So there I stood, angel food cake in hand, frozen with shock. How had this come to pass? What evil had visited that I should be standing in the garage, clad in fuzzy slippers and jammies, surveying a wall of putrid flesh? Even as I paused there was ooze seeping across the floor, threatening aforementioned slippers. “The cake, I must save the cake”, flashed through my scattered thoughts, and I fled.
The disaster had slipped in unannounced, possibly as many as three days prior. Perhaps a circuit breaker, or a power outage had precipitated the event. Whatever the cause, I now had a freezer fully defrosted, while still half full. This is no ordinary freezer. It is big enough to hold a cow, I know because I used to put one inside every year. Cut up of course, but nine hundred pounds of meat is no laughing matter. The freezer had come from Lorraine, who felt I needed it to make my life simpler. “Buy in bulk,” she advised, “You will save money.” This has not always proven to be the truth.

You can certainly buy in bulk and save money. The problem is you then have enough food to feed a small army, and the army never materializes. At the time of the gift I had two children ages 4 and 6 and a man who could subsist for years on barley and rice. The freezer was the largest room in the house. When it kicked on the lights dimmed. Lorraine had already owned it for at least 10 years.
Due to its gift status the freezer accompanied us when we moved, and when we moved again, and even the final move into the Conway house. Each move required parts of the house being remodeled, off times by force. The door of the freezer had to be removed and carried separately. The freezer itself, being the size of a boxcar, required many strong bodies to lift and carry. Once in a new place the door needed to be re-hung and the whole beast had to be leveled carefully or the door would sag. It has a lock, and strategic Velcro to assist the door. Despite all this, and a new gasket, the freezer door continues to suffer from ennui, and ice always forms on the top shelf.
Every year the freezer received its bounty of cattle, and I displayed a photograph on the door so everyone would remember whom we were eating. (My children are still scarred by this.) We also packed the freezer with tomatoes, berries, chicken stock, and assorted goodies. This freezer worked for a living. And well it should, being so large and all.
Three years ago we moved to the Conway house. It was a group venture; friends of all types came to help. Bill, Tim, Dave and Mark came from work and Deb and Rick came all the way out from Russell. It was an unwieldy group. Tim and Bill were not speaking; I was barely speaking to Tim. Mark and his wife were having issues; Dave was desperately trying to be soothing with the ultimate result of making everyone mad. Deb and Rick were happily oblivious. The day went as well as could be expected. The freezer took its toll, ripping a chunk of wall out as a souvenir. The last boxes were filled in that panicked manner of people moving. I am still opening boxes to find things like a lost yard of fabric, a Dutch oven, a tofu cookbook, a Chinese scroll, and a box of laundry detergent. The other boxes that I so carefully labeled turned out to be wrong, somehow I had become confused, and dishware was clothes, books were auto parts, it was a fiasco.
Finally we were packed into the vehicles, freezer and all. Suddenly I realized that I had not taken into account my dogs. Each vehicle was filled to the maximum, and there was no room left for pit bulls. We went to work again and squeezed a space for Medic in Bill’s truck, Clarice went with Dave, and Kinky sat on Jeanna’s lap. Needless to say Jeanna’s face was very clean by the time we reached Conway.
We arrived and tried to figure out how to park all the vehicles in the washed out driveway. There were more holes and ruts than driveway. That done we stood around for about thirty seconds before we realized that it was about to pour. That precipitated the most frantic unpacking this land has ever seen. In less than fifteen minutes everything was off the open truck beds and into the house. Even the freezer had found a new home in the back of the garage. It looked royal sitting up on a concrete slab. We all had a round of beer and watched the rain pour off the roof.
Shortly after moving in I was contacted by American Frozen Foods. Intrigued, I allowed them entry. This was an error. There is a Bedouin folk tale about the camel; if you let the camel get its nose under the tent wall soon you will have the entire camel within the tent. The camel, in the guise of frozen food, was soon occupying most of the freezer. Most of the time I was pleased with the service and the products. They even came out and gave the little beauty a tune-up. I simply did not have enough time to shop, and this service solved some of that problem.
Over time the frozen food people became a terrible annoyance. They were forever trying to sell me more things, special meals, a new freezer, a knife set, it was very annoying. Despite my frequent assurances that all I wanted was the food, they remained relentless. There were also hidden costs that were too expensive to bear. The final straw was that the meat, which in the beginning had been very high quality, seemed to be of lesser quality. Each order saw a subsequent drop in flavor and texture. Having raised my own beef I cannot settle for inferior cuts. That year I severed my ties with the frozen food folks.
Over the last few months we had been trying to finish up the last of the AFF food. It was difficult, because JP loves to shop, and cannot resist a sale. If it is buy one get two free he will buy two and get four free. In short order he filled the freezer with new meat. This made it even more difficult to eat what remained.
The fateful morning in question dawned hot and sticky. I had gotten up early to manage the dogs, the frosting, and my schoolwork. The dogs were fractious as they often are, barking constantly. This morning they had a particularly hysterical edge, erupting in barking frenzies. This makes us all grumpy, even the dogs. Kinky is in charge of barking, and if everyone else is barking it detracts from her work. This causes her to charge at the other dogs and yell in their faces. Occasionally fights occur, brief and vicious swirling growling spats. All the noise makes JP yell and stomp, and spray the dogs with the water gun. That deters them just long enough for him to get back into the house and then they are back to work.
Several years ago I purchased a barking collar for Kinky. She is a pathological barker, having spent several months in a kennel as a pup while I was trying not to die of Legionnaires’ disease. She can bark herself hoarse, and is intractable. The barking collar will not actually stop her, she will bark and scream, bark and scream. This she only does if the barking is extremely important. Kinky knows that if she really has to bark that pain does not matter. She will also test the collar when it is put on, barking softly to see if the collar is working properly.
We recently acquired a second collar for Jane, who has her own problems with barking. Unlike Kink, she has no job, no real place in the pack, and I believe this is a source of frustration. She is always trying to make a point with Clarice, trying to stand over her, looking imposing. The other dogs simply ignore her efforts to be important, which is a terrible slight. (It is interesting to note here that Clarice taught me this, when someone is trying to bully you, ignoring them is the strongest weapon. By not acknowledging the threat it swiftly belittles the bully. Clarice simply looks through Jane, and Jane has to walk away.) Because Jane has a lot of time to think and no particular role, she chases her tail and barks at the satellite dish. She will stand on the deck, front paws on the railing, and bark at the dish for ten minutes. Then she will insanely twirl after her tail, often pinning it against the ground. It taunts her then, twitching, but she cannot reach because she is so thick and muscle bound. There will be a sudden shift in gears and she is back at the dish.
It is important to note that Jane is not stupid; in fact she can solve complicated issues like turning on faucets. She understands that doorknobs need to be turned to work properly, and will work assiduously to open doors. She can turn on both the outdoor faucet and the shower. When the satellite dish was installed she spent hours trying to drive it off the deck rail. When it refused to leave she examined the length of cable nailed to the outside of the house. I did not realize what she was doing, flat out on the deck peering around the corner. What I would discover later was that she had reached out a paddy paw and unhooked the cable from the outside wall. She drew it over and chewed it partially through. When we discovered the damage I taped it up neatly and nailed it even further away from the deck edge. The challenge was daunting, but Jane spent hours feeling around with her paw until she had once again unhooked the cable. This time she chewed clear through and the satellite guy had to come out and install a new one. He did not charge me because he did not believe the dog had done the deed. Just to be on the safe side he attached the cable even further away. Now all she can do is scream at the dish, which she does every time she happens to look up and see it squatting on the railing.
This morning the barking seemed particularly hysterical, and I periodically glanced out to see if there were space invaders in the driveway. Brooding over my frosting, I was not a pretty sight. Frosting makes me furious in that unreasonable way of certain things. I love this frosting, it is a recipe from my father’s mother, and involves butter and chocolate in roughly even proportions. Making it is tedious. It involves melting, mixing, and cooling, all of which take forever and cannot be rushed without dire consequences. This frosting has a way of turning into an unpleasant mush that cannot be spread. As such I make it in a grim manner, peering into the dish, frowning at those foolish enough to enter the kitchen.
JP, of course, blind to my evil side is unable to read the frosting signals. Happily ensconced in the kitchen he attempts to take a taste from the bowl and nearly loses a finger. He always seems so surprised when I am grumpy, as if his inner vision of me has neatly deleted all the grumpy bits. This is truly amazing and a little frightening, I wonder what he thinks I look like, is his visual image just as skewed? I explain to him that making frosting makes me grumpy, to which he replies “Honey, that is so silly.” He then proceeds to hug me in that terrible bone crushing way. JP has no idea how strong he is or how much damage he can inflict upon my much smaller person. If he squeezes me until he hears a pop, click, snap, or squeak, then he has appropriately displayed his love.
Because I cannot chase him away, he is just too wonderful, I try to be friendly. Unfortunately the devils in the frosting are overwhelming, so I shut the mixer off and go out on the deck for a moment. The dogs choose this moment to go completely insane. I yell, they bark and run off the deck. Once on the ground they hurl themselves at the fence occasionally looking back to see if I understand what is transpiring.
I am sure the dogs are very frustrated by the human reluctance to understand barking. They do such a great job of communicating and we hardly ever bother to listen. There is the very subtle ‘glance at the door, glance at my human, glance back at the door’ a beautiful request to go outside. There is the dog running by with a stolen sock in its mouth; if you do not notice they will run by again, but more slowly. Did you notice? I would like some attention please. There is the Jedi mind trick of willing the human to just let go of the pan and let that roast drop to the floor. Any dog owner has felt that stare; some have even fell prey to its power. Dogs and humans may lack a common language, but our main goals and pleasures are similar: ‘feed me’ ‘rub my belly’ ‘I’m scared’ ‘this is fun’ any dog can say as much if their human will only listen.
Today the dogs had seen many things about which I was unaware. They had been barking to alert me to multiple intruders, including the one coming up the drive. Finally I was outside and would have to take notice! Of course, I did not, at least not immediately. I was still grumpy about my frosting, and about being squeezed, and about the barking, so I continued to yell and threaten. Kinky actually took the time to run back up the deck to take my hand in her mouth. This gesture she reserves for when I am seriously not paying attention.
I looked up and saw that a man was indeed limping up the drive. He looked all wrong, and the dogs were going crazy. I had to spend several minutes getting them back into the house so that I could hear what the man had to say. He was out of breath and looked as though he had been pulled through the underbrush. He asked if I had seen his dog, and described a black and white border collie, dragging a length of chain. I told him I had not, but that my dogs had been barking all morning, indicating that she might have been in the yard not too long ago. By way of reply he asked if I had seen the moose. Not understanding I said that I often saw a moose, but further down the road, in fact there were three distinct specimens, a young bull, a mature bull and a cow, that were obviously local residents. After listening patiently to me wax rhapsodic about our moose he said no, that he meant it had been running up and down the road this morning. He said that his collie had finally had enough of the moose and had broken her sizeable chain and gone to round it up, as directed by her DNA. She and the moose had been last seen galloping past my house.
He took his leave and went back to his search. I stood on the deck and pondered. My poor dogs, what had they seen this morning? I had failed them even as they had tried to report. The moose may have even gone by more than once, and the last time pursued by a collie dragging twenty feet of truck chain. I made a mental picture of this, beginning with the moose starting off his morning emerging from the woods at the base of the driveway. It would have been the young bull; he does not seem to have a lot of sense about roads, or dogs, or people. This would have occasioned the first bout of dog hysteria. The moose casually made his way down the road, pausing to select a leaf here and there. The dogs would have been alternating between barking and running up on the deck to look in the window. They must have been out of their minds with worry.
The first house we occupied in Cummington came with a bear. This bear had a daily routine that involved picking the wild raspberries behind the house. Clarice was not the least bit intimidated by the bear and felt his incursions on her property needed to be dealt with severely. She would chase him through the woods until he was an appropriate distance and then she would trot back with her tail at a jaunty angle. She had a particular bark that she reserved for the bear. I am sure she was barking that bark this morning, the ‘it’s a really big animal, and I do not know what it is but it has to leave’ bark.
Perhaps the moose made a loop and passed the house again, or maybe it ended up in the neighbor’s field. The collie must have been equally frantic. Not only was it a very large animal that needed to leave, it needed herding. The collie herding imperative is overwhelming. I could never own one unless I had something for it to work. I always cringe when I see them as household pets, without even the succor of working at obedience, fly ball, or agility. They possess such drive that they must never be out of work, it is just cruel.
The next scene is of the moose lingering in the field while the collie sets to against its chain. She must have flung herself repeatedly in the air until the chain broke loose. (Tow chain is like cotton thread in the face of a herding question.) Being a good collie she would snake over to the moose, eyes locked on the prize. The moose, not being domesticated, and therefore without the appropriate reply to such an approach, must have decided she was a threat and fled. Perhaps the collie outflanked the moose and stared it down, willing it to obey her commands. When the moose stopped she would drop and flatten, holding it with her eye. If the moose moved she would move like a dancing partner, waltzing around the field. The chain must have added a certain annoyance, dragging, dangling, and hissing like coals in the grass.
Ultimately we know the moose fled, apparently at the approach of the collie’s owner. Down the road they went, the moose in its speedy but loose-jointed lope, the collie in a neat gallop, the chain bouncing behind, and finally the man. What had the pit bulls thought of this strange parade? How they must have longed to join in and help. Driven by their imperative to stop and hold bewildered herbivores, they would have hurled themselves at the bull’s face, grabbing the nose, a lip, and ear. It would have been the mightiest catch of their lives, and they would have hung on like grim death, smiling that bulldog smile.
Clarice comes from a pig catching line; her relatives hunt wild boar in Alabama. The dog’s job is to hunt the animal then hold it long enough for the hunters to catch up and shoot the pig. The pigs can be enormous, have long tusks, and do not wish to be hunted, held or shot. Only the best dogs survive. When a pig-hunting kennel contacted me after the birth of Clarice’s first litter I turned down their offer to buy the whole lot. Mortality is too high, the sport too bloody.
The first pig that Clarice met never knew what hit him. She was firmly attached to his ear and rooted to the ground. He was three times her size, but young, so he just fell back and squealed horribly. The owner was displeased, particularly when I was unable to remove Clarice. She had her eyes closed, her lips drawn back in a smile, a picture of bliss. Once I peeled her loose we were all surprised to see that she had barely left a scratch. We left in disgrace; Clarice was no longer welcome at that farm.
Oh how the dogs would have loved that moose. Each dog would have taken its own piece of moose and held it like a lover’s hand. The moose would have stopped and begun to kick and flail, trying to shake the bulldogs loose. The collie would have stepped in close to dance her collie dance, to hold that animal still. Strangers, these dogs would have worked together to herd and catch.
Some of the dogs would have received terrible injuries, or even died, but they would have been so happy. That is an aspect of great dogs and horses that people rarely understand. The heart that drives a thoroughbred past the finish line with a broken bone, the inexperienced plot hound taking on a bear, spaniels run to death after pheasant. The collective heart of that group of dogs was such that they would have taken that moose down or died trying.
Inspired by this vision I returned to the kitchen. JP had wandered off which made the frosting much easier to manage. It goes on thick over an angel food cake and the best way to firm it up is to let it sit a while in the freezer. Then when you eat the cake the chocolate frosting is both cold and succulent. This dessert is a Coss tradition, particularly for birthdays. Happy now that it was complete, I scurried down to the garage to put the cake in the freezer. I was still entranced with the vision of the moose and the dogs.
The garage smelled bad, but it often does, so I was not forewarned. As the door swung open I was hit with a wave of fish smell. The scup that JP had caught were on top, and their collective juices were dripping. How is it that zip lock bags will fail just when you need them most? Below the fish, a hundred pounds of assorted meats, in various stages of defrosting. A giant tub of Jalapeno ice cream. I almost dropped the cake.
As a postscript to this event, the freezer had to go. It had suffered some mortal injury and refused to turn back on despite our best efforts. JP said we would take it to the dump. I replied quite icily, “Yeah, what do you mean ‘we’ white man, you gotta mouse in your pocket?” He calmly replied that he could move the freezer easily with his trailer. I told him all about the freezer, how many strong men had groaned and broken under its mighty weight. He smiled in his patronizing way and dropped the subject.
The following weekend he single handedly lifted the freezer up onto his trailer, took it to the dump and dragged it into the homeless appliance section. I stood by, mouth hanging open. JP is quite strong, but I had seen four men wrestle with that freezer as though it were winning, and not just once but at least four separate times! JP climbed into the truck grinning like a rattrap. I pointed out the immense weight of the freezer one more time. I recalled the men and their efforts. I pointed out the window at my freezer that looked naked standing there without its door. Still smiling, he put the truck in drive and said, “maybe they just wanted to impress you, guys do things like that you know.”