The Summer House was everything the Manhattan house was not. The old home was rustic and secluded, nestled just between the edges of the Adirondack Mountains and Blue Mountain Lake and provided the O’Malleys a respite from their fast-paced city life.
Elsa’s father had spent his childhood in wide open spaces of rural Montana untethered by technology or helicopter parents. He had met his wife while they were both students at Columbia Law School and while they had chosen to build their lives in the city, they wanted the rugged life of the great outdoors to influence the character of their children. The summer house was about as rugged a life as they could manage.
During the winter months, it was unlikely for the O'Malley clan to be in the same place at the same time. All four of the children played sports, musical instruments, and studied a foreign language with a private tutor. Both Mike and Sheryl worked long hours as attorneys, tag-teamed responsibility for their children’s various after-school activities, and hired a nanny to cover the rest.
Elsa was the youngest of the O’Malley children and also the quietest. Most of the year, Elsa was a pale skinny girl with mousy brown hair, who liked to read books and draw pictures. But in the summer, Elsa’s hair turned a golden blond, freckles decorated her nose and sun-kissed cheeks, and her knees and shins bore the scrapes and bruises of an adventurer. In the winter, Elsa was a smart and thoughtful child, but in the summer, she was happy.
On the first Saturday after school let out, the O’Malley’s all piled into their SUV and drove out of the city.
“I hear Murph’s has a new owner again,” Mr. O’Malley said, trying too soon to engage the kids in conversation. Everyone was staring at their iPhone — except Elsa — who was not yet 12 and so did not have a phone. No one responded to this prompt, and he fell silent again. Elsa stared out the window, watching the scenery change from grey to green and let her mind wander.
Murph’s was the local fishing shop and was a favorite hangout. Although nobody named Murph had owned the shop for quite some time (any attempt to change the name over years had been unsuccessful). Murph’s sold just about everything, including candy and soda. Such novelties were not a part of the O’Malley’s disciplined city life, but were tolerated summertime indulgences. The quickest way to the shop was directly across the lake by kayak, which took about 20 minutes if her oldest brother rowed, and twice as long if it was just Elsa. If the winds were too high, there was a path that wound its way through the woods around the lake to the store.
The muted memories of former summers meant that each year, at least one of the O’Malley children would attempt to ride their bike along that wooded path. But the downed trees, gullies, and steep ravines always proved too much and the bike would end up abandoned, stashed near a landmark to be reclaimed on the walk back home.
The story of that trek would become the sunset tale for that evening. As one story was shared, other favorite summer memories suddenly became as vivid as if they too had been that very afternoon.
The summer house was a magical place. But for Elsa the best part of the summer home each year was the summer dog.
Within a day or two of arriving, the O’Malleys would go to the local shelter and adopt a summer dog. Elsa and her siblings would walk down the long hallways of the overcrowded shelter, peering into the cages. Their parents, meanwhile, would ask the volunteers who ran the front-desk which dogs had been there the longest and might be put down soon. The selection was usually narrowed down to a to friendly hound dog that had been in the shelter for quite awhile and lacked the pretty markings that appealed to most adopters.
Jacob, three years older than Elsa, had been the closest companion and primary caretaker of the summer dog for the last few years. This year he seemed a reluctant participant. He first refused to get in the car for the drive to town, then refused to to get out of the car at the shelter, and finally sat himself down on the bench near the entrance and refused to go any further. When Elsa’s mother asked if he was feeling well, he simply shrugged and said, “what’s the point?”
Elsa looked at her mom with astonishment when she neglected to correct Jacob for his rudeness. She shot Jacob a sideways disapproving glance of her own, and then followed her mother into the raucous din that was the dog side of the shelter.
This years summer dog was younger than usual. Tall and thin with oversized floppy ears, the hound dog, barely two years old, was mostly black, except for one leg and a tail that were white and speckled with black. The hound had had arrived at the shelter with about 20 other dogs and puppies that had been take into custody as part of a hoarding case. Most of the puppies had been adopted, many of the younger dogs had been relocated to shelters around the country, a few of the older dogs selected as front porch companions by older local residents, and about 1/2 dozen or so of the older, injured, or sick dogs had already been euthanized. This particular dog had been spared because of his young age, but was not likely to be allowed to stay at the shelter much longer.
The O’Malley summer dogs always had the same name — Bandit. The name had been earned by the original summer dog who managed to steal food from the kitchen countertops without ever being seen inside the house.
Elsa hugged the trembling new Bandit tightly as they drove him home from the shelter. “It’s okay,” she whispered into his ear. “This summer will be the best, you’ll see.”
* * * *
Elsa and Bandit shared every adventure that summer. Bandit had howled so mournfully at the moon that first night, that Elsa made a make shift bed of blankets and pillows and slept on the screened in porch with Bandit the rest of this summer. Elsa and Bandit became fast friends with the son of the new owner at Murph’s, Daniel. The threesome spent most of the summer building a fort on the property behind the store. They worked tirelessly from sunup to sundown planning, designing, and improving their hideaway. Elsa had never before had friends like Daniel and Bandit, and she had never been happier than she was that summer.
* * * *
“If you don't tell her, I will!” Jacob yelled.
“Oh honey. It’s not a secret, we thought you knew.” His mom reached out to pull him close, but he pulled away before she could reach him.
“It’s murder,” said Jacob. “Just because its a dog, doesn’t means it not murder. Elsa loves that dog and has no idea that you are going to kill it.”
Cassie’s heart froze in her chest and she dropped to her knees outside the kitchen window, hoping to remain unseen by her mother and brother as their argument spilled out the open window.
“Honey,” his mom tried again, a little more sternly this time. “We give the dog a wonderful summer adventure that it wouldn’t otherwise have...a summer of running around in the great outdoors, playing with you kids, and going to sleep at night with a full belly.”
“It’s a wonderful adventure for a dog,” his father interjected, trying to help, “a dog that was going to be put down anyway.”
“You don't know that!” cried Jacob. “And even if he was, that doesn’t give us the right to kill him.”
“Jacob,” his father reasoned, “I want you to understand, I think something is getting lost in translation here. It’s the way your mother and I grew up. Out in the country, animals that have served their purpose are put down. It’s over in an instant, they don't suffer at all.”
“Your mother and I are so proud of you for having such a big heart, but I want you to understand, we aren’t trying to be unkind. It’s the opposite really, we are giving a dog a wonderful summer.”
Jacob softened a bit, “Why cant we just keep him? Why do we have to kill them.” He stifled a sob as he said the word ‘kill’ and finally allowed his mother to embrace him.
“We can’t have a pet in the city,” his father said. “We don't have room, nobody is home all day, its just not a fair life for an active dog.”
Jacob straightened, shrugged off his mothers arms, wiped away his tears, and said, “You have to tell Elsa; she has the right to know.” And then he walked upstairs to his room and quietly shut the door.
Elsa leapt to her feet from her hiding spot and ran. They were going to shoot Bandit. They were heading back to New York tomorrow morning. She frantically whisper-shouted Bandit’s name, not wanting to draw attention to her presence - or to Bandits. It was already past mid-day and she didn't have much time.
Elsa’s immediate plan was to get Bandit to the hideout behind Murphs. She wasn’t entirely sure what to do after that, but at least he would be safe overnight.
Elsa found bandit trotting happily back from an adventure in the forest and called out to him to follow her as she ran out to the end of the pier. The O'Malley dogs didn't wear collars and Elsa didn't even think they owned a leash. She removed the rope from the tied-up kayak, fastened it around Bandit’s neck, and coaxed him onto the kayak with her.
Last years’ Bandit had spent the majority of the summer riding around on the kayak with Jacob. He would bark and bite at the waves left by the wake of passing boats. This years’ Bandit hated the kayak and would jump off as soon as the paddling began in earnest, swimming back to shore and following Elsa around the lake by running up and down the shoreline.
Elsa didn't have time to risk Bandit jumping off, so she tied the rope tightly to the kayak seat, leaving just enough slack for Bandit to sit up. He shot her a displeased look, but she didn't have time to try to make him feel better. She, Bandit, and the kayak needed to be out of sight before her father tried to find them.
The first wave of thunder rolled through just as Elsa pushed off from the boat house. Within minutes she was caught in a full blown summer storm. Her T-shirt clung to her and she squinted, blinking away the rain water the best she could. After what seemed like a lifetime of effort, Elsa looked stopped paddling and looked around. She couldn't see well enough in the storm to see how much progress they had made.
The rocking of the kayak on the waves created by the wind along with the lightening and thunder were too much for Bandit who finally decided he could take no more and leapt from the kayak. His jump capsized the kayak and knocked them both into the water. Bandit thrashed furiously as the weight of the drifting kayak pulled the rope more tightly around his neck.
Elsa struggled frantically to keep herself afloat and free Bandit from the tightening rope. She forced him under water just long enough to wiggle the rope off of him completely.
Bandit, realizing he was free, began to swim, not toward the safety of Murph’s, but back towards home. Defeated and exhausted Elsa began swim, following Bandit back towards the pier, which was now fully lit by her families lanterns and flashlights as they searched the edges of the lake frantically for Elsa and missing kayak.
Elsa’s mother and father stood waist deep in the lake wading out to pull her from the water as she neared the shore and carry her exhausted body up the hill to the summer house.
Back in the safety of the summer house. Elsa took a warm shower got dressed and in her cuddly pajamas and came downstairs to join her family in the living room. There was a fire in the fireplace, which was a rarity for the summer house, and Elsa’s siblings all sat along side her mother on the leather couch, starring at Elsa solemnly.
“What were you thinking?” asked her mother finally.
“I heard you,” Elsa replied looking down at her bare toes. I heard you telling Jacob that dad was going to shoot Bandit, i just wanted to get him safely to the other side of the lake.”
Jacob hung his head, fearing that for all those terrible moments that Elsa was missing that he had been the one responsible.
“Wait. What?” said Stephanie, Elsa’s sister. “Why would dad shoot Bandit?”
“They do it every year.” said Jacob. “We have been adopting a dog for the summer and then killing it.”
“Killing it?” Exclaimed Stephanie “I thought it went back to the shelter!”
Elsa’s parents looked at each other. “Listen,” their mother began “your father and I grew up in a different world. We killed chickens and cows for food. My dad would drown the kittens born to the farm cats. I didn't like it then either, but I understood that the kittens wouldn't have a good life...there would be too many of them.”
“Your mother and I talked about it this afternoon,” their father interrupted. “We didn't know you it upset you so much, Jacob. We will not shoot this Bandit. Okay? We will take him back to the shelter and give him another opportunity to find a home.”
Elsa felt her family’s eyes turn towards her. “No.” she said defiantly. “I want to keep him. I want Bandit to live at the New York house with us. I don't ever want another Bandit.”
Stephanie jumped in. “Mom, I’ll help. I’ll help Elsa take care of him.”
“Elsa,” her father interrupted, trying to regain control of the conversation. “You know better than to take a kayak out at dusk in a rainstorm. Its so dangerous and...” he choked up. Elsa went over and hugged him as her mother jumped up to comfort him as well.
“I am sorry, Daddy. It wont happen again.” Then after a moment she said softly, “But can we please keep Bandit.”
“Oh for heavens sake,” her father said, laughing as he wiped away his tears. “I suppose we can.”
A cheer erupted from the O’Malley children. Elsa’s mother and father smiled at each other and shared a private eye roll. You could not, it seemed, turn city children into country folk.
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