Prey

by Jonette Stabbert

Mrs. Peabody carried her muddy little dog into the house and shut the door. She was fuming. Her hands shook so badly, she could barely make the tea. That Caesar woman and her confounded monster, Brutus! Something would have to be done. They couldn’t continue to make everyone’s life a misery. Mrs. Peabody was so upset, that despite it being April, she went to the cupboard and poured out a thimbleful of the special brandy reserved for Christmastime guests. Adding it to her tea, she swiftly downed the potent liquid and felt the warmth spread throughout her body.

She turned her attention to her dog. The small animal was also visibly shaken.

“It’s okay, Arabella,” she said, patting its head. “Look what I’ve got for you – your favorite treats.”

She bent down and fed cookies to the little poodle. Arabella was intelligent and sweet- natured and was Mrs. Peabody’s dearest companion. The very thought of her dog’s narrow escape with death enraged her once more.

“What a close call you had! That big nasty Brutus nearly caught you, didn’t he? Well, I’ll see that he doesn’t get another chance.”

Mrs. Peabody was determined to keep this resolution. She’d had enough of Brutus’ reign of terror.

This had been an attractive, friendly town for all the sixty years she’d lived here. Many of the residents had pets, and the people and animals all co-existed with no problems – until Mrs. Caesar and her huge, ferocious dog moved into the house on the corner.

The previous occupant, Mrs. Rosen, had kept the house in perfect condition. The scent of roses and honeysuckle from her lovingly tended gardens had brought the community pleasure for half a century.

Mrs. Caesar shocked everyone by having the gardens dug up, paved over, and fenced in.

“Tile is attractive and practical,” she declared. “I don’t like flowers; the pollen aggravates my hay fever.”

Mrs. Caesar visited and introduced herself to each of the neighbors. She managed to offend many with her comments, making it known that she only bought the most exclusive goods, associated with people of ‘a certain class’ and that both she and her dog Brutus detested cats and toy breeds. “He particularly hates poodles, and I can’t really blame him. They’re such ridiculous-looking animals.”

This certainly did not endear her to the poodle-owners in town, of which there were quite a few. They commiserated about her at Linda Spencer’s pet grooming salon. Nearly everyone had experienced a frightening run-in with the giant canine or an angry exchange with his unpleasant owner.

When Brutus was indoors, Mrs. Caesar sprayed water on cats that dared to trespass in her backyard, whereas it had been a public access route for felines for decades. When permitted into the yard, Brutus would often bound over the fence and roam the neighborhood. If people spotted him on the loose, they would hurry indoors.

Brutus had short, golden fur and a large head. His walks brought to mind a lion on the prowl. Weighing a good sixty kilos, with large fangs and a bark akin to a roar, Brutus was a force to be reckoned with. He ruled the streets.

The police were powerless to act, as there were no leash laws and unless Brutus was caught in an act of viciousness, he was a free dog. Mrs. Caesar never used a lead and he probably would have dragged her along if she had. Other dog owners took to using them, though, so that they could keep their pets safely close.

People stayed indoors more after Mrs. Caesar’s arrival. They became less friendly. Even the local fauna skulked and slinked through the hedges. No doubt about it, a cloud of gloom had descended upon the town.

On the day in question, Mrs. Peabody and Arabella had been taking their morning constitutional when Brutus escaped from his yard and stormed towards them, fangs bared. She’d dropped Arabella’s lead, and her precious little dog narrowly escaped by running under a low fence, straight into a mud puddle. Mrs. Peabody wished she could do the same, but she stood her ground and Brutus ran off in search of other sport.

Mrs. Caesar shrugged off the incident, saying, “My dear, it’s only natural that large dogs see small ones as prey animals. That’s the way of the world. The big fish eat the smaller fish, and so on.”

Her cavalier attitude outraged Mrs. Peabody. There were already rumors about the town that Brutus had killed a stray cat, and people suspected he’d savaged some squirrels.

“Today a cat, tomorrow possibly a small child,” Mrs. Peabody thought. “That dog is an accident waiting to happen. Something has got to be done!”

She tried to talk sense to Mrs. Caesar. It was useless. Mrs. Peabody finally put aside all politeness and suggested the woman leave the area, as no one liked her.

“I paid good money for my house. Brutus and I are very happy here. I’m staying put. I’m not leaving until they carry me out in a coffin,” Mrs. Caesar said.

Of course, that led Mrs. Peabody to consider murder. If that’s what it took … Whenever she needed to think, she took out her knitting needles and wool. Her hands worked on automatic pilot and the rhythmic movements caused all tension to dissipate. It was as though she knit the wooliness out of her mind.

Mrs. Peabody suddenly stopped knitting and sat up straight. A plan had come to her in a flash, and she saw that it would work. “The perfect crime!” she thought, “And there is no way anyone can tie it to me. All I have to do is take care of one little detail first. It shouldn’t be too difficult.” She bundled up Arabella and drove to Linda Spencer's pet grooming salon across town.

“What an absolute mess, and the poor little dear started trembling again, the moment you mentioned Brutus’ name. I’ve never seen Arabella in such a state,” Linda Spencer said as she trimmed and fluffed. She finished and swept the fur cuttings into the garbage.

“Oh, Linda; you’ve done such a wonderful job with her; she’s all sweet-smelling and beautiful again.” After paying Linda, Mrs. Peabody said, “Let me take your garbage bags to the dump for you. It’s on my way home and I’ve got room in the car.”

“Thanks. That will save me a trip.”

Linda placed the three lightweight bags in Mrs. Peabody’s car and waved goodbye.

As soon as she got home with Arabella, Mrs. Peabody set to work on her plan. By the following day, it was shaping up. She hummed a merry little tune as she sat on her front porch, knitting.

Mrs. Peabody was a fast and skillful knitter, and within several days, the garment was finished. She sighed with contentment as she gift-wrapped it.

“Well, Arabella, our troubles will soon be over,” she said, lifting the little dog into the air and planting a kiss on top of its curly head. “Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

Mrs. Caesar opened the door after the first knock and was surprised to find Mrs. Peabody standing there.

“It’s a belated new neighbor gift, just to show there are no hard feelings about our little tiff the other day,” Mrs. Peabody said, presenting a package to Mrs. Caesar. “I must dash. I hope to see you in it soon.”

Mrs. Caesar unwrapped it and for once, she was gracious. “Oh my goodness. This is just lovely. I promise to wear it tomorrow. Thank you so much.”

Mrs. Peabody went home, and for the second time in a week, she added a dash of brandy to her tea.

The next morning, there was a rather dreadful commotion at Mrs. Caesar’s house. The police and ambulance services arrived too late and pronounced Mrs. Caesar dead. Brutus was still attacking her lifeless body and a police marksman had to shoot him. The beautiful hand knit sweater Mrs. Caesar had been wearing had been virtually destroyed during Brutus’ vicious mauling of his owner.

Mrs. Peabody explained to Arabella, “I’m not in favor of violence, but in this case, it was the only solution.”

Then she went upstairs and disposed of the remaining yarn she’d spun from the bags of dog hair, thinking how remarkable it was that Brutus had had such a hatred of poodles.