Say No More (30 page)

“The night before the vet’s office called, I sat at the tiny little dinette, staring at a glass of Jack Daniels and a bottle of sleeping pills, wondering how many it would take to do the trick for an old cow like me. And I told myself, ‘Bernadette, give it one more day. One more day.’ Then ... then they called about you. Gave me something to fill the hours, driving up there to get you. Still, I couldn’t shed that feeling that life would never be as good again.” Her keychain clinked as she twisted the key in the ignition. “But for some reason, I feel a whole lot better now.”

Cecil is the reason
, I tried to tell her, my thoughts coming out as a pathetic whimper.
He wants you to know everything’s okay. That he’s fine — and he’ll wait for you. You’ll be together again. You will.

As usual, she couldn’t hear me. No one ever did.

Story of my life.

B
ernadette lay face up on the sofa, her mouth wide open as she emitted a snore as loud as the engine of Cecil’s old John Deere on a winter morning. Her blanket had fallen to the floor in the early hours of morning after much tossing and turning. She wore a flannel nightgown, dotted with a busy flower pattern, this one of red and white roses. A single fuzzy pink slipper peeked from beneath the edge of her nightgown.

Rolling over onto my side, I stared at that slipper for the longest time and thought just how well suited we were to each other now, Bernadette and me. I was a little wishful that this would be my job for the remainder of my days, sleeping on a bed of folded blankets beside her, but she had made it clear that was not to be, that she couldn’t take care of me.

I wondered what was going to become of me, then. Where would I go? Who would I live with? Other than companionship, I had nothing to offer. I wasn’t a very old dog ... but I wasn’t young, either. With my bum leg, I couldn’t gather sheep from the field or move cows through the loading chutes. I couldn’t bring down a groundhog or chase the squirrels from the bird feeder. I could barely get down the stairs. I couldn’t even have retrieved a ball. Old before my time, that’s what I was.

Bernadette’s hand dangled down by my nose. I snuffled it, couldn’t resist licking her fingers, trying to gently wake her. It was well past dawn. I had to pee.

“Oh my word!” She struggled to push herself upright, then swung her legs to the floor. “It’s a quarter to nine. She’ll be here any minute.”

Shuffling into the bathroom, she splashed water on her face, scrubbed it with a wash towel, and proceeded to do a truncated ritual of her usually lengthy morning routine. I stood in the doorway, staring intently at her with a message that said:
I need to go out
.
Now, please
.

She was only half-dressed, standing there bare-faced in her nylons and underwear, before she finally remembered. Slipping her housecoat on, she ushered me out the door.

Warmer this morning, the sun was already high in the sky, its strong light igniting the amber and garnet in the trees on the hills. I stood on the front porch, not at all eager to take those four steps down and then back up again. I walked to the top of the steps, looked out over the farm, took it all in: the faded red barn, the steep-sided creek down the lane, the leaning mailbox out by the road, the muddy corner of the pasture where the sheep would wait for their morning hay in winter, the majestic tulip tree where the squirrels used to drop nuts to the ground to taunt me ...

There’s one now!

A perky gray squirrel rubbed its tiny claws together, darted around the base of the tree, and then came toward me in starts and stops. I took the first step faster than I should have. A sharp reminder of my incapacity stabbed through my leg. When it finally faded, I went more slowly. On open ground, I was better. I could at least manage a brisk walk, or shuffle, rather, but I kept the pace leisurely, my head pointed toward the barn so I could keep the squirrel in my peripheral vision. The little rodent flicked its tail smugly. I paused as I neared it, pretended to look away, but all the sudden it dashed across the lawn and up the tree. Disappointment whooshed out of me in a single breath.

Dang it. So close. This could have been the day. All this time I’d been trying to beat the thing across the lawn before it went back up the tree, when maybe I should have taken a lesson from the local barn cats and stalked it instead, lulling it into a false sense of security before springing on the thing and eviscerating it.

Trotting over to the tree, I stared up into the branches. The thieving rodent was nowhere to be seen. I squatted at the base of the tree, letting my puddle of urine soak the ground as a reminder that this was my territory. Just as I turned to go back to the house, a silver minivan turned at the mailbox and drove up the lane. I stayed where I was. If it was someone I didn’t want to see, some stranger — which it likely was — then I had time to take off. Had I been, well, less of a wreck, I would have stood my ground and barked my head off, telling them in no uncertain terms to
go away
. In my current condition, however, I was a sorry excuse for a guard dog.

The van curved around the loop at the top of the driveway, stopping before the front porch. No one, except someone who hadn’t been here before, came in the front door. A woman got out — I could tell from the build of her hips and the way she walked — pulled her gloves off, and stuffed them in her pocket as she climbed the stairs. She was wearing a felt hat, the brim turned up in front, her hair bunched up in a bun at the back of her neck. I couldn’t see her face from where I stood, but her presence stirred a flutter in my belly.

She knocked on the door. Only a few knocks, soft and polite, as if she expected Bernadette to be right there waiting to open it. After a few moments, she knocked in the same manner again. When that brought no response, she pulled her sleeve back from her wrist to check her watch, then knocked more loudly, six times.

Yes, dogs can count. Not in great numbers, but enough for simple things. How else could my mother Bit have kept track of all of us and known when I was missing? How else would I have known when a lamb had strayed?

The woman stepped over to the picture window and peered inside. She had turned to go down the steps when Bernadette threw open the door.

“Come on in! So glad you could come. I’m Bernadette.” She circled her arm in a welcoming motion. “Sorry I’m such a mess, honey. Overslept, I’m afraid. I’ve got tea if you’d like some.”

The woman put her hand in Bernadette’s and shook it. “Hi, I’m Lise McHugh.”

I’d taken several steps forward before I realized what I was doing. Lise? Here? A mess of emotions muddled my head. At the same time that I wanted to be angry with her for leaving me with Estelle and never coming back to get me, I also wanted to run to her and smother her in kisses.

“Who else would come all the way out here this early in the morning?” Bernadette shut the door behind Lise as they went inside.

Only yesterday, the thought had crossed my mind that it wouldn’t be so bad living with Bernadette in her tiny house, if she could manage it somehow. The loss of Cecil had been as big a blow to her as it had been to me. That reticent old-timer, set in his ways, a workaholic, had wormed himself under our skins. He was a man who loved sparingly, but deeply, who gave all his attention and loyalty to his farm, his dog, and lately his sweetheart, Bernadette. When she came into our lives, it was like the missing piece of the jigsaw puzzle had finally been found. Those weekly trips to the library had been an exciting respite from the monotony of daily chores. I welcomed the hugs of the children, their stutters and lisps as they stumbled over the words in the books, their small triumphs as Cecil read with them, and then their smiles of delight as Bernadette praised their efforts and improvement.

There had been an ebb and flow to daily life that approached perfection. Bernadette and I could have kept each other company. We could have provided therapy for one another if she had taken me on short walks. Surely it was important that she remain mobile in her ageing years? And yet, she had seemed reluctant to keep me as part of her life, something which baffled me. Yes, she had her family, but what was life without a dog at your side? How could such an existence be complete?

Now here was Lise, waltzing back onto the stage as if I might not care that she had abandoned me when
I
needed her most. Who the hell did she think she was?

I started toward the house, trotting with a purpose. I didn’t bother to hide the hitch in my stride. Let her look out here and see what I’d been through. Let her mire in guilt.

I was a dog. A living thing. A loyal companion. A guardian. A soulmate.

I could not be tossed away like a dirty rag or a piece of burnt toast.

Bypassing the front porch, I swung around to the back door. There was only one short step up onto the patio there. I hauled my lame hind end up and stared at the door. I didn’t have to wait long.

“There you are,” Bernadette beamed. “Come in, little honeybunch. I have a surprise for you.”

Surprise? I wouldn’t call it that. Maybe an unexpected development or a wrench tossed into a set of gears, but I wouldn’t class it as some sort of pleasant intrusion on life’s daily rituals — not that we had any of those yet, but we would. It was just a matter of time. Bernadette would come around. She’d have her surgery and realize how much she needed me to help her get better.

In the short time that I had spent plotting the demise of the squirrel, she had finished dressing, although her hair was slightly out of place and her makeup scant, relatively speaking. Her cardigan slanted to one side. She’d missed a button.

“Well, what are you waiting for? Someone’s here to see you.”

I snorted as I brushed past her. I took one disinterested look at Lise, who stood by the sink with a mug of tea cupped in both hands. Then I lay down under the table in my usual spot and closed my eyes. Bernadette had moved my blanket bed there. She was training up well. Another six months and she’d be baking homemade dog biscuits for me. I could cotton to a life of leisurely retirement. Days spent warming myself on the living room floor in a ray of sunshine, afternoons at the library while children swarmed me, evenings stretched out, bathed in the glow of the TV. It would take some getting used to, but —

“Halo?” Lise set the cup on the counter and knelt down, turning her head sideways to look under the table at me. “Hey, girl. How’re you doing?”

I opened one eye, closed it.

“Remember me, Halo?” she said.

I do, but I don’t see the point in you being here. You let Ned Hanson take me away and never came back. Just go away.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t able to come back for you after Cam died. Sooo sorry. Things were ... complicated.”

I rolled over, away from her, onto my good hip. Bernadette had forgotten to give me my pill this morning. It was getting worse.

Lise scooted a chair out and sat. Her foot was by my head. The soles of her shoes smelled vaguely like hay and ... earth. I inhaled deeply, slid my chin a little closer to her foot.

“I just don’t think she feels like herself,” Bernadette said. “They said the break was pretty bad and it’s a wonder —” She spun around, her eyes scanning the mostly empty cabinets. She opened one, then another, then a third before finding the right one. “My age is catching up with me. I forgot her pain pill this morning.”

After fumbling with the cap, she tapped one into her palm and came toward me. I scooted further under the table.

“Ohhh, the last time I gave her one of these, she spit it out three times. I know she hates them. I just wish she’d understand it was for her own good.”

This was one of the many times I wished I could explain to her that I
did
understand. I just didn’t like gagging on them, or the bitter taste they left in my mouth.

“Do you mind if I have a look?” Lise asked. “I learned a few tricks over the years.”

“Go right ahead — although you won’t find much in there.”

Lise slid her chair back. The refrigerator door opened. She looked high and low, moved a few jars around, slid a drawer out. “Aha, here we go. I used to use bologna, but this is even better.”

A plastic wrapper crinkled. My head shot up. I knew that smell. Was she —?

Lise pulled a piece of raw bacon from its packaging. The first drawer she opened contained the silverware. She cut the bacon into thirds.

“Would you like me to cook that?” Bernadette’s penciled brows folded in concern.

“No need to.” Lise took the pill from her, then motioned for her to have a seat. “Dogs like their meat raw just as well as cooked.” She winked at Bernadette, then knelt down next to the table. “Now watch.”

Lise dangled a piece of bacon in front of me. Saliva soaked my mouth. I licked away the drool that threatened to drip from my quivering lips. Who was I to resist this offering of peace? Careful not to snap, I took the bacon. I really, really tried to savor it, to let its smoky goodness melt on my tongue, but instinct overcame me. I swallowed it whole.

Extending her palm, she offered another piece. This one was carefully wrapped around that nasty pill. I could see the nubby little white end poking out. Still, it was wrapped in
bacon
, the food of gods. I slurped it up and swallowed it whole. The lump inside caught in my throat for a second. I worked my tongue in and out, feeling the urge to retch, but before I could expel it, Lise pushed another piece of bacon between my teeth. I devoured it, and the pill slid down smoothly, greased by the coating of bacon fat in my throat.

Lise patted me gently on the head. “Good, was it?”

Pure heaven
.

Her hand curved under my muzzle, scratched the soft place at the base of my throat. I leaned into her touch, stretched my neck. A tiny moan of delight escaped me. I flopped over onto my side, lifted my front and rear left legs as far as I could, given my condition. Her nails scrubbed at my tummy.

Flinching as she caught a closer look at my stitches, she sucked air between her teeth. “Poor girl. She’s been through so much. If I had known ...” She smoothed the fur over my ribs. They were still tender, but her touch was light. “Was she happy with Cecil?”