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JESSE JANSEN

by BUD TANT

February 22, 1990
Cummins Unit


Jesse Jansen stood in the barren yard behind the dilapidated white frame house.

"WHORE! YOU DON'T TELL ME SHIT! DO YOU HEAR ME? IT AIN'T NONE OF YOUR GODDAM BUSINESS WHERE I BEEN!" a loud male voice boomed. The words were punctuated by the sound of flesh meeting flesh.

Jesse didn't have to be inside the house to know what that familiar sound meant; Mama just got slapped. Jesse licked his lips and looked around in desperation. He saw empty bottles and rusted cans lying all over the weedy yard, but nothing suitable for a weapon. At least, nothing that would enable him to overcome the difference in size between him and his father.

His father was fully six feet tall and weighed well over 200 pounds. Jesse was 9 years old and weighed 70 pounds. He stood still and listened closely, but there were no more sounds coming from inside the wood frame house.

As he stood there motionless, staring at the peeling paint, rusted window screens and tattered curtains, his vision began to blur. Hot tears formed in his eyes and flooded down his dirty brown cheeks. Yellow mucous ran from his nose and mixed with the tears. Jesse wiped his face with the sleeve of his flannel shirt. He stared down at the cheap Redball tennis shoes he was wearing and shook silently. The fear that had gripped his muscles in a steely vise slowly dissipated and Jesse wandered toward a rickety wooden storage shed in the corner of the yard.

When he reached the shed he carefully pulled open the door. One of the hinges had completely let loose from the door frame and he had to hold the bottom of the door in order to open it. This he did slowly. Quietly. He stepped up over the threshold and slowly closed the world out.

Once inside he picked his way through the maze of discarded furniture, cardboard boxes and unused garden implements. It was dark inside the shed, and Jesse moved carefully so he wouldn't make any noise. He stepped over a rusted push mower and then dropped to his hands and knees and crawled behind an old folding card table propped against the wall of the shed. He silently shifted around until he was sitting on the gritty floor, hidden behind the card table. He listened closely. Nothing. Nobody had seen him, he was sure of it.

Jesse sat there in the stillness, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dimness of the shed's interior. Small shafts of sunlight filtered through cracks in the shed's walls. Millions of specks of dust floated in the streams of sunlight. Jesse looked around at his cluttered sanctuary. Tension fell away from his small body.

He reached inside a dusty cardboard box and pulled out several books. Most of the books were old, tattered comic books, but one was a large hardbound copy of a book called Dogs of the World. Jesse fingered the cloth cover of the large book lovingly.

He opened the cover and felt a pang of guilt. He felt that way each time he opened the book. Right there inside the front cover was a small manila pouch, and stamped directly above the pouch was "Property of Los Angeles Public Library." Jesse had stolen the book. He hadn't meant to. Hadn't he tried to get a library card? He had, and the wrinkled lady with the blue hair had told him he couldn't have a card until he was 13 years old. And now each time Jesse took the book out if his secret place, he felt a pang of guilt.

He sighed and began leafing through the pages of the magnificent book. Every page or so there would be colored photographs of the dogs described on the printed pages. Afghans, beagles, bulldogs, terriers, shepherds. Jesse knew them all by heart.

He'd once owned a dog. It was a shepherd mix that had followed him home when he was in the first grade. His ears wouldn't stand up, and he didn't do tricks, but Jesse had loved him just the same. He named him "Rinny" after the famous Rin-Tin-Tin of television fame.

Rinny didn't have a collar or dog tags. Jesse was 7 when the burly dogcatcher had loaded Rinny into the cage in the back of a city truck. Jesse had cried and begged the man not to take his dog, but his pleas fell on deaf ears.

For a long time Jesse was confused about the whole thing. He had questioned his mother about what had happened to Rinny and she had told him Rinny had been "put to sleep." It didn't make sense to 7-year-old Jesse. If they had put him to "sleep", when would he wake up? He'd asked his mother that. She had looked at his sad eyes and told him that one day he would understand.

Last year his friend Carl's dog had been run over by a car. Carl told Jesse that the veterinarian couldn't make Carl's dog well, so he'd put him to sleep. When Jesse had asked when he'd wake up, Carl had looked at him as if he were crazy and said, "Never, stupid. That's just what they call it when they kill your dog."

Now each time Jesse looked at the dog book he spent several sad minutes looking at the photo of the German shepherd. The feeling he got each time he looked at the photo of the beautiful German shepherd made him forget the guilt he felt when he first picked up the stolen library book.

"JESSE! JEEESSSEEEE!" Jesse quickly closed the dog book. His mother was calling him. He sat perfectly still and strained his ears. BANG! The screen door slammed shut. She had gone back inside the house. Jesse carefully put his books back inside the cardboard box and crawled back through the cluttered shed. When he arrived at the door, he put his face near a tiny crack in the weathered boards and peered out. He didn't see anyone.

"Musn't let anyone see me," he thought to himself. He took a deep breath and quickly opened the broken door. As soon as his feet touched the ground he turned and closed the door firmly. Then he ran toward the back door of the house.

When Jesse reached the back door he stooped and picked up a ball of cotton lying on the porch and stuffed it back into the hole in the rusted screen. It kept flies out of the house and the constant slamming of the screen door occasionally shook it free. Jesse entered the kitchen.

"Where have you been, son?" his mother asked, as she dried her hands on the dishtowel.

"I wwwas j-uuust pplaying," Jesse stammered. Jesse had begun stammering when he was 5 years old. At school his teacher said he had a "speech impediment" and Jesse was placed in a special group for his classes.

"Well, wash your hands. Dinner will be ready in a few minutes."

Jesse eased through the kitchen door like a cat creeping through an alley. It didn't work. It seldom worked.

"Where the hell have you been, boy?" His father's words hit him like a cold wind.

Jesse stopped. "Nnnnno where," he whispered.

"Goddammit! You've been some-fucking-where or you wouldn't have come creeping in the back door!" his father said meanly.

"Iiii wwwasss j-just out ppplaying," Jesse stammered.

"Goddam you, boy. If you can't talk right don't even open your mouth when I'm around. Do you hear me?"

Jesse lowered his head and nodded mutely. Then he tiptoed out of the room into the bathroom.

After Jesse washed his hands he padded softly to his bedroom and sat on the cheap chenille bedspread covering the half-bunk bed he slept in. He didn't know what happened to the top half of the bed. All he'd ever seen was the part he slept in. He sat rigidly, looking around him.

His bedroom was as barren as the back yard. A small dresser was the only furniture in the room besides his bed. In spite of the Spartan furnishings in the room, it was uncluttered and well-kept. Jesse made his bed each morning before he went to school and there were no toys to leave strewn around the room.

On one wall a certificate had been thumbtacked to the sheetrock. It announced that Jesse Jansen had completed the third grade at E.O. Green Elementary School without missing a day. A Los Angeles Dodgers baseball cap was hanging from a nail on the closet door and school books and tablets were neatly stacked on top of the dresser. That was the room.

"C'mon, John, dinner's on the table," Jesse heard his mother call.

Jesse quickly jumped off the bed and hurried to the table.

John Jansen was already seated when Jesse arrived at the table. Mrs. Jansen never sat down and Jesse never recalled having seen her eat an entire meal. Jesse quietly took a seat. His mother took his plate and put a helping of casserole and a spoonfull of green peas onto it. Jesse nodded "thank you" to her and silently began eating the food she had placed on his plate.

"What's this shit?" growled Mr. Jansen.

"John, that's tuna casserole. You liked it last week," Mrs. Jansen said placatingly.

"I work my ass off five days a week to eat this shit?" John Jansen exclaimed. "Just one goddam time I'd like to sit down here and enjoy something you cook. I live in a fuckin' pig sty and you feed me slop! What do you do with the grocery money?" he demanded.

Nobody said anything. Mrs. Jansen knew that he didn't expect or want an answer. This was just a tired rerun of yesterday, and the day before , and the day before that...

"I'm going to get something to eat!" he cried and stormed away from the table and out the front door.

Jessee didn't even realize he'd been holding his breath until he let it out. His mother sat down and started picking at the food Mr. Jansen had left untouched on his plate.

"Eat your dinner, Jesse," she said softly. "Your father has been tense lately. I don't know what's come over him."

Jesse slowly ate his tuna casserole.


Jesse walked to and from school, and that's what Jesse was doing when he saw the city truck with the cage on the back of it. Jesse was on his way home from school. As Jesse neared the truck he heard a whining sound. He looked around and saw that the dogcatcher was nowhere in sight. Jesse moved close to the cage and peered inside. A large black dog stared back at him. It was dark inside the steel cage, but Jesse thought the dog looked like a Rottweiler. At least it seemed to be mostly Rottweiler. He stuck his right eye up to a hole in the thick mesh screen and the dog licked him right on the eyeball.

Jesse looked around once more. Still nobody in sight. He went quickly to the back of the truck and raised the latch holding the door closed. No sooner had he opened the door a crack than 100 pounds of black dog exploded through the doorway.

"Rrrruun, bboy, r-rrun!" Jesse cried as he himself took off running with the black dog running right beside his cheap tennis shoes.

"HEY, KID! COME BACK HERE WITH THAT DOG!"

Jesse didn't look back when he heard that cry, he just ran harder.

When he had turned several corners and run through numerous back yards, Jesse slowed and looked behind him. The coast was clear. He had managed to lose the dogcatcher, if the dogcatcher had even chased him. He wasn't sure. He only knew he had run for his life. A wet tongue swiped at his right hand. He looked down into the big brown eyes of the dog. The dog's short-cropped tail was wagging furiously and he kept licking Jesse's hand.

"Tha-that was c-close, w-wasn't it, b-boy?" he asked the dog. The dog just wagged his stub of a tail harder. Jesse patted the wide head and looked closely at the large dog. It was mostly black, but it had red on its chest, below its lower jaw and on the insides of its legs. It was a fine specimen of a dog.

"B-boy, I d-don't kn-know w-what y-y-you're g-gonna d-do n-now," Jesse stuttered, "B-but I h-h-have to g-go home b-before I g-get in tr-trouble."

Jesse turned and started to walk away. He had only traveled a few steps when he felt the wet tongue on his hand again. He stopped and looked down. "B-boy, y-you g-g-gotta g-go home," he begged. "Y-you c-c-can't c-come w-with me," he reasoned.

The dog sat on its haunches, cocked its lantern of a head, and stared balefully at him. Jesse began walking again. Again the dog followed. Finally, Jesse said, "Oh, a-alright, c-come on," and started toward his house.


Mrs. Jansen stood in the front doorway looking down the street in front of the house. Jesse was hurrying toward the house. A huge black dog was trotting beside him. Every few steps the dog would bound ahead of Jesse, smell some invisible scent on a fence or tree and then turn and romp back to the boy's side. Mrs. Jansen smiled uncertainly and shook her head. Jesse had a friend.

"M-mama, he-he w-won't g-go h-home," Jesse explained in his broken manner. The big dog sat on his heavy haunches and looked from Jesse to the woman standing in the doorway.

"Well, baby, I don't know what your father will say. Doesn't he have tags?"

Jesse just shook his head. Mrs. Jansen looked from the monster of a dog to the little boy. Both sets of eyes stared hopefully back at the woman. Mrs. Jansen let out a deep sigh of resignation. "Well, take him to the back yard and put Rinny's old chain on him and we'll see what your father says."

"C-come on, b-boy!" Jesse cried, running around toward the back of the house. The big dog followed Jesse with leaping strides.

Jesse went to the old shed and searched the tall weeds between the shed and the cyclone fence. He found the rusting chain and snapped it onto the ring on the big dog's leather collar. The dog's eyes registered dismay and he lowered his head to the ground. Jesse knelt beside his new friend and took the huge head between his two hands.

"D-don't w-worry, b-boy. I w-won't l-leave y-you tied up. We-we'll p-play e-every d-day," he soothed. The dog wagged his stub as if to tell Jesse he understood.

Jesse was standing looking outside the front window of the house when Mr. Jansen's old DeSoto pulled into the driveway. A chill ran the length of Jesse's spine. He felt the icy grip of fear twist his stomach into knots. Mr. Jansen slammed the car door and walked authoritatively toward the house.

"WOOF! WOOF! WOOF!" came deep-throated barks from the back yard.

"Where in the hell did that goddam dog come from?" Mr. Jansen demanded.

"John, the dog followed Jesse home from school. Jesse tried to make him leave, but he wouldn't. He doesn't have any tags," the woman explained meekly.

"Well, get rid of it, right this minute!" John Jansen roared. Jesse's heart sank into his stomach and he felt moisture beginning to fill his eyes.

"John, please!" Mrs. Jansen pleaded. "Just let Jesse keep him until we see if anyone places an ad in the lost and found. He'll keep him chained. Besides, that looks like a good watch dog to me..."

"Alright, but the first time I step in any dog shit I'm killing the son of a bitch, and if it starts barking and raising hell I'll shoot him!" John Jansen stomped into the bedroom.

Mrs. Jansen looked at her son. He didn't say anything with his voice, but his eyes had "thank you" written all over them. Jesse ran through the house and flew through the back door.


Each day Jesse would come home from school and run to the shed. And each day before Jesse had even come into sight, the big dog would begin to bark with joy and would leap against the chain, shaking the old wooden shed with each mighty leap.

Jesse named his dog "Buck" after a dog he had once read about in Jack London's Call of the Wild. They became inseparable. Jesse found comfort and security each and every time he wrapped his thin arms around the massive neck of the big dog.

Jesse would come home from school, remove the chain from Buck and then the two of them would venture off into the world beyond the yard. Most days they spent with Buck sniffing public trash cans while Jesse picked through the contents searching for returnable soft drink bottles. Sometimes they walked down the highway outside of town where Jesse searched through the weeds and ditches for the valuable bottles. Buck soon learned the object of the treasure hunt and he, too, became adept at spotting bottles. Each time he would find one he'd let out a roaring bark, announcing his triumphant discovery. He knew he'd be rewarded with a pat on his huge head as Jesse would say, "G-good b-boy, Buck!"

He never stuttered when he said "Buck," and a pat on the head wasn't the only reward Buck received for finding the bottles. Jesse took the refund money and bought Buck the best canned dog food and they stopped by the Italian butcher shop two blocks from Jesse's house each day. The butcher saved bones and even some scraps for Buck. As Jesse would enter the shop for the tidbits, Buck would sit majestically outside the front door like a lion guarding the palace gates.

Each day was idyllic - until 5:30 p.m., that is. That's when John Jansen pulled the battered old DeSoto into the Jansen's driveway. Buck had to be chained by the time Mr. Jansen got home. John Jansen made periodic inspections of the back yard to see if Buck's excrement was present. It never was. Jesse religiously scooped the waste up with the spade each morning and afternoon.

Whenever Mr. Jansen would venture into the back yard, Buck would emit a low growl from deep within his broad chest. It wasn't a discernible growl; it was more like a deep vibration that a nearby person felt rather than heard. It gave Mr. Jansen chills and he would hide his fear by cursing the dog roundly. Buck's eyes followed every move the big, red-faced man made each time he came outside the house.

One day John Jansen came home and, being in a surly mood to begin with, immediately proceeded to the back yard for his regular inspection He walked around the corner of the house. Buck's hair bristled instantly.

Mr. Jansen snarled, "Shut up, you stupid mutt!"

Buck vibrated. Just then Jesse came running out the back door.

"Boy, you better teach that damn dog who the boss is around here before I do!" the man said. "He's got about one more goddam time to growl at me and I'm going to blow his brains out."

Jesse ran over to Buck and knelt beside him. Instantly, the vibration stopped and the tail began a tentative wagging. "H-he's j-just t-t-trying to p-protect us," Jesse explained.

John Jansen gave both the dog and the boy a bitter look, turned on his heel and walked inside the house.

The young boy remained in the yard talking softly to the dog until dusk settled over East Los Angeles. The evening sky over the San Gabriel Mountains began turning from steel gray to charcoal as nightfall chased the sun into the Pacific Ocean.

"Jessseeeee! Dinner!" the familiar call rang out, snapping the boy out of the trance the love between him and the dog put him in each time they were alone. He gave Buck a final hug, then sprinted into the house.

Jesse's father was sitting in his big reclining chair when the boy entered the living room. Four empty Budweiser cans littering the small table beside the chair gave mute testimony that the big man was well on his way to becoming drunk.

When the little boy dutifully took his seat at the dinner table he was aware of the palpable tension hovering in the atmosphere. Like a Kansas wheat farmer who had learned to read signs of an impending cyclone, young Jesse knew when a storm was brewing in the Jansen household. Although he had no appetite for the spaghetti his mother had prepared that day, Jesse kept his head bowed respectfully and ate the meal as quietly as he could.

Mr. Jansen was cursing his foreman, the spaghetti, Mrs. Jansen and life in general. Between curses he washed down his bitterness with large gulps of Budweiser. Jesse finished his meal, declined seconds and politely asked to be excused. His mother silently nodded her assent and Jesse retreated to his tiny bedroom.

Jesse tried to tune out the world outside his bedroom that night. He read his school books and tried desperately to ignore the harsh words shouted by his father. But as the evening wore on the voice got louder and more belligerent. Jesse knew his father was doing some serious beer drinking that night because the obscenities the man was shouting became slurred and nearly unintelligible.

At precisely nine o'clock Jesse put his books away and began getting ready for bed. He took off his clothes, hung them neatly in the nearly-vacant closet, put on his threadbare pajamas, and brushed his teeth. Then he went back to his bedroom and eased the window up.

"G-good night b-boy," he whispered into the darkness.

His words were answered by a plaintive whine and a low bark. Jesse quietly lowered the window, climbed beneath the covers of his bed and with thoughts of Buck's love to keep him warm, fell instantly to sleep.

Jesse didn't know what time it was when he awoke with a start. For a moment he held his breath and listened. He heard a choking sound and then he could hear his father's voice.

"I ought to choke you to death!" The voice was low, as if the words were spoken between clenched teeth.

The choking noises continued. Jesse leaped out of bed and ran to his parents' bedroom. John Jansen was on top of Mrs. Jansen, choking the woman with both big hands. She had turned nearly blue.

"L-LEAVE H-HER ALONE!!!" Jesse screamed in horror.

Mr. Jansen glanced back at the little boy menacingly, and continued strangling the helpless woman. Jesse grabbed the back of Mr. Jansen's t-shirt and pulled frantically, trying to pull the big man off his mother. Mr. Jansen suddenly let go of the woman's throat and turned toward his tiny attacker.

"I'LL TEACH YOU TO PUT YOUR HANDS ON ME, BOY!" he screamed. Then, with a sweep of his heavy right arm he backhanded Jesse.

Jesse flew backward like a doll being thrown by a recalcitrant child. He landed on the floor with the taste of blood in his mouth. He climbed back to his feet and stumbled forward again. Again the red-faced man turned and struck him across the face.


Buck's ears pricked forward. There were noises coming from inside the house. He pointed his large ears toward the source of the sounds, listening intently. He heard the voice of the man with the evil smell. A low growl began deep in his chest. He stood up and moved to the end of the chain. Then he froze with his ears cocked.

"L-LEAVE H-HER ALONE!!!" It was the boy. The dog heard panic in the voice of the only thing he had ever loved. With a ferocious growl the big dog lurched forward against the confining chain. He was snatched back with a cruel snap of his neck. Again he coiled his massive muscles and leaped against the chain. CRACK! A piece of board cracked from the old shed.

He heard the sound of flesh meeting flesh inside his master's house. Adrenaline surged through his steely muscles and he unleashed another assault against the rusting chain. CRAAACCCKK!!! The old wooden board gave way and Buck landed on his chest and lower jaw from the force he had put into his last surge. He quickly regained his feet and flew toward the house with rage spurring him forward. The noises were coming from the windows nearest the back of the house. He leaped up, trying to see inside the house.

"P-PLEASE!! L-LET H-HER G-GO!" Jesse was crying now. His mother's face had turned a deep purple color. The man turned toward the little boy with a crazed look in his bulging eyes. Jesse tried to get out of the way, but the blow caught him flush on the temple and the last thing he remembered was a white burst of light inside his brain. Then a black veil fell over the white light and blessed darkness enveloped him.


Buck heard the desperate plea uttered by Jesse. He backed away from the window and exploded into the air. His body was like a furry rocket as he launched himself toward the window. CRASSSHHH!! The glass disintegrated as the big dog tumbled into the room. He landed hard on the wood floor.

The man looked up in surprise. In an instant the huge dog had regained his feet and launched his body once more. The man threw an arm up in an impotent attempt to protect himself from the dog's wrath. But it was too late. The massive head's jaws opened wide and closed on the sweating neck of the frightened man. The man raised both big arms now, in a futile effort to remove the teeth from his neck.

The dog twisted its body and huge gouts of blood sprayed into the air. The man's eyes stared with helpless horror as his blood gushed over the dog's eyes and snout. Soundlessly, the deadly struggle was coming to an end. The fat body slid off the side of the bed and the dog straddled the wide man's chest, never releasing his deadly hold. As if resigned to his fate, the man ceased struggling and blood no longer pumped from the gaping wound on his neck.

Jesse felt something warm on his face. He opened his eyes and saw the big dog staring at him with concern in his eyes. Jesse sat up painfully. His mother was hugging her knees, sitting against the headboard of the bed. Her face was white and her eyes stared at the carnage in wide-eyed disbelief.

Jesse walked over to her. "Are you alright, mama?' he asked. Mrs. Jansen just stared vacantly at the mutilated form of her husband lying on the floor in a sticky pool of his own blood. "Mama, are you alright?"

Mrs. Jansen's eyes left the corpse and studied her son. "What did you say, Jesse?"

"I asked if you're alright."

"Jesse, baby! Oh, my God, Jess!" she exclaimed in shock as she gathered her son into her arms.

"Mama, don't let them put Buck to sleep. Please don't let them hurt Buck!" There was as much fear in Jesse's eyes as there had been when his father was choking the life out of his mother.

"I won't, baby. Nobody will hurt that dog. Not ever!" she reassured her frightened son.


Jesse wasn't quite sure how his mama kept the law from killing his dog. Only that after the coroner had come and taken his father's body away the police took her and Jesse to the hospital. He and his mother were examined by a very kind young doctor who pronounced them able to return home that night, after Mrs. Jansen assured him she and Jesse would follow up with him in 3 days.

They had spent a couple of hours at the police station where they each told their stories to the police. John Jansen was well-known to the police who had often arrested him during barroom brawls and who'd responded to the Jansen house following the numerous phone calls of concerned neighbors who heard John Jansen beating his helpless family. Yeh, they knew John Jansen well and realized that the powerful dog had done them all, and society as a whole a big favor by removing the beast of a man from the face of the earth.

Jesse had almost told his entire story before he realized he was not stuttering. He looked at his tired mother and smiled. She looked at him and began simultaneously laughing and crying.

The police officer had all the information he needed. "Death by Misadventure" he wrote on the bottom of his note pad. Then he drove Jesse and his mother home. That was the end of that.



"C'mon, boy!" Jesse hurried along a narrow path from the sidewalk into the small patch of woods on the south side of the cemetery. "Hurry!" Jesse said, quickening his trot.

Buck bounced after his little master with the joy of freedom lighting his brown eyes. When they reached the back fence Jesse climbed carefully over the spikes along the top of the structure. When he'd reached the top, he jumped lightly down to the soft green grass.

"C'mon, boy!" Jesse called again.

Buck took a step backward, then flew over the fence with grateful ease.

Once inside the fence, Jesse scanned the well-kept cemetery for any caretakers who might be present. He saw none. He picked his way through the marble markers and headstones, noting the flower arrangements and admiring some of the small statues decorating the grave sites.

When he arrived at the marker he had been looking for he stopped and took one more careful look around him. All clear. Then he unzipped his denim pants and pulled his tiny manhood out the opening.

"Boy, I didn't know if I could hold it long enough to get here," he told the dog as a long yellow stream of urine rainbowed through the air and splattered over the fresh grave. The golden stream began at the top of the granite marker and flooded down over the letters carved into the tombstone: "HERE LIES JOHN L. JANSEN. 1923-1979."

When the little boy's bladder was empty, he shook his small penis vigorously and put it back inside his pants.

"Fuck you!" he said to the tombstone, then he turned and trotted back toward the fence with the big dog nipping at the heels of his cheap tennis shoes.

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