she was going to give Baby a cookie.  He was a two-hundred pound mastiff giving her the eye.  Before she could reach into her bag, something extraordinary happened—the child offered his half-eaten and saliva-moist cookie to my dog.  Apparently, my dog wasn’t the only animal who drooled.  Baby snatched the cookie careful not to engulf the child’s hand.  Understandably, the mother was annoyed as the child began to cry.

I jumped up apologizing profusely and pulled Baby away.  “I think it is time for us to slide down the hill, Baby.”  I pulled both my dog and sled away from the cluster of parents and adoring grandparents.  I placed my toboggan away from the main crowd of sledding enthusiasts.  I had no wish to be bumped by those who couldn’t control their sleds or to collide with a tree, so I took a spot away from the crowd with a minimum of trees on the way down.

Pushing Baby onto the sled and straightening his Santa hat, I scooted behind and locked my legs around him.  Using my hands, I inched the toboggan forward until gravity took hold of the sled, and we were soaring down the long, steep, snow-covered hill. 

Baby howled and I screamed—I don’t know whether it was due to fear or exhilaration.  The chilly wind rushed over our faces while two small terriers chased after us.  We finally came to a lackluster stop at the bottom of the hill with Baby jumping off the toboggan and chasing the barking terriers away.  I had to admit the terriers were irritating with their constant yipping.  The problem was I couldn’t get up without Baby.  I waited patiently for him to return with snow now shoved uncomfortably up my pants legs and inside my socks.  I rolled off the toboggan onto my knees.  Nope—not getting up that way.  Spying two teenage boys, I waved, hoping they could lift me, but they waved back and hiked back up the hill, leaving me stuck.  So I sat in the snow, wondering how I was going to get on my feet.  Obviously I hadn’t thought about the aftermath of my sled ride—getting into an upright position.  

Hearing a whimper, I felt Baby brush against me.  Thank goodness he had come back.  I managed to pull myself up using Baby as leverage.  Yep, that was my last sled ride. 

A towheaded kid, riding on a cardboard sled, stopped near me.  I called over to him.  “Hey young man, would you like this toboggan?  I’m done with it.”

His ten-year-old ruddy face lit up.  “For real?”

“Yeah, you can keep it.”

The kid started toward me until he noticed Baby and stopped in his tracks.

I said, “Don’t worry.  He won’t hurt you.”

“Is he a lion?”

“No.  He’s just a dog.  You can pet him.”

I held Baby by his collar and commanded him to sit. 

The young man tentatively came over and grabbed the rope of the toboggan while keeping an eye on Baby.  “Thanks for the sled.  It sure is neat.”

“Enjoy.  Maybe someday give it to your kids.”

The boy made a face as if he couldn’t imagine himself having any children.  He gave me one last nod before climbing up the hill. 

I watched him disappear, realizing I couldn’t follow him unless it was on all fours.  I knew there was a path nearby that meandered to the driveway and thus to the house.  That’s the way I would go as they were serving burgoo, a type of stew, on the front lawn.  Baby and I would partake of the stew, say hello to Haze and others, then go home.  Perfect.

Baby and I followed a faint trail back to Haze’s home.  It was the long way around but more level with only one slight incline.  I knew I could make it.  Our footfalls made crunching sounds on the virgin snow, as no one had trod the pathway since the large storm we had before Christmas.  Baby and I moved through a copse of Blue Spruce pine trees until we came to a lake where the pathway separated.  One fork went to the stables and the other led to the house. 

I stopped for a moment taking in the beautiful scenery.  Several Standardbreds were in the fields munching on hay rolls, trees and fences were sprinkled with snow dust, crows called in the distance, fog was rolling off the lake, and the sun caused the snow to sparkle.

Baby left my side and went over to the small dock on the lake, sniffing.

“Come on, Baby.  I’ve got to get this snow out of my boots.  My feet are turning to ice.”

Ignoring me, Baby barked, turning in circles.  Now English Mastiffs don’t usually bark unless they are upset. 

Curious, I moseyed over to the dock, being very careful as the wood was slippery.  There was a set of footprints that ended at the edge of the dock, but did not return off the dock.

That’s not what unnerved me though.  There was the sound of something bumping into the dock.  The sound of the knocking against the wood in the midst of the winter quiet was unsettling.  It filled me with dread.  What was it?

Reaching Baby, I again told him to sit.  I didn’t need Baby to inadvertently knock me into the lake with his powerful wagging tail.

Holding on to a post, I carefully leaned over the side of the dock, peering into the foggy water, half-expecting to see a dislodged branch or worse—someone’s unfortunate dog which had fallen into the lake and drowned.

I blinked several times before I gasped out loud as my brain did not comprehend what I was seeing.

Haze Corbyn was floating face down in the freezing lake!