JOY ALONG THE WAY: RESIDUE FROM WATCHING THE BIG TRIAL

At 2 a.m. on a cold Tuesday night when snow was everywhere and the furnace was round-the-clock purring, I was aroused from sleep by a dog barking. In the twilight zone between deep sleep and full wakefulness the brain begins to question: "Is this a dream or is there a real live dog barking?" This period, for me, lasted about 10 minutes.

There was no period of silence between the dog's barks. What lungs? The sound was coming from across the street, about half way down the hedgerow.

Being alerted to such barking by the famous Akita dog named Kato, living on a street called Bundy, I began to try to ascertain the kind of bark. Was it wailing? Was it trying to warn someone that something unusual was going on? Was it trying for attention? Trapped? I know about the briars, barberry stickers and tangled grapevine in the hedgerow.

"I've got to note the exact time," I told myself, being fully awake now, "so that if I have to testify about something, I'll be exact." I looked at the radium illuminated dial on the bedside clock. 2:10 a.m.

I mentally tried several more adjectives to describe the type of barking. Woeful? Wounded? Aggravated? Scared?

At 2:12 a.m. (duly-noted), I thought it time to look out the window to see if any white Bronco-like vehicles were lurking around or speeding away. Or if three people in knit caps were strolling down the street at that eerie time.

The dog kept barking. At 2:29 (duly noted), I made the judgment that it was not a small dog's bark. I visualized myself in the witness chair, trying to measure with my hands, the approximate size I thought the dog might me. I made up possible questions and answers: Judge; Do you think it was a stray dog? Me: No, Your Honor. Judge: Why not? Me: We don't have many stray dogs around here. Judge: But you have seen some from time to time? Me: Yes, Your Honorable but, er, I mean . . ."

Oops! Deliver me from a witness chair.

Not being able to see very far up the street from my bedroom window I got out of bed to tip-toe (why?) to the front door. It was 2:45 (duly noted). I carried the clock with me.

"I'll just open the door a crack to see if I can hear any muffled voices," I whispered (why?) to myself. The door squeaked a little. My spine shivered a bit more. The-dog? It just kept on barking.

2:50 a.m. Should I call the police? At this hour of the night over a barking dog? My name and number might be automatically registered on their 'phone thingamajig. That would surely bring me to the witness stand when the whole scheme of events was unraveled. Judge: Was there any moaning or groaning? Me: No. Judge: Did you ever think of going to investigate? Me: In my nightgown! Judge: What time did the barking stop? Me: 2;59 a.m. Judge: Are you sure of the time? Me: Indubitably.

Next morning, properly dressed, I did go to investigate. No blood. No knit cap. No glove. Nothing but lots of rabbit tracks on one side of the impenetrable hedge and lots of dog tracks on the other. I bet Brer Rabbit came out of his fuzz-lined home to have a frolic in the snow and Dog, who couldn't get at it, didn't like it at all.

Whew! I got out of that one.

REJOICE

~Jean Bell Mosley is an author and longtime columnist for the Southeast Missourian.