Ace, the So-Called Hero Dog

By B. R. R. Cannon

I stand on the Goldberry Bridge, glaring at last week’s newspaper. “Good Boy, Ace!” the headline declares. Everyone in Tuttlesburgh thinks Ace is a heroic golden retriever responsible for dramatic river rescues. But there’s more to the story. I think it’s a ruse, and Ace himself is at the center of it.

I wasn’t there when it started a month ago with ten-year-old Abraham Tuttle, the great-great-great grandson of the town’s founder. But I heard the story. His skateboard hit the berm and sent him into the river. From the shore, Ace spotted him and pulled him out. That’s when all the trouble began.

“Good boy, Ace!” came from all around town. The dog was showered with affection and treats and even a steak dinner at Chez Louis.

A week later, nine-year-old Sarah Locke went into the river. She was sitting on the edge of the bridge when she fell, and Ace was there to save her. Again, he was richly rewarded for his heroism. Two weeks later, it was Hannah Burke.

Then September rolled around. The school year started, and so did a rash of river rescues. Daniel Wilson, Lauren Brown, Sam Smith, Nathan Grant, Madeline Bryant. Ace came to the rescue every time.

“Something seems off about this,” I told my parents. “Abraham was probably an accident. Maybe Sarah too. But Hannah and the rest? That’s too many people accidentally falling into the river.”

Mom laughed. “You’ve always wanted to be a sleuth, Marie, but I don’t think there’s a mystery here.”

“Kids are more distracted than they used to be,” Dad added. “That’s all.”

But for all my parents’ assurances, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. Everything centered around Ace and the Goldberry Bridge. There was more to the story, but what?

News of Ace’s valor spread like wildfire. Last Saturday, Tuttlesburgh put on a parade just for the hero dog Ace. People came from all over the state, reporters flooded in from around the country, and the governor came to give an address.

That day, I stood as close as I could to the stairs of the platform. While the mayor was introducing the governor, I waved the governor down.

“I think Ace might be responsible,” I shouted over the crowd to the governor’s inclined ear. “We’ve never had so many people accidentally fall into the river, and he’s been there to save every one of them.”

My appalled parents apologized and pulled me away. I watched from a distance as Ace received official accolades and a medal for his service. Everyone clapped and cheered, but I stood with arms crossed. I needed to find out the truth about Ace, and I knew just how to do it.

So here I am, on the Goldberry Bridge, ready to bring truth to the town. No, the world. I check my camera on the tripod. It has a good view of the whole bridge and river. Perfect. Now, all I need to do is set the bait and wait to see what happens.

I tuck my binder and newspaper in my backpack and leave it next to the tripod. Then, I take a deep breath and grab my brother’s skateboard. I’ll end this the way it all started, by copying Abraham Tuttle’s rescue.

I skate back and forth on the bridge, watching and waiting as my camera records. Ten minutes pass before the tap of dog claws on the pavement catches my attention. They stop, and I glance toward the east end of the bridge. Golden-brown fur peeks out from the stone parapet wall. Interesting.

I pretend not to notice Ace as I turn the board and slowly roll the other way. My fingers tingle with anticipation as I keep my eyes focused ahead. The Tuttle River is going to be chilly, but I need to keep the ruse going if I’m going to learn the truth.

As I reach the end of the bridge, the whirling of skateboard wheels is drowned out by another sound: pounding paws. I resist the urge to look back. I have an idea of what’s coming, and my camera is lined up perfectly to capture it.

The wind is forced from my lungs as a mass of fur slams into me and sends me careening toward the bank. I tumble and roll a few times before splash! I plunge into the cold water.

As I reach the surface, something else splashes down beside me. Ace. He grabs my sleeve and begins to drag me to shore. It’s not long before my feet can touch, and I wrest myself away from the blasted dog. He looks up at me with excited eyes, wet tail wagging.

“So it is you, Ace!” I shout.

I run up the bank. Ace follows, expecting his customary treat or pat on the head. He’ll get neither from me. He’ll be lucky to get anything after everyone sees he’s been pushing kids in the river all along.

When I reach the top, my heart sinks. My tripod is on the ground, and my camera is shattered into pieces. All my evidence is gone.

I turn and glare at Ace. “You think you’re so clever, destroying the evidence, but I know the truth. You won’t get anything but trouble for saving me.”

Ace dashes past me to my setup, and I chase him. When he reaches my backpack, he nuzzles the zipper, but I shove him away.

“No treats for you, bad dog.”

He looks away from me before shaking all the water off his long, thick fur. I grimace and shield my face from the cold shower. Then, without a sound or a glance, he trots into the woods, probably to plan his next “heroic act,” but I’ll be there when it happens. I’ll catch him pushing kids in the river for treats. Then everyone will know the truth about Ace, the so-called hero dog.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

B. R. R. Cannon has always loved writing and storytelling. While fantasy and sci-fi are her staples, she also dabbles in other genres including poetry and nonfiction. She has previously published stories with Spark Flash Fiction, Havok, Nightshade Publishing, and Twenty Hills Publishing. Currently, she’s working on her debut speculative fiction novel. When she’s not creating imaginary worlds, she enjoys drinking Darjeeling, finding excuses to wear costumes, and spending time with her husband, children, and cat.

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