Alberta emerged backwards from the front door of the house, dragging a large wooden box. Feeling her way down the stairs by tentative pokes with her feet, she managed to get to the bottom without too much bumping. From within the box came a strange sound, like a dozen castanets clicking in short bursts. When the box was safely standing at the bottom of the cement steps, she turned and sat on it, catching her breath.
Alberta was nine years old. She had shoulder-length blonde hair that had been cut by the fistful with a pair of garden shears. Her legs were skinny and her knees bruised and dirty. Her small hands had thick callouses, her fingernails were edged with soil. She wore an old pink jumpsuit and a dark blue apron with many pockets. Her glasses had thick rims of clear plastic. One earpiece was missing, so that the lens over her left eye drooped and had constantly to be adjusted. Her lips were bitten and chapped. She licked and chewed them whenever she was not speaking.
She did this now, and gazed with fondness at her garden.
Every winter she made plans for the layout of the front yard, planned improvements, planted seeds at strategic times, all in anticipation of the glorious spring, when the frosts were over and she could lose herself in her own private, and carefully controlled, jungle. Tulips were her true passion, and fully half of the space was allotted to them. And here arose the only real problem in Alberta's simple life. Squirrels. Dozens of horrible, wriggly rodents who chattered and laughed at her every afternoon in the springtime, when she returned home from school. While she wasted time in school during prime tulip season, they would be digging through her flowerbeds and unearthing every tulip bulb they could find.
In her mind squirrels were like weeds, nasty disorganized forms of life that refused to have their activities managed by humans. She had tried various methods of dealing with the little beasts. Sprinkling cayenne pepper on the soil where the bulbs were buried, layers of chicken wire to frustrate their digging, any number of frightening scarecrows. Nothing had worked. But then, last fall, she saw a man in the park, and he had given her a new idea...
She picked up the box and managed to shuffle a few steps into the garden before her fingers began to slip, and she had to put it down. Slowly she made her way to the far corner of the garden, being careful not to deviate from the path she had made the year before, overturned plastic buckets salvaged from garbage bins. As she moved the box, the clicking sounds resumed, along with a snarling.
She stood at the bottom of the elm tree in the corner of her yard and looked up, searching for a squirrel. Sure enough, one emerged from its nest to scold her. It climbed partway down the trunk until it hung upside-down at a safe distance, and chattered and laughed at her. Alberta smiled deviously, bent down and opened the door in the side of the box.
One day three summers ago, Alberta's parents took her to a farm, where she spent a happy afternoon following the farmworkers and asking questions. She was fascinated by everything they told her: how to make plants grow in endless, serried ranks, how to decide what plants would best thrive in what type of soil, and how to make cows become addicted to a routine, slaves to their own metabolism. When she saw the veal pens, a whole new world opened up before her. The idea that a living thing could be manipulated so easily, changed so drastically, was thrilling. Alberta learned all she could about the many ways in which plants and animals could be transformed.
There was a growling, then a sniffing, then the sound of castanets moved close to the door and a small dog, a terrier mix, poked its head from the box and stepped hesitantly, clumsily, into the sunlight. It blinked, and sniffed. The dog's toenails were fully an inch long.
In the autumn Alberta had more spare time, and one day she went to a nearby park to scavenge some soil or manure from outside the groundskeeper's hut. She noticed a man walking a small dog. The dog was excited by some squirrels, and chased a couple of them up a tree. The man seemed amused by this, and followed the dog to the bottom of the tree, where he waited patiently, smiling, as the little dog yapped furiously and seemed to do its best to climb the trunk. Alberta wondered if the man hated squirrels as much as she did, then forgot about him as the idea bloomed, of a dog that could climb trees.
That day, Alberta arrived home with a puppy. Nobody in the family thought to ask her where she had got it, which was just as well, for Alberta had casually plucked the dog from a back yard. After all, dogs were meant to be used by human beings. And this dog had just been sitting in that yard. So she took it.
Alberta went into the kitchen and rummaged around in the cupboard below the sink. Among the old food containers she found four plastic jars with wide mouths. She took the jars to the bathroom, where she found a large roll of gauze bandage and a roll of adhesive tape. Clutching these items to her chest, she went to her bedroom and, calling the dog inside, closed the door.
Inside her bedroom, Alberta wrapped a damp towel around the dog's head. She pinned him down on the bed with her knee and grabbed one of his paws. She wrapped the paw with loose layers of gauze, then thrust it into one of the mustard jars. Using the adhesive tape, Alberta fastened the jar onto the leg, then wrapped layer after layer of tape around the entire apparatus, until the paw was completely immobilized, unable even to touch the inside of the mustard jar. She dealt with each paw in a similar fashion.
Alberta left the jars on the dog's paws all winter. Periodically she removed one of the mustard containers and inspected the length of the toenails. Without the constant wear and tear of contact with the floor, the nails grew unchecked. But Alberta knew that long nails would not be enough to convince the little dog to chase a squirrel up a tree. They would provide the means, but not the motivation. So Alberta used a pair of grey socks, her mother's old grey fur muff, and some black buttons to create a couple of squirrel hand puppets. She trained the dog to hate squirrels by tormenting him. The puppets frightened him out of deep sleeps, stole his food and administered nasty pinches. They hit him, pulled his ears and poked him in the eyes. It was not very long before the dog became quite vicious and had to be confined in the wooden box.
The dog noticed the squirrel and flew instantly to the base of the tree where it stood on its hind legs. It barked and snarled viciously, and scrabbled at the trunk. The claws caught on the corrugated bark, and the dog seemed taken aback, as it climbed a few inches up the trunk.
Alberta squealed encouragement. "Good boy! Climb the tree, boy." She grabbed the dog's tail and pulled him upwards. "Good boy, Gollum. That's it. Climb the tree." The squirrel chattered in alarm and retreated to a branch.
Gollum began to climb the tree. Hesitantly at first, unaware, really, that he was climbing a tree, Gollum climbed the tree. His long toenails found purchase in cracks in the bark, and the fight against gravity was unnoticed. His eyes were round pools of blood, unrippled by the skipping-stone of sanity, each with a dancing, mocking squirrel flashing taunting grins, with sharp needles for teeth.
Gollum reached the first branch. He stopped to reconnoitre. The rodent retreated further along the branch and stood facing toward Gollum, not so confident as before. Gollum locked both front and back legs around the thick limb and edged forward, digging his long nails into the bark and pulling himself along.
Gollum moved toward the end of the branch. The squirrel backed away until it was clinging to small twigs at the swaying tip. Eventually Gollum got too close for the squirrel's comfort, and the rodent leaped wildly out into space, and was lucky to grab the tip of a branch of another tree. Gollum attempted to move back toward the trunk, but could not do so. His nails pointed in the wrong direction. He tried to turn around, but there was not enough room. He looked down, his eyes widening in fear. The ground was at least forty feet below him. Gollum closed his eyes, hugged the branch, and began to whimper.
"Come on, boy. Get the squirrels. Eat them up!" Gollum could not budge. The squirrels sensed the dog was no longer a threat and began to taunt him. Discouraged, Alberta wandered around the garden, did some planting, and only occasionally looked up to check on the progress of the dog. But the squirrels were the ones making progress up there. Dozens of them, attracted by the helpless carnivore, proceeded to torment him in revenge for every incident whereby they had been chased by his ilk. They dropped nuts on him, bit his tail, perched on branches directly above him and relieved themselves. Soon every squirrel in the neighborhood was involved.
As Gollum's whimpers gave way to howls and shrieks, cars slowed down as they drove by the yard, their occupants sticking heads out of windows and craning necks. When they saw it was a dog stuck in a tree, they drove around the block to cruise by again, pointing upwards in confused wonder, mouths open in disbelief.
Passers-by who were concerned for the plight of the dog called the fire department, but the firemen assumed that it was a practical joke and refused to come to the rescue.
That afternoon, the dog forgotten, Alberta crawled along her vegetable plot planting tomato seedlings. A dented van pulled into the driveway. Two men emerged and began to stretch cables along the ground, then set up a large camera. An attractive woman in a business suit got out of the front seat, climbed the stairs, then knocked at the front door of the house. There was no answer. She crossed the lawn and approached Alberta.
"Excuse me, little girl, could you tell me whose dog that is, up in the tree?" she asked, crouching and peering at Alberta.
"Tell those clods to stay off my tulip beds." Alberta said.
The lady seemed mildly shocked at Alberta's assertive demeanor, but quickly covered up with a polished smile. "Why, certainly," she said, and walked over to the men. She loudly criticized the men for their lack of consideration. After making them promise to respect the rules of the garden, she returned to Alberta, being careful to walk on the pathway.
"The dog is mine. His name is Gollum." said Alberta, pausing to chew her lips, "He got stuck."
"Listen, sweetie, how would you like to be on television?"
That evening, at the very end of the news program, the anchorperson said, "Now for a more unusual story. Yesterday, a dog got stuck in a tree. Yes, you heard me, I said a DOG." The newsroom was replaced by video footage of Gollum, clinging to the branch, whimpering. "The dog belongs to this little girl." The footage of Gollum gave way to a scene at the bottom of the tree, showing the news reporter, crouched down, with her arm held protectively around Alberta. The anchorperson continued, "Apparently, the fire department refuses to send anybody to rescue the dog. They will not rescue him because he is not a cat." The reporter could be heard saying, "Alberta, dear, tell us what you think the fire department should do."
Alberta sobbed, "They should come get my dog out of the tree. Can't someone help my poor little Gollum?" Just then an acorn fell from the tree, a squirrel-hurled projectile meant for Gollum. Instead it hit Alberta's glasses, which then tumbled from her nose and hung by their lone earpiece. She burst into tears.
The reporter, inwardly thanking the gods of timing, comforted Alberta, then turned to the camera and said, "Let's hope someone can help this sweet little girl," She furrowed her brow in an ominous display of concern, "...before it's too late. Irene Daniels, Heartbeat News."
Alberta pressed the power button on the remote control. The tears had been a nice touch. Hopefully, the firemen would be shamed into action. She needed to get that stupid dog out of the tree, as soon as possible. He was attracting every squirrel for miles around. Between the squirrels, the newsmen and the onlookers, her yard was a mess. She would have to start planting all over again, from scratch.
The firemen arrived the following afternoon, just after Irene Daniels wrapped up her report on the continuing predicament of Alberta and Gollum. "...pleased to report that no less than five hundred and seventy- eight of our viewers have phoned in and pledged donations to help poor Gollum. And even though we have made it clear that Gollum DOES have an owner, more than three hundred people have offered to adopt him. In fact, about three dozen people have phoned in and offered to adopt Alberta, as well. Irene Daniels, Heartbeat News."
The camera stopped rolling. Irene Daniels tossed her microphone to a technician, saying, "Don't these viewers pay attention? What makes them think the brat needs to be adopted? If they have such good intentions; why don't they think about things a little more?"
She noticed the fire engine sneaking up the street and watched while it pulled up in front of Alberta's yard. Two firemen, keeping a low profile, emerged from the truck and sauntered casually into the yard, hands in their pockets. Irene Daniels decided to confront them.
"So you heroes decided to show up?" she asked.
The firemen were made uncomfortable by this question. "We are very sorry, madame," said one, "We did not believe, at first, that there really was a dog up in a tree." He peered up into the tree, where Gollum still clung, crying piteously. "But as this tree most definitely does contain a dog, we will proceed with the rescue, immediately."
Irene Daniels, having successfully put the firemen on the defensive, pressed her advantage. "Wait a moment, sir." She lowered her voice. "I might be persuaded to portray you in a more positive light while I do my story about the rescue, if I might have some say in how that rescue is conducted."
The fireman relaxed. "I'm listening," he said.
"I think the rescue would be much more impressive if you were to wait until dark. Flashing lights. A spotlight. Sirens in the background..."
They soon came to an agreement. Several more emergency vehicles were summoned, and their flashing lights turned on. A couple of sirens started up. Miss Daniels thought they were too loud, and might drown out her voice while she gave her report. Two of the trucks were moved down to the end of the street.
As darkness fell Irene Daniels took her place beside the fire engine. On cue, a fireman climbed the ladder. The dog bared his teeth but did not struggle as the fireman unwound his legs from the branch and carried him down the ladder. Irene Daniels stood next to Alberta as the bedraggled dog, covered in squirrel droppings and chewed-up nutmeats, was placed gently into the little girl's arms.
"And now, thanks to these courageous firemen," said Miss Daniels, "Gollum has been reunited with little Alberta. Tell me, Alberta, what are you going to do with Gollum, now that you have him back?"
Alberta thought that Gollum would make good fertilizer for her tulips, but had the presence of mind not to say so. "I'm going to teach him not to climb trees." she said, and hugged him.
The onlookers cheered. The squirrels jeered. The firemen gave each other the high five, and Miss Daniels walked away from the happy scene, to be alone on camera, and said, "Well, folks, it looks like we have a happy ending to Gollum's little adventure. After a day and a half up in that tree, I'll bet this is one dog that will be happy to keep his paws on solid ground. Irene Daniels, Heartbeat News."
The following evening, Alberta sat once again in front of the television, opening cards from well-wishers delivered by the TV station. The donations exceeded one thousand dollars. Alberta thought of the gardening supplies she would buy...
Gollum was gone, and good riddance. A failed experiment. But another five hundred dollars had been added to the pile when she had sold him to a television promoter with a big, toothy smile. That would buy a lot of fertilizer, indeed!
Irene Daniels was on the screen, doing a last wrap-up to the Gollum story. "On behalf of Alberta and Gollum, we would like to thank all of the generous people who sent money. As well, we explained to each of the three hundred people who offered to adopt Gollum that he was not available, but we did encourage them to go down to their neighborhood SPCA and adopt another dog or cat that needs a home. This has resulted in almost ten animals being adopted, so far. Irene Daniels, Heartbeat News."
Alberta thought about this. Animals at the pound for free? She thought about the animals that were natural enemies of squirrels. Big snakes? Owls? Would such beasts be available at the pound? But they would damage the plants, she thought. Maybe these animals could be modified in some way...