Welcome to Newcastle

Newcastle is a tiny town in northeastern Wyoming, very close to the border with South Dakota, about 35 miles west of Custer. A few facts about Newcastle: The town is a whopping 2.5 square miles, has two grocery stores, a small library, a post office, a hardware store, a couple of gas stations, a Pamida, and (fanciest of all) a Pizza Hut and a Subway (which sadly does not carry my favorite sandwich, the "Veggie Max"). The population is around 3,000. And the median age is around 60. Seriously.

The town lies on an ecotone (transition from one ecosystem to another) between sagebrush grassland and the black hills. The black hills extend to the east and north and the grasslands run south and west. I'd be lost without the black hills here. They're no comparison to the towering Rockies, nor even to the foothills of mountains, but they're better than nothing.

I have a one-bedroom "cottage" leased here for the next five months, located directly between an oil refinery (which smells) and the train tracks (which, of course, facilitate the passage of trains... which are loud). It is small, but has all the space I need. There are vast improvements over my previous apartment back home. First, the hot and cold water lines aren't crossed, so I get hot water from the 'H' tap and cold from the 'C.' Second, the hot water here won't cause third-degree burns. I'm on ground-level, and I think the daily odds of breaking my neck have been significantly decreased without the Twisty Staircase of Doom. There isn't any lead paint (of which I'm aware), the freezer is a normal size, and I don't have to pay utilities.

It isn't all better, however. I don't have a dishwasher anymore, and the kitchen lacks any semblance of counter space. I no longer have a tub, and the carpet here is of the office variety. Although I probably wouldn't utilize an outdoor space (because of the mosquitoes and the refinery) I no longer have a front porch or use of a fenced-in backyard.

I'm renting from Rohn, a guy in his mid- to late-twenties that works as an electrician at the refinery. He seems nice enough, and has responded to my requests fairly quickly. He's a little awkward, though. Maybe because he spells his name with an 'h.'

Then there's Capone, a mixed blessing. Rohn's house is right next to the cottage, and the space between his house and my front door is occupied by a small, square, muddy dog pen, wherein Capone the pit bull spends most of his time. Capone is a sweet, exuberant dog that would love nothing more for someone, anyone, to pay him some attention. The time not spent in the tiny pen is spent locked in the garage. I don't believe he's ever been in the house, and apart from feeding him twice a day and occasionally providing him with fresh water, I'm not sure Rohn ever really interacts with him. I walk him every day after I get off work, but in the grand scheme of things my efforts fall far short of the kind of exercise and attention he needs.

He's obviously unused to being on a leash, as he feels it's his duty as a respectable dog to pull as hard as he possibly can to visit the greatest number of interesting places before he's dragged back to his white-fenced prison. He's short, wide, and pure muscle, so walks with Capone are far from the easiest part of my day. I've spent the last two weeks trying to convince him that not pulling will get him farther, but the lesson has been slow to take.

Lately, he's taken to sitting in the corner of his pen next to my front door and whining. Sometimes, he howls.