It was a seven dollar knife I'd gotten when our manager retired. He gave everyone in the shop knives because he said we were, "on the cutting edge." I never imagined when I got that knife two days later I’d be killing with it.

It was a Friday and I sat in my trailer playing Resident Evil and for some reason (just like always really) it gave me the creeps. I wasn't good at stress and once those god damned zombies were out of their slow and easy phase, once you'd gotten that armor mansion key, they got pissed and fast and I never had a way out. I had to stop the game and chill out a bit. I mixed myself another diet cola and white rum. They always say that my people have a weight and drinking problem. I feel I'm cutting my risk in half with the diet soda. Such conscientiousness deserves a smoke.

Chotch-mo, my dog, wanted outside and when I put his chain to his collar I looked up. Chotch went and pissed, I could hear it on the hard frying pan, but I looked to the moon which was just past full. The color threw me. It was red, like the haze of a cloud or smoke. That’s what I kept telling myself too. It’s just a cloud or maybe a fire somewheres in Chalupe. If I looked at it just right it seemed okay, but then again if I turned my head a little it was red, like port wine red. I got the creeps and actually went into the house and called my sister just to make sure she was okay. There was a saying somewhere about a red moon meaning bad things and definitely in my ancestors beliefs the moon had many meanings...a red moon was probably a doozy.

A breeze blew in to the trailer carrying a dusty smell, a sign that the wet season was past and summer was officially on its way in.

I was pacing up and down the kitchen with my drink and listening to the good old Johnny Cash. I had my knife in hand and was practicing taking it from my pocket, pushing it open a bit with the thumb notch and flipping it quickly open with the movement of my wrist. It was the same movement as extending a Gerber tool, of teasing your dog with a treat, of throwing a yo-yo, knocking a can of chaw. It worked well and I scoffed at those fellas at work who claimed that spring loaded knives were faster. This one worked just as well as long as you knew what you were doing.

I let Chotch in and the warm dome of night covered us. I closed the door and went to bed.

In the morning I smelled something. It woke me up and I wondered what the hell it could be. Smelled like burning and when I looked to the door Chotch was there, ears flattened out, a look of disgust on his face.

"Must smell worse than shit when a dog don't even like it," I laughed as I made my way to the door. I unlocked the flimsy latch and shoved back my dog as I looked out. Not a cloud in the early morning sky, but again it seemed hazy, like smoke from a fire, like clouds settling low in the valley. I could hear noises, sounded like car-work, to the east where the Chee's lived three miles away. The sounds here were always deceptive. Things seemed close until you started walking towards them.

One night, when Chotch was a pup I let him out to do his business and the coyotes came a calling for him. I tried to stop him but Chotch thought he was bigger than he was, a big dog in small paws, and took off after what I specked to be three or four. I called and called knowing what was going to happen to him. One would gain his attention once he was far enough from the house. The others would take over and just eat him up. As he hauled ass I went inside and started pulling on my boots. The bastard dog was free (he hadn't cost a thing) and young but I liked him and there was no use in wasting a good companion.

I heard him whining and I figured he had to be pretty close. From the sound he was maybe a hundred yards from our home.

"Chotch!" I yelled, "Chotch, where are ya?" I had my little air rifle, one I knew would never kill anything, but it sure does sting and would get those weasly bastards off Chotch when I found him. I walked for an hour and a half in one direction, straight at the whining, and I finally found him.

The yipping had been bad and the moaning worse. I knew that he'd given it his all and I heard noises that couldn't be coming from my young pup. He'd caused a hurt in at least one of them. I knew he was hurt too and I couldn't get to him in time to shoo away the monsters in the dark. They all work together you see, and go after things so close to them selves they can be nothing but monsters. When I kept hearing his moans though I knew Chotch was alive, and I was going to help him that night, whether than meant keeping him alive or giving him rest from his pains.

The little booger was up against a yucca and ripped up bad. His lips were shredded on the one side and his nose looked a bit like a sponge there were so many holes in it. The bugger wagged his tail when he saw me though and he didn't try to get up because he knew I was coming to get him. He knew I was there to help. I made him as comfortable as I could and I wrapped his bloody legs around myself like a shawl. He snapped at my hands, but I eased up and began walking, dog and air rifle slung over my back.

That had been years ago and though Chotch was full grown and at least 80 pounds, he still cowered in his sleep nights he heard the coyotes off in the distance. Sometimes they still got close and he would bark ferociously, but he'd stay right at the trailer, not to be caught alone again. Those nights he would shake in his sleep.

I pulled myself back inside and started breakfast for myself. Eggs as usual. I thought maybe I would head over to the Chee's and see if they needed any help with the car-work they were doing. I'd ask them if they had seen the moon the night before....if they'd noticed the haze today. Maybe there was a fire up valley I just hadn't heard about.

I got on my rickety old bike and headed out. I figured there was no use in driving the short distance to the Chee's and that Chotch could use the exercise. He was a goofy looking dog anyways, heavy jowls and a funny color of brown, but with the weight gaining on him it made it even worse. He smiled his dog smile as we merged on to highway 93 and went south. The riding was easy but I knew there was trouble when I saw the dust flying up on the road ahead of us. Someone was hauling ass. In typical fashion for these parts the car was closer than I thought it was and came barreling over the hill in front of us. No kidding, the thing was airborne for a second and I could see Johnny Chee driving and some friends in the car. They sure as shit didn't see us though and I cranked hard on the handle bars and spilled myself off the road. The car hauled past and there was a thump and a yowl and I knew Chotch was hit. The car skidded to a stop and Johnny threw open the door climbing clumsily out. I could tell by the look on his face Chotch didn't look so good. There was his moaning though so I knew he was still alive.

"God dammit Johnny!" I yelled hauling myself off the ground. The dust was flying around me and I ran to my dog.

"I'm sorry, Curt. Awe shit I'm sorry I didn't see you guys."

He kept talking but I couldn’t' hear him any more. I walked to the side of the car where Chotch was laying and I called out with the pain in my heart. His leg was broken and he looked crushed. Blood was coming from his nose and in spurts with the whining. His tale though, god damn it, wagged when he saw me because he knew I was coming for him. He knew I was there to help.

I bent down and touched his head. Being a country boy I knew there was nothing for him now. Blood was pooling around him, coming from a source I didn't want to find.

"Awe shit, Curt. I'm sorry." Johnny Chee said behind me. "Let me take care of him, Curt. You don't need to; let me take care of him."

The tears were blurring my vision.

"I won't be having you touch my fucking dog," I said coarsely.

"Your a good boy you know," I asked and Chotch's tail wagged a little more but the energy was being sapped out of him fast but his injuries would make him suffer quite a bit more.

"Get the hell out of here." I told Johnny Chee quietly. He looked at me, and though I am old, I can still be a menace. He cowered at my size and I know he didn't mean it and we're still friends today, I needed that man to be out of my sight. He knew there was no more apologizing to be done and that I had a hard task before me. He and his friends got back in the car. They reversed that damn car all the way back over the hill.

"Oh, Chotch" I said crying freely now. I hated looking at him so broken. He was a young dog and a damn good dog and nearly the only company I ever had at my place. I knew it would be lonely with out him.

I pulled the knife from my pocket and pushed up on the thumb notch and flicked my wrist like I was teasing my dog with a treat, knocking a can of chaw. The blade snapped into place and I couldn't look into my hurting dog’s eyes anymore. I didn't want him to know it was me doing this and have him not understand.

"Wakan Tankan Nici Un, " I said and pushed the blade hard and fast through his ribs and deep into the heart. He gave a short yelp and I cried harder than I ever did before. I'm sure it was a sight: an old Indian on the side of the road bawling, his knife thrust deep into his best friend.

I was there for quite a while but no one passed. Then I took my dog and wrapped his bloody legs around my shoulders like a shawl. This time he didn't snap at my hands and I knew my grip was hard. I walked with him the short distance to our house and dug a grave out behind the trailer. I buried him there and sat inside the trailer, fighting so hard with my guilt and sadness.

Now I spend my nights alone. I still drink my drinks and play that stupid zombie game, but it’s just not the same. Occasionally I look outside the trailer and see the moon is red. It’s rare, but it does happen. I go inside and call my sister to find out if she's okay. The coyotes call out into the night and though they are far off and don't come close anymore, I shake in my sleep.