“That poor little boy,” Sierra said.

    “Doesn’t appear the boy knows what’s going on with the dog and his dad.”

    Sierra stuck her neck out, probably where she shouldn’t. She approached Chad as he sat under his canopy. Beau was with her and sniffed Molly, who was on her chain. “If you invite the dog to have a swim in the afternoon when it’s sunny or take her for a really long walk up the trail, she’ll tire out and be less noisy,” she suggested.

    “If you’d keep your dog away maybe mine wouldn’t bark so much.”

    “My dog?” she asked. “This is the owner’s dog. This is Beau and it’s Beau’s campground. Besides, the dogs like each other. Molly’s only barking because she’s bored and lonely.”

    “I’ll put her back in the kennel,” Chad said, standing from his lawn chair.

    “No! No, please don’t. Anyone could see that kennel is too small. I just thought you could use a suggestion, that’s all. This place is family friendly and that includes pets as long as they’re not vicious. She’s just playful.”

    “I’m thinking about drowning her,” Chad said. Then he grinned.

    “Aw, jeez,” Sierra said in disgust. “Come on, Beau.”

    She went back to the store and located Sully behind the lunch counter.

    “Try to stay out of it,” he advised before she even said anything.

    “They’re not okay,” Sierra said. “The wife and kids try not to get in his way, they give him a real wide berth, even that little boy. And the dog is barking and straining because she hasn’t had any training. And he said he was thinking of drowning her. I hate him.”

    “Don’t waste your hate,” Sully said. “Nobody’s drowning anything at my campground. And how they conduct themselves is not our business unless they’re breaking the law.”

    “He’s one inch from breaking the law, I can smell it on him,” she said.

    The ruckus of the dog whining or barking and Petersen barking back continued while Sully and Sierra had their dinner on the porch. If a customer appeared one of them or the other jumped up to go inside and wait on them. The few campers who came to the store remarked on the barking dog and the man with the booming voice. “Don’t make the mistake of offering him advice,” Sierra said. “I did and he threatened to drown the dog.”

    “Is there anything you can do?” one woman asked. “I think he’s more annoying than the dog!”

    “There’s nothing we can do but ask him to leave and take his dog somewhere else,” Sully said. “I hate doing that. I apologize for the noise.”

    Things seemed to quiet around the campgrounds as the sun was lowering and people were stoking their evening fires but every time a dog barked poor Molly was set to answer. Then would come the noise of her owner. “Shut up, Molly!”

    Sierra was tormented by what was clearly animal abuse. The chain, the cage, the choke collar. A kennel, the right size for the dog complete with blanket and chewy toys, was a good training tool, even Sierra knew that, though she hadn’t had a dog, not really. There had been dogs on the farm when she was growing up, but that wasn’t the same as a pet like Beau. She knew Sully was right, she should just mind her own business.

           He knows not his own strength who hath not met adversity.

    —Samuel Johnson

    Chapter 5

    SIERRA BID SULLY good-night at about eight but she remained on the porch with a hot cup of tea. She took a great amount of comfort in routine—she usually got into bed with her water at her bedside and her book in her lap and read until she slept. But tonight her routine was screwed because she could hear Molly whimpering and her heart was breaking.

    She wandered over to the Petersen campsite and saw that Molly was stuffed into her kennel outside while the family was inside. The dog cried and let out the occasional yelp. The bluish flickering that indicated a TV in the camper could be seen in the windows, which meant they probably could not hear Molly.

    She was going to kidnap the dog.

    No, Sully wouldn’t like that. And she was Sully’s guest. So...she would stay up until the dog finally went silent, and then she would sleep. In the morning she would report this abuse to someone, she’d figure out who. She would suggest to Mr. Petersen that he give her the dog to take to a no-kill shelter where she would surely find a wonderful forever home. Maybe she would stroke his ego and tell him he was a good man to take on the dog but it was okay if it didn’t work out with a pet, just do no harm. That’s what she’d do. One way or another she’d separate Molly from the Petersens before they left the campground.

    She went to her cabin to get a blanket and pillow and she made herself comfortable in the hammock, just a couple of spaces away from the Petersens’ camper and a still very lonely and unhappy Molly.

    Despite the sound of the whimpering dog, Sierra drifted off. She was wrapped up like a burrito in her blanket, snug as could be with the breeze rocking her when she heard a yelp. She jerked awake.

    “Just shut the hell up!” Chad loudly demanded. There was another yelp. “I said, quiet!” The yelping grew louder.

    Sierra bolted off the hammock and ran to the campsite where her worst fears were realized. Petersen held the dog by the chain collar and smacked her on the head again and again.

    “Stop!” Sierra screamed. “Stop that!”

    “Mind your own goddamn business,” he said, hitting the dog again.

    It took a second to comprehend that he’d behave so, yell so, when he was literally living outside among a large group of campers. “Stop! I swear to God if you strike that animal again...”