Maud's Line by Margaret Verble

right hand to grab on to weeds to manage the incline. On flatter land, she took the cow path below the ridge west toward the house.
    Maud had climbed through the fence and was leaning against a large tree just under the ridge with her rifle pointed when Lovely came out on the porch and shouted her name. She recognized the shout as urgent, but not terrified, and she laid her gun on higher ground and used roots as steps. She stepped high until she got out of the weeds. Lovely was still on the porch when he said, “We’ve got a problem in the kitchen.”
    â€œWhat kind?”
    â€œA dead dog.”
    â€œIn the kitchen?”
    â€œOn the table.”
    â€œThat’s just meanness,” Maud said.
    â€œYou betcha. Shot in the head and slit in the throat. It’s a mess in there. One of us will have to clean it up.”
    Maud figured who that was likely to be. “I guess I better take a look.”
    â€œIt’s pretty bad. I’ve already seen it.”
    Maud felt like she might, on the strength of that remark, get out of having to bury the dog. And she wasn’t above using her gender to her advantage. She said, in a voice that was a little less assertive than she usually used with her brother, “How bad?”
    â€œThere’s blood everywhere.”
    â€œWhat kind of dog was it?”
    â€œDog, dog.”
    â€œIt’s the Mounts’ doings.” Maud leaped to that conclusion without even drawing a breath, and for a few minutes, she and Lovely distracted themselves from the carcass in the kitchen by discussing their neighbors. They took into account that they’d found Betty in the Mounts’ pasture, or what the Mounts called their pasture, which was really just scrub in the wild between real pasture and the river. And they took into account a fistfight Mustard had had with Claude Mount during the last election. They also counted in the real possibility that Mustard and Ryde had done something in the early morning light to settle the score with the Mounts over axing Betty’s back. But then they figured it might be just as likely that the Mounts would’ve gone after Ryde, and they knew no meanness had taken place at their aunt’s. So they left it at that, and Maud asked, “Do you think they actually killed it in the kitchen?”
    â€œDon’t know. I can’t see them bringing it into the house to shoot it. But there’s a lot of blood for them to have kilt it somewhere else. I got some on me.” Lovely held up his hand and spat on it.
    â€œWhy are you spitting on yourself?”
    â€œI got a thistle poke.” He massaged his palm with his thumb and then swiped his hand on his overalls.
    â€œI’ve told you to wear gloves a thousand times.”
    â€œI was wearing gloves. It poked me through one.”
    Lovely looked toward the river. The sun was past four o’clock. “If Dad doesn’t stop off somewhere, he could be home in an hour.”
    â€œWe better get to digging, then.”
    â€œLet’s dig in the garden. We can make fertilizer.”
    â€œDo you want to drag it out, or do you want me to?”
    â€œWell, I’ve already seen it,” he said. “And it didn’t get to me like Betty did. I’ll drag it out. You get the shovels.”
    They dug a hole three feet deep and a foot longer than the dog. While they threw dirt, they talked about whether the dog belonged to somebody or was one of the feral ones that lived in the wild of the river, roamed the sandbar, and sometimes took up with the wolves. It was a dog they’d never seen. But dogs and cats turned up around the house on a regular basis, and if their father hadn’t been so particular about the kind he wanted, they could’ve had their pick of a half dozen or so. This dog was mostly black and a little long-haired, but not speckled with burrs. Lovely had dragged it to the garden wrapped in the only tablecloth they had, and