Lukas cowered in his tumbledown kennel. The water bowl had tipped over. The food bowl was coated with brown birch leaves. Father dragged the terrified puppy out. Undid the lock on the chain round his neck and. Did he really. Do I remember right. Father locked the chain around bror’s neck and left him lying there with his shoulder at a strange angle and hardly conscious anymore. And there you can stay father said. Until you learn to behave.

Firm steps back towards the house. A curtain twitched in the bestroom. Mother was tending the potplants.

After a while the puppy dared to come close and lie down next to us. He licked bror’s hand.

Then the door again. I saw father and took lukas in my arms. I ran holding on tightly to the struggling puppy but the rain had just stopped falling and I slipped on the wet grass. Lukas twisted himself free.

At the perfect shooting angle a few metres from where we were the bullet hit the puppy in the head. Father’s skill with a gun was 104highly regarded. Called in from far and wide to help deal with clawing bears and pestering elks.

You will learn from this he said like a vicar sermonising his congregation. Then he secured his rifle and put it on his shoulder like an ordinary huntsman. Pointed at bror and told me to get him back into the house. See to it that the lad had a change of clothes. He can’t look like that when we’re celebrating saturdaysunday.

It went on to be another typical friday. Father found things to preoccupy him. Bror wept over the puppy and I comforted him as best I could. Maybe it was just as well I said. He was undersized and scared of being punished all the time.

Then came the saturday. Something about bror’s shoulder wasn’t right. He couldn’t raise his arm. At half past five in the morning mother arrived as usual in our room. Father and the byre were waiting for us.

There’s something wrong with his shoulder I told her. He must see the doctor. Such a fuss mother said and tugged at her headscarf. You must learn to put up with things. Don’t forget man is born in pain.

Can shooting a puppy and putting bror on a chain be right I asked. She didn’t reply. Stroked bror’s head casually as if to smooth his wokenup hair. All one can do is pray she said.

And how we prayed. Childish prayers for help. Less childish prayers for revenge. We prayed that father would die. But he kept coming back friday after friday.

The family was sacred according to mother’s faith. A family stuck together regardless. If someone died the family would still reunite one day. It was like living in hell for all eternity.