Part IV The boneyard

That house had an enclosed fenced in yard, so small that it was more like a cage. In that pen was a large dog, a Doberman Pinscher I remember, and it stayed in that pen for the whole time (maybe) we lived there. It did not belong to us, but to Bill O'Neill, the very same man who we later learned was Sara's nephew. He would stop in every so often, though it didn't seem to be often enough for the dog's sake, and he would throw a bunch of bones over the fence into the dog's pen. The ground the dog walked on was a maze of old bones, the entire area was a bunch of old white bones. I don't think the dog had a name, or at least we didn't know it, (Blackie, maybe?) I don't think it was ever taken out of the pen either. It seemed pretty friendly as I remember, glad to see anyone. In retrospect, I hope my mother fed it between the bone drops, though I never thought about it at the time.