Star Composed--Star Story Number 3

Gloria Shepherd amazed herself, the distance she walked now. The first week she had her border collie (she had never even heard of “border collie” dogs before she acquired Star the previous month), she had barely hobbled with the dog on a leash to the end of the road in front of her house and turned back with her, shuffling, at times, it would not even be an exaggeration to say staggering, home. Fortunately, Star, her pretty dog—it took about a day before “her dog” fell easily from her lips—didn’t seem to mind short walks as long as she could spend some time in the small back yard. By intuition, Star seemed to know the limits of the yard’s boundaries. As the two of them continued to walk, Gloria found herself able to go a few steps further each outing. Then they started two strolls a day. Faster than Gloria would have believed possible, the ‘strolls’ morphed somehow into true hikes.

Well, hikes for Gloria.

The old woman found herself moving with more ease than she had in years, able to rise and sit from her paisley knitting chair beside the small table that had for weeks held her diminutive Christmas tree, but now just held pictures of Christopher, her son, and, more recently, the picture of Star she took on one of the walks, that beautiful doggy smile looking up at her, the blaze and mark that gave the dog her name prominent on her forehead as her luminous brown eyes wisely watched the world around her, both pictures under the small milk glass lamp, used to help see the knitting Gloria still did each evening, that sky-blue jacket for Christopher almost complete….and would a hat to match be appropriate?

Star had so quickly changed Gloria’s life; Gloria no longer first thought of herself as “an old woman.” Instead, now her first thoughts centered around the dog and what Star needed or what Star wanted, or, even stranger, what Star thought she wanted. That didn’t mean what Star might or might not want, but what she communicated to Gloria she wanted by some mysterious ESP method that Gloria had given up trying to understand but that she had also come to listen for with her mind’s ear.

Gloria very seldom said those words “listen with my mind’s ear” out loud. She knew how weird it sounded, meaning when she actually spoke the word, not thought it. Communication could get very confusing around this uncommon, loving, pretty dog. At times, when she tried to explain it to people, it baffled even her so much, she felt a headache coming on, so, generally, she just let it happen, these exchanges with her dog.  “Her dog,” two words she loved so well; words she had never even thought of just a month before. So different was Gloria’s life now that just the week prior, she had driven to the mall and bought a pair of blue jeans, the first pair she had owned in at least 25 years. To her surprise, just wearing the jeans made the walks easier, more energizing, so much so that she returned to buy another pair. She did pick up a third pair, but stopped herself before she bought yet another set.

Let’s not get crazy, she thought.

At least not yet.

At the end of a month of walks, she knew that two times a day she and Star navigated two miles at a time. Have mercy, she thought, I am walking four miles a day!

The fact would, she knew, shock her son. For some reason, she didn’t tell him when he called. The once-a-week call, maybe, rarely, twice, kept them up-to-date with each other, at least the peripheral things. “How’s the weather? How are you feeling? Do you need anything? What’s for dinner?” But, deep topics seldom came up.

How, for example, would she explain that her new dog thought conversations to her? For that matter, she should probably explain soon to Christopher that she had a new dog. It might take him a bit of time to adjust. As a child he had never really longed for a dog, and she had never suggested it.

Or, and this thought made her stop suddenly as she and Star strolled along a familiar road filled with lots of trees for her to sniff, had Chris really just never asked because he knew his mother would have never let him have a pet—dog, cat, parrot, gerbil, anything? Money had been so tight, she would have explained to his little boy self, and they were gone so long in the day.  Truthfully, she had just not wanted anything else to have to take care of.  As this thought overtook her, Star sniffed a tree carefully, from the ground slowly, intently to about a foot from the ground, then all around the tree from that height down, then from the ground up a foot, or so, down, around up. Gloria followed her as needed, mulling the years past, her mind reliving scenes from her boy’s childhood, striving to recall any mention of a pet, an offhand request made for a dog, a cat, even a fish, for Pete’s sake. She could not remember any, but what child didn’t at some point ask for a dog?

Great. Now she felt guilty for something she might not even really bear guilt for!

Star tugged gently at the leash, and Gloria started walking again, not as briskly as before, but still a it more flexible than in previous, er, decades.

“You should just ask him.” The words breezed through her mind with no audible sound, but she heard them just as clearly as if someone beside her spoke them. At least she no longer looked around her for someone obviously not there talking. Instead, she glanced down at her dog who gazed quizzically up at her as they walked along, not too fast now, since neither looked ahead at this point, meaning they could easily run into something unseen.  Gloria smiled down at the dog. “Yes,” she said, “I could. Maybe I will.”

And she and Star took off at their brisker pace finishing this morning walk in a good frame of mind, enjoying each other’s company, Gloria so grateful for her new companion, wondering just what she had done before this dog had crept into her yard those few weeks before and into her heart so solidly to stay. Back at the house, they each took a long drink of water and plopped down to rest for a bit, Gloria in her soft, paisley knitting chair and Star under the small table beside it, a new “orthopedic” bed bought and delivered from Amazon to fit under it waiting for her comfort.  Star turned around three times and lay down, sighing hugely. “I like this bed.” Gloria’s heart pumped a bit faster, besotted now that a dog, her dog liked a bed she had bought for her. And that, somehow, the dog could let her know. I won’t even try to understand it anymore, she thought. I’ll just be grateful.’’

Soon, Gloria decided, holding her glass of water, watching her special dog sleep, she must take Star to the big pet supply store and buy her a pretty new leash and collar, much nicer than the grocery store ones she had gotten so soon after Star arrived just so they could go to the vet. The collar and leash served their function okay, but Star deserved a pretty collar, a leash that showed her value, that said, when anyone saw it, “This dog is one valuable dog!” With a sigh, Gloria set the water on a coaster on the table, leaned her head back on the chair, planning their trip as she dozed off. Then the words “That’ll be fun,” breezed through her head.

She could not help but giggle as she fell off to sleep….

Revin Stabler hefted another case of cat “Yummy Yammy Cat Food” from the flat in the store room in the back of the store and carried it to the appropriate shelf in the CAT section of the Pet Paradise store. Looking at the different flavors in the case, he wondered if any cat anywhere truly wanted “Cheesy Tuna Cake Bake” or “Beef Wellington Bonanza.” Or if, really, they just represented more little cans the owners could open so the cats could turn up their noses at them, forcing the owners to open another can….and another….and another. Obviously, the cats ate something. Revin just never knew what. Almost every cat owner he knew talked  about how their cats drove them crazy fussing about food. Only Yummy Yammy cat food put different flavors in each case; other companies put only one flavor per case. For a brief second, Revin wondered if he cared enough to wonder why Yummy Yammy had this different practice.

Then he knew he just really didn’t care one bit, and he placed the cans on the shelf where they belonged.

Revin’s own cat ate dry kibble and the chicken pieces Revin boiled for him twice a week. It cost more than Yummy Yammy did, but not really when you counted the cans people tossed, Revin bet. Besides, Walter, his cat, meant more to him than most cats—or at least he assumed so. He never actually counted the money cost; Walter mattered enough to get good food, real chicken, and not whatever mystery meat Yummy Yammy dug up to put in these little cans. His life couldn't afford extras, but Walter didn't rate as an extra. At times, Walter kept him sane.

Revin didn’t have a lot of friends. He knew he was friendly enough, good looking enough. But, trying to get through college and working two jobs to pay for it all the while trying to help his mom support a couple of younger siblings just didn’t leave enough time for friends. Didn’t leave enough time for enemies, either.

Just didn’t leave any time.

As in, he now needed to find time to study for his history test tomorrow, and after work he had promised to take his younger brother to soccer practice so his mother could take his sister to some other practice or other. The end of February seemed early to start soccer, but in this town, sports seasons changed on some strange schedule. Dinner for them all might be nice at some point; his mom had promised she'd take care of that tonight.

Sounded like a Wednesday to Revin.

The “why” story bored even Revin; a father who ran off while the children, still young, demanded too much time, too much work. A mother who labored too many hours to care for children’s needs, trying to give them with one parent what only two parents could provide. The older son trying desperately to lighten the load of the parent left and still make a life for himself.

Check out the ABC Monday Night Movie of the Week.

Revin checked out the shelf of Yummy Yammy food. Perfect. Well, perfect enough. A glance at the clock told him he had just enough time to return the empty box to the back of the store, clock out, and head home to pick up his brother for the practice.

I hope, he thought, the car doesn’t give me any trouble.

And, it didn’t. Thankfully.

He raced home to his little brother, Kevin (his mother liked rhyming names for siblings), waiting on the front steps of the house. Kevin flew down the steps, trailing his soccer bag behind him, jumped in the car, and happily greeted Revin.

Revin grinned at the younger boy. “Hey, Kid,” he said, scratching the top of Kevin’s head roughly, knowing this young boy held his heart in ways even his mother and sister did not. Probably because Revin remembered their father better than either of the other children, he felt deeply felt the absence of a father in a son’s life. He tried hard to help replace that loss for Kevin, but no matter how hard he worked at it, a brother could not bring love and life lessons of a father.

Revin shifted in the car seat. He would certainly try, though. He would try for his sister, Devin, as well. He just couldn’t identify with her as closely as with a brother. But, then, he loved being big brother to a little sister, too. Time. He needed more time.

For now, Kevin flew from the car as soon as they got to the soccer field and ran to greet his coach, a father of one of the players, the group of young boys smiling, putting on soccer cleats, running to “warm up,” as if they had not all been jumping around all day. Revin reached behind the seat to grab the notebook and text for his history class. At least he had a free hour to study for the test tomorrow; maybe an hour and a half.

Revin balanced his texts and notebooks as best he could inside the car, reciting facts to himself, names of people long dead, important to Revin only as answers to a test important to Revin only as a grade leading to a step to a higher step to a goal beyond, well, here.  Revin knew any hope he had of finishing college would take every penny he could earn and the keeping up of every grade so he would not lose the little scholarship he had to help with the cost. Without that bit of help, there were not enough cans of Yummy Yammy heft-able onto shelves to keep him in college. He needed to finish a degree, to get a good job, so that Kevin, even now flying down the field, pushing a ball in front of him, and Devin could get an education without having to worry every day the way he had to do.

Revin sighed, closed his eyes, and leaned back on the head rest for just a moment. Checking the time on his phone, he saw practice ended in about fifteen minutes. He closed his books, put up the notebooks, and got out of the car. Kevin loved his older brother to watch him practice. Revin never got to the games; his work schedule just didn’t allow it, so he tried to watch at least a few minutes of the practice each week. As he strolled over to the side of the field, he crossed the sidewalk—and almost knocked over an elderly woman walking a black and white dog.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” the woman chirped. “I didn’t see you coming. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Revin said, anxious to get away and watch his brother on the field. “I’m sorry, too. No problem at all.” To his annoyance, the dog stepped in front of him. He moved to the right. The dog shifted, for all the world acting like he (she?) intended to get in his way.

“Well, you’re too young to have a child practicing,” said the little old lady. (The more irritated Revin got, the less generous his thoughts about the world around him—and himself.)

“My brother,” he snapped, then felt bad for being so abrupt.

But, the lady just beamed at him. “How nice! I’ll bet he loves you having here at his practice!”

“Yeah, he does,” Revin answered, a little more nicely this time, again trying to go around the dog. I’ll be darned, he thought, as the dog, sniffing the ground at her (his?) feet moved his (her?) feet just enough to prevent Revin from heading off without danger of falling on his face.

And, then, from out of the sky, Revin heard, sort of in his head, “He knows you’re here. You can relax if you’d like.”

Revin’s feet quit shifting, but his head swiveled, looking to find who was talking to him. This voice did NOT sound like the little old lady. Not seeing anyone close to him, certainly no one close enough to have said words he could hear that way, he looked down at her. She smiled a funny little smile.

“Which one is your brother?” she asked.

“Uh, the one with the ball right now,” Revin answered, watching again as Kevin slipped past a defender, then passed the ball sharply across the field to a team mate. “Good pass, Kevin!” he hollered.

“Yes, he’s quite good,” the old lady agreed.  “I’ve been watching as we walked along here. It’s amazing how they can control that ball with their feet!”

“You should relax, really,” Revin again heard words INSIDE his head. Again, his head whipped left, right, then back left. The old lady sighed, then patted his shoulder.

“Ah,” she began, “did you kind of hear something in your head?”

Revin’s mouth dropped open, and he stared down at her. How on earth could she know that?

“No!” he said.

“Oh. Okay,” she said, looking a bit flustered. “Well, I’m sorry we bothered you. Come on, Star! Let’s go, Girl!”

At least he knew the dog was a girl now. But, the dog (girl) didn’t move out of his way. Rather, she backed just a bit, the movement causing him to glance down at her, she looked up at him with amazingly deep brown eyes, and watched his face as he looked down at her. Didn’t dogs blink? He had never had a dog…..his dad had promised that they would have one “soon.” But, like so many things, “soon” ended after his dad ran off.

“Star,” the old woman repeated, “come on!”

And the dog sat down right in front of Revin, just far enough away so she could continue to gaze up at his face. Revin looked away, out onto the field where Kevin again whisked by, controlling the ball with his feet, not even noticing if Revin watched or not. Still, he had left the car to watch his brother, not be grilled by a dog.

Not, of course, that the dog was asking questions. What was wrong with him.

“Star?” the old woman said. Frankly, Gloria didn’t know what to do. Star had never disobeyed her before.

“You shouldn’t lie to nice ladies,” Revin heard.

Wait, WHAT? Heard HOW? “Who’s talking to me?” Revni said, again twisting his head left, right, turning his body backwards.

“Oh.” The old lady put out her hand, the universal gesture for greeting, and Revin shook her hand, albeit not very strongly. “I’m Gloria Shepherd, and this is Star.”

“Hello,” Revin answered, still glancing around.

“It looks like they’re going to be a few more minutes. Can you walk with us to the end of the sidewalk?”

Revin wanted to walk down the sidewalk with this woman and her dog as much as he wanted to heft another case of Yummy Yammy cat food.  He got the strangest feeling, though, that if he tried to pass the old woman and the dog, somehow the dog would stop him. As it was, she stood, staring intently at him, seemingly willing him to walk with them.

Again in his mind, he heard someone talk. “I could nip your heels to make you move.”

Revin jerked his head down and stared at the dog, still patiently staring up at him.

“Move, please.”

Revin shook his head, looked at the dog (did the dog NEVER blink?) and saw her lower herself into a crouch, almost lie a wolf stalking prey. She continued staring at Revin, then took a small step towards him. Unconsciously, Revin took a step back,then looked over at the old lady (Shepherd? Was that her name? Mrs. Shepherd?)

Whatever, Ms., Mrs., or Miss, the lady smiled and nodded. “You heard right,” she said, “now, let’s take a walk for a bit.” She looked over at the soccer field. “They still look like they might take a few minutes to get all through.”

Revin started walking beside the woman, and the dog, now upright again, settled in between them, quietly walking on the woman’s left, Revin’s right. “Exactly what did I hear?” he asked.

For a minute, the woman didn’t speak. Then, she said quietly, “Well, I didn’t hear it, so I don’t know the words exactly. But, I would imagine you heard something in your mind that your ears didn’t pick up on. Does that kind of describe what happened?”

Revin stopped and stared at the old lady. “Ma’am,” he said, “I really don’t have time for any kind of scam or any ESP stuff or any psychic, uh, stuff. I can’t pay you anything, and I just need to go wait for my brother and take him home, then I have to study for my test tomorrow.”

“You worry too much,” wafted through his mind.

“How do you DO that?” he demanded of the woman.

“It’s not me,” she said calmly. “I know you’re frustrated.  I don’t blame you. Look, there’s a bench over here. Let’s go sit down.”

And Gloria Shepherd walked over and slowly sat down. Star followed Gloria, but as soon as the woman sat, Star turned around, still staring at Revin. Revin thought, I could just walk away now. This is getting really weird.

“Come sit down,” he heard. He didn’t even bother to look around; just gave up all thoughts of running away, walked over, and sat down.

“Okay,” he said.  “Who is it?”

The old lady glanced down at the dog, now lying at their feet, those remarkable eyes rolled up, studying them, switching back and forth between the woman and the boy.

“The DOG?” he blurted, and laughed, “the dog.”

“I know,” the gray hair bobbed up and down as her head nodded. “It’s fantastic—fantastic as in crazy. As in cray-cray.  I know that. But, there you are. No one around here is talking to you. Well, except me. Am I the one you heard?”

Revin shook his  head. No, for sure this woman’s voice in no way resembled what he had heard speaking to him.

“But, how?” he asked.

She shrugged. “You got me. It just seems that the people who NEED to hear her, she gets through to them. What did she say to you?

He looked again over at the woman, then down at the dog. “You really can’t hear her?”

“I’ve heard her when I need to hear her for myself,” said Mrs. Shepherd. “But, when she’s talking to other people, I don’t usually hear her. One time she spoke to two of us at once, but that was only the one time.”

Revin started laughing. “You think I believe this?”

Mrs. Shepherd shrugged. “Well, no. I understand it’s impossible for a dog to talk, and for sure to do it telepathically. I’m just saying what I’ve seen and what’s happened to me. And I’ve started to see that when Star takes an interest in someone, generally that person needs to hear from her. So, what I’d say to you, young man, is you’d do best to listen to her. If, that is, she could talk to you.”

Revin looked down at the dog, who stood up, shook from her head down to the end of her tail, the way dogs do to rid themselves of all stray dirt or after getting out of a pool or lake, sat, then started scratching with her hind foot behind her ear.

“Well, she seems to have said all she wants to me,” he commented.

Gloria Shepherd smiled. “Maybe.” Gloria knew better, knew the dog probably had more to share with this tired looking young man who wore sadness like a winter jacket. But she also knew she would never convince him that Star truly connected with people. Only Star could do that; and, if she wanted to badly enough, she would.  Gloria had come to realize that Star took her work—if that genuinely described what the dog did—seriously. Gloria had no idea where these messages that Star passed along came from, and she (Gloria) feared asking the dog that question. What, Lord help her, if Star decided to answer her?

So, for now, she sat quietly as the dog and young man—she had decided ‘boy’ did not really describe Revin—studied each other.

Then, “You should rest tonight,” Revin heard. He laughed, and, looking down at the dog, said, “Now you sound like my mom.”

“You should rest tonight.” Revin quit laughing. The tone of voice (thought) was not motherly at all, but authoritative, like one who KNEW. Revin’s mother loved her children beyond reason. Revin suddenly felt that, maybe Star didn’t love him so much, well, she didn’t even know him, after all—she didn’t love him so much as just knew the best actions he should take.

“I have a test tomorrow,” he mumbled. At least Mom would have dinner cooked; Revin wouldn’t have to do that.

“You should rest.” Revin reviewed in his head the subject matter for the test—the time frame covered, the people. It dawned on him that, yes, he did know the material. He had studied along as they covered the chapters, he listened in class, kept up with the reading, reviewed the past couple days. Perhaps even more convincing, he felt the fatigue flood his body. I SHOULD rest he thought.

Revin almost cried, thinking that he could sleep tonight, his small black cat curled beside him, that he could rest, that he had, what, permission?

From a dog?

He looked again at the dog, and for the first time really looked at her. Between those brilliant, deep brown eyes, a white blaze split her face. At the top of the blaze a star formed in the center of her forehead, no doubt the source of her name. Three of her legs, the front two and the left rear, had white “socks” halfway up. The right rear leg had a white foot. At the end of her tail, a couple of inches of white made a flag to wave, as now, when she slowly waved that tail back and forth. As dusk fell on the practice area, the white of that tail shown, almost a disembodied character flowing back and forth.

Who are you? he thought?

“After dinner. You should rest.”

“Okay.” Revin said.

And with that, the dog turned her face away from him for the first time since they had met, and wound up looking right at Kevin just as he ran up, practice over, drinking a juice box. “Hey, Revin! Did you see me!”

“I saw you really moving that ball some,” Revin answered. “You looked good!”

“Hey, Dog,” Kevin said, rubbing Star’s pretty head. He looked up at his brother. “Whose dog is this?”

Revin introduced Kevin to Mrs. Shepherd. Then he said, “This is Star. She’s a special dog.”

“Hey, Girl!” And to the surprise of Gloria and Revin, Kevin dropped his soccer bag, put his juice box on the ground, sat beside them on the sidewalk, and wrapped his arms around Star’s neck. “Hey, Star! You sure are pretty.”

Star’s tail waved again, and she licked Kevin’s face. He rested his head on her back as he hugged her. Revin looked at Gloria, who shook her head slightly at him:  leave him alone. Star, other than reaching to lick the boy holding her, didn’t move. Finally, after a few minutes, Kevin started petting her sides, her back, let her go, and stood up. He leaned over, placing a hand on each side of Star’s face, looked into those deep, chocolate eyes, then kissed the star at the top of her face. After another quick rub, he picked up his juice box and soccer bag, and looked at his brother.

“Coach said I get to start as forward on Saturday! Isn’t that great?”

Revin smiled at his brother. “Ah I wish I could come see you, Bud,” he replied. “I’m working.”

“I know,” Kevin said, “It’s okay. Let’s go now,” he continued. “We need to get home and eat dinner. Mom probably has it done, and I’m hungry.” He swung the bag over his shoulder.  “Besides, you have to rest tonight.”

Revin jerked his head around to look at the dog, then at Gloria. Gloria just smiled and shook her head. From her pocket she took a little notebook she always kept with her in case she needed paper, unclipped the pen kept there for just such a purpose, and wrote down her name and phone number.

“I don’t know what all is going on with your family,” she said. “But, if I can help, maybe babysit some, maybe help cook, anything, even bring Star for Kevin to play with, maybe even come to a soccer game, please call me and let me help. She doesn’t warm up to everyone, and she likes you and your brother both. Please let me help.”

Revin took the paper, but didn’t know what his mom would say.  “I’ll have to talk to my mom,” he said. But, he thought how nice it would be to have some help with taking care of Kevin and Devin once in awhile. “Thank you. I’ll let you know.”

Gloria smiled. “I’m not far from here, and I drive. Star and I just like to walk in the afternoon. Just let me know. Tell your mom to call me if she’s worried. I can meet her before she decides.”

Then as they said their goodbyes and started to walk away from each other, they both heard, “It’ll be okay. His mom will be happy for help.”

The old lady and the young man looked at each other, Revin regarded the dog silently for a minute, then leaned over and patted her silken sides. She closed her eyes, sighing with pleasure.

“Rest,” he heard, but quieter this time.

“I will,” he said.

He stood, a bit straighter than when he had arrived at his brother’s soccer practice, and looked down a bit to see into Mrs. Shepherd’s eyes. “Thank you,” he said.

She smiled. “I’ve done nothing yet,” she said.

Revin looked down at Star. “Thank you,” he said.

Star sat down and scratched behind her ear again. Revin laughed and, feeling lighter, turned and headed to his car, glad to take his brother home…..

……..home to dinner…….and to rest. 

 © Jana Mauney 2017

A Star-Lit Morning--Star Number 2

Dr. Wilma Harrington held the old dog’s head gently between her hands, bent over, and whispered, “I’m sorry, Boy.” She glanced at the chart on the small side table littered with syringes and the tools for exams all veterinarian offices held—and, in this instance, the chart with the old dog’s name. “I’m sorry, Brutus.”

Brutus, a large, black lab lifted and lowered his tail a couple of times at the sound of his name. How, Dr. Wilma wondered, could the dog’s owners leave him now, at this last moment of his life, alone? They would be the smells, the voices he wanted. His clouded eyes looked around a bit even now, as the tumors that would end his time continued their dreadful purpose. Dr. Wilma bit back tears; her job as the dog’s veterinarian mandated her ending the dog’s suffering. That she could do. But, having to take the place of the people this dog loved, that, almost, broke her, this day and on every other day it happened.

Brutus closed his eyes, shifting his head into the rubbing of her hands. David, her vet technician, patted

her back, knowing how difficult this was for all of them. Dr. Willma lectured her staff:  “We will not judge the owners. Some of them really cannot stay with the dogs when we put them down, and it is our job to help the owners and the dogs. We will not judge them."

But, oh, now those words bit hard into her heart, and she kissed the greying muzzle, gently ruffled the dog’s ears, softly ran her hand down his side, feeling the tumors under the skin. The owners made the right decision, yes they had, about their dog’s health. She could not, though, help feeling resentment on his behalf that they left him in his final moments without the only family he had known for 12 years.

Sighing, Dr. Wilma reached for the syringe she needed, put the ear pieces of the stethoscope in her ears, kissed his head, just above his eyes, plunged the needle into the dog’s thigh muscle, whispered, “You are a good, good dog,” and placed the stethoscope on his chest until she heard a soft sigh and his heart stop beating.

                                                                                                                                 

“He’s gone,” she stated, back in doctor mode, and left the room, knowing David would take care now of the remaining duties. Briefly, she turned around, stuck her head back in the room. “Get his footprint.” David barely glanced up at her, a ghost of a smile on his face, and nodded, his head barely moving. He knew Dr. Wilma would not let this boy be forgotten. The “Remembrance Shelf” in the back room already held several plaster casts of paw prints of dogs who had left the world in just this way. She would not let any of them be forgotten; she remembered them—the cast of their paw, their names, date of birth (if known from their records) and death and breed written on the back of their paw cast.

This particular abominable family would not even bury or cremate their dog, but would pay her practice to “dispose of the remains,” having taken his worn, red collar “to remember him by.” For just a moment, the competent, caring vet leaned on the wall in her office, lowered her head, and sobbed into her hands. The animals matter; the animals matter; the animals matter. At times she felt herself too soft for this profession. Her whole life, she had wanted to be a community veterinarian, taking care of people’s pets, knowing the names of family’s companion animals from puppyhood, kittenhood, babyhood of whatever animal, until the families lost them to a life too short. Most companion animals live lives well short of the lives of their humans. Most people who bring animals into their homes feel their hearts crack at that loss.

But, not all. On these days, Dr. Wilma repeated to herself the mantra the animals matter. She reiterated it enough times till she could, again, make it true to herself.

Of course, the families matter as well. And, usually, when such a time as this came, her job included helping them deal with the devastating loss of a beloved companion animal. But, this morning, holding that sweet, beautiful, old dog, left alone when he so needed and wanted his family, made her want to find some self-righteous person who swore she loved her pet, then pulled some stunt like that family this morning, and just slap the heck out of them. Undoubtedly such a person deserved it….and probably she, as a vet and as a human, would feel better.

Well, maybe not. Perhaps she could try at some point just to see how it felt.

Till then, another patient waited. She used the backs of her hands to wipe her eyes, stood straight, mentally shook herself, and put aside her emotions. I’m ulcer bait, she thought.

She picked up the folder for the next patient….a dog and human she had never seen before—the circle of veterinary life, sort of, though this dog was no puppy. Hmmmm. Breed unknown. Age unknown….adult. And did she know Gloria Shepherd? Well, she went to school with a Chris Shepherd. Was his mom named Gloria? Either way, time to get on with the morning.

David would have put Gloria and, let’s see, Star; the unknown-breed-unknown-age dog did have a name, Star. David would have put Gloria and Star in the second examination room as he cleaned the first one of all remembrances of Brutus. Dr. Wilma stood tall, heaved a huge sigh, turned on her heel, gripped the door handle, and stalked out of her office. As difficult as the day began, surely it had to get better.

She then stopped cold in the hall, could not believe she had just thought that. She knew by now, thinking a day would improve led almost inevitably to a train wreck for the rest of it. Grinding her teeth, she marched on.

Softly she knocked on the door of the other examination room, turned that handle, and entered slowly, not wanting to knock an unsuspecting pet or owner out of the way. She needn’t have worried. At the opposite side of the small room, a bench upholstered in lime green corduroy ran along the wall, ending at a 90-degree angle to another short wall housing a window to the outside. It allowed viewing out that window and, let’s see again, ah, yes, Ms? Mrs? Shepherd sat watching birds on the tree growing right against that window. As she entered, two heads turned together, one set of pale, elder blue eyes and one set of deep, brown eyes greeted her.

“Hello,” Gloria Shepherd said. “How are you this morning?”

“Hello,” Dr. Wilma replied, “I think I know you, Ms. Shepherd. Are you Chris’s mom?”

“Why, yes!” Gloria Shepherd beamed up at the standing doctor from her bench seat. The black and white dog’s face split in a matching grin, and the vet found herself smiling back at them, feeling her spirit rise in response. “How do you know my son?”

“I went to school with him. He was a year or two behind me.”

“Why, my land!” exclaimed the old lady. “How on earth someone so young as you could be a veterinarian!”

“I’m not that young,” laughed Dr. Wilma.

Gloria shook her head. Probably, she thought to herself, I just forget how old I am and how old my son is…a man grown, and gone from my life mainly now.

“Where is Chris now?” asked the veterinarian, bringing Gloria back to the present, and she told her about Chris’s job in the faraway town, how well he was doing, and, slowly, how she missed him. As she spoke the last sentence, she reached over and placed her hand on the back of the dog sitting so calmly beside her, the dog shifting closer to the old lady.

“Well,” Dr. Wilma continued, “who have we here?”

“This is Star.”

“And, when did you get Star? It seems by this chart that you don’t know much about her.”

Briefly, Gloria told the story of the dog appearing at her house

on Christmas afternoon, just a couple of days previously. After a good bath, some days of good food and rest, and, finally, Gloria reluctantly buying a collar and leash for a dog who seemed, literally, to read her mind, she brought her in to the vet for a checkup and, probably shots.

And, truth be told, a bit fearfully, to see if they knew if someone looked for the beautiful dog. But, better to find out before Gloria got too attached to this amazing dog….well, okay, too late for that. She knew that news of anyone looking for Star (if other owners called her Star) would shatter Gloria’s heart. Still, what if a child yearned for this pretty dog? Or, what gave Gloria more pause (and that thought, itself, should have bothered Gloria, she knew—didn’t, but should), what if Star looked for a family to come for her, staying with Gloria only as a temporary escape from winter’s harshest hurts and harms. Now she was one of those old ladies who cared more how a dog felt than a human.

Yikes.

Gloria had learned early on that love could hurt, but you loved anyway.  And in just a couple of days, she surely did love this little dog. Well, maybe the dog was not so little; what did Gloria know about dogs? But, she learned a bit more each day…for example, apparently, dogs could practice pretty passable ESP.

"I just bought that collar and leash yesterday at the grocery store. I'm going to get her something pretty when I can get to the pet store," she said apologetically about the plain red collar and leash.  "And for now, she kind of eats what I eat.....maybe while I'm here I can get her some good dog food."

Or maybe, Gloria thought, I should hush and let the doctor ask me what she needs to know.

But, for now, the doctor asked, “Can Star get down from the bench?”

“Of course,” Gloria replied, thinking that an odd question. Did she think Gloria had Star glued there? Dr. Wilma looked into the dog’s deep brown eyes and then paused. She could swear that Star was thinking at her—though she realized that made no sense. Still, “thinking at her” described the sense she felt better than any other words that came to mind. 

Oh, well. Mentally, Dr. Wilma shook herself and put her hands on the dog, making sure Star didn’t mind being handled. She gave a cursory exam, and reached under her abdomen, lifting Star up onto the table. Gloria stood and walked to the table’s side, rubbing Star softly. Star looked at Gloria, placed her head onto Gloria’s arm for a second, for all the world appearing to comfort the old woman. Gloria smiled, nodded, said, “Okay,” and put her hands on the table, not leaving, but not touching the dog any more.

Gloria smiled over the back of Star at Dr. Wilma. “I guess she needs shots?”

“First I’ll give her an exam.” And, so the vet did just that, feeling the dog all over, moving her legs back and forth, rotating her joints, listening to her abdomen, her heart, checking her teeth, seeming, to Gloria, to minutely inspect every hair on Star’s body. As the vet peered deep into Star’s ears, Gloria saw the vet suddenly jerk straight up, staring at Star, her eyes opening wide. Gloria smiled.

“You’re not crazy,” she said.

“I beg your pardon?” she said.

“You heard something in your head, didn’t you? Like someone talking to you?”

Dr. Wilma stared at Gloria for a minute before slowly nodding her head. “How did you know?”

“It happens around Star,” she answered. “I can’t swear it’s this dog. But I can swear that I think I hear her talking to me inside my head. It’s weird, I know. And, who can prove anything? I mean, she is a dog. But, whatever you hear in your head, well, I’d listen.”

Gloria smiled in memory of the first message she had heard the two days before. “What’s your name?” She had looked around, frightened, looking for whoever she couldn’t see outside in her small yard, having just taken out the trash and found a much scruffier version of the beautiful dog now before her lurking behind her outdoor trash can.

Well, not lurking.

But, certainly able, somehow, to communicate telepathically with her.

“It’s not all the time,” Gloria continued, the vet staring at her, open mouthed. “She doesn’t just throw words around. So, when you hear, er, if you hear, it’s special. It’s usually kind of important. Or, at least when she talks to me it is.”

Dr. Wilma stared some more at the old woman, then said, “You know that’s impossible, don’t you?”

Gloria smiled, emphatically nodding her head up and down. “Oh, yes, I know it’s impossible. Just don’t ignore it.”

Meanwhile, Star sat down on the table, no doubt tired of standing in one place and being ignored by the two humans in the room. Her head had rotated between the two women as they discussed her supposed invisible ability. As usual, she watched the people calmly.

Dr. Wilma stood upright again quickly then with clipped speech said, “Well, she looks very healthy. I should do some blood work for a baseline, if that’s okay?”

“Of course,” said Gloria.

“And, I’d bet money she’s a purebred border collie.”

“A what?”

“Herding breed…herds sheep. Or should. Is she hyperactive?”

Gloria looked at this sweet, calm, and, well, kind dog who had so changed her life in so short a time. “No,” she slowly answered. “She’s as calm a creature as I’ve ever seen.”

“Hmmmm. Well, maybe once she gets rested, she’ll show her true self. We’ll take that blood work and run some tests.”

She turned, opened a drawer from the cabinet/sink area behind her, and pulled out an empty syringe. As she turned again toward the dog, she stopped, staring at the dog. In her head, she heard, plain as if the words clanged out loud, “Brutus knew you cared for him. He was grateful for your kindness.”

Dr. Wilma stared at the dog, her mouth dropped open, her breath coming in gasps. Dogs she thought, do not project words to peoples’ minds—even border collies. Border collies headed the list of the smartest dogs every year….but this passed smart; this went into bizarre territory.

Gloria smiled, knowing, again, that the dog had wafted thoughts to the doctor. This time, though, she didn’t comment. The young vet would accept the thoughts, or she wouldn’t.

Dr. Wilma stepped forward, palpating Star’s leg for a vein where she could draw blood. When, again, she heard the voice in her head, she barely skipped a step in the process. “Brutus didn’t blame his family; he knew they were weak people. But he loved them. He wouldn’t want you to be angry at them. He loved them a lot.”

She finished the vial of blood, removed it, and set it aside for David to collect later. She then saw that he had set out for her the shots Star would need.  David had scanned the dog for an identification chip, found none, so acted as if she had never had shots. Her quick heartworm test showed no heartworms, thankfully, and though they would send off for a more definitive one at the lab, they now would just start giving her all the care she needed. She picked up the first shot for Star, but hesitated.

It was weird to give a shot to a dog who continued to talk to you, even just telepathically.

“It’s okay,” she heard, then just shook her head and laughed. Perhaps the situation with Brutus this morning had upset her more than she had realized. “It’s past time for my shots anyway.”

I am NOT hearing anything Dr. Wilma sternly told herself.

She continued her work, rubbed the sweet dog’s hip after the sticking her with the needle, and went around to look in her face. Star’s blaze glowed in the room’s light. The reason for her name shown brightly against the deep black of her head, a white blaze continuing from the bottom of the “star” on her head down over her snout, ending at the coal-black nose. She opened her mouth in a smile, panting gently, looking up at the vet. Uh oh, thought Dr. Wilma here comes something.

“Dogs can always tell, you know,” echoed in her brain, “cats, too, though they get too wigged out sometimes to settle down and realize what they know. But, we know; Brutus knew you cared for him. He had peace when he crossed the bridge. Thank you. All vets should care like you do. And, now, if you’re through with my examination, could I have a cookie from that jar over there?”

Dr. Wilma just grabbed the stool from the corner of the room and sat down. She looked over at Gloria and saw the old woman smile back at her. “I know,” Gloria said. “It’s weird at first. But now I kind of find myself listening for her. She really doesn’t talk that much.”

Gloria walked over and took the young vet’s hand, then said, “Whatever she said to you, believe it. And thank you for your help today.”

“You can’t hear anything, er, in your head like I can right now?” asked Dr. Willma.

“No. If she seems to be talking to you, it’s just for you,” answered Gloria. “But, if it’s anything like I’ve experienced, I know it’s special.” Gloria looked down at her dog, her eyes filling with tears, her gnarled, arthritic hands encircling the dog’s head. She reached over to kiss the star on that shiny black head. “I don’t really know a lot about dogs, but I really think she’s exceptional.”

Then she looked up at the young vet, hesitated, and said, “I know this might be wrong. But, oh, I do hope no one looks for her. It would break my heart to have to give her up now.”

Suddenly both women froze. At the same time, a melody floated into both of their minds:  “I’m not going anywhere.” They looked at each other, and smiled.

“Well,” softly said Dr. Wilma, “maybe that answers that.”

Gloria picked up the leash lying on the table beside Star, kissed a sound to the dog, and Star jumped lightly off the table. Dr. Wilma made notes in the file, gave Star a dog cookie from the jar, then walked to the front, handing the file to the technician where they would check out Gloria and Star so Gloria could pay.  Dr. Wilma leaned over the dog, softly kissed the star gleaming in the morning light streaming in the windows, and whispered, “Thank you, Little Star.”

“You’re welcome,” she heard, plainly and with clarity in her mind.

She smiled down at the dog. “Come back soon for a well dog visit. No charge.”

Star didn’t answer, but Gloria assured her they would return, just so Star could get used to the vet’s office, as if that were a concern.

Dr. Wilma watched them leave and turned to get the folder for her next patient. To her surprise, she found herself humming, her spirit lighter than it had been in days. As she walked down the hall, she thought to herself, “Brutus knew. The dogs always know.”

And for the rest of the day, to each dog she touched, she whispered, very quietly, so their people could not hear, “I know that you know, but don’t ever worry. You’re part of my practice now. I’ll always take care of you.”

And at the end of the day, she felt less tired than she had when the day began. 



© Jana Mauney 2017

Christmas Star--A Holiday Story

The old lady sat in the small, wingback, paisley chair beside her table-top Christmas tree and knit on the soft, pale blue sweater she soon would send to her son living far away now. It had taken her three trips to the local yarn store to choose the yarn, perfectly matched to the color of the University of North Carolina, the school her son had attended a few years previously, and that he still loved so

strongly. Maybe “sweater” did not really describe the garment; perhaps “jacket” came closer, though did jackets ever have buttons? Whatever; she hoped he would like it, would wear it, and not throw it into a drawer or closet in the small apartment where he now lived in that faraway town, but she also didn’t count on it. For sure, he’d tell her, “Mom! It’s beautiful, thank you!” and, for sure, she’d say, “I’m so glad you like it!” and never ask if, truly, he wore it.

Sometimes truth aches too deeply to be sought. All she could do was knit or purl each stitch as best as she could, willing her mother’s love down the needle with it, yearning for him to feel that love through the material she created with her hands. Silently she prayed, “Let him wear it, let him wear it, let him feel it, let him feel it,” putting more hope in a sweater (jacket?) than any garment deserved. How he got so far from home she could not really fathom. But children do not always follow desires of parents. When they talked, and at least he did call once a week, he sounded happy.

There’s a lot to be said for happy.

Eventually, her arthritic hands begged enough for a break that she set down her knitting, rose from her chair, bringing on the groaning of her knees and back, and just stood for a few minutes till she felt she could take a step without falling on her face—if she stepped slowly and carefully. And so, slowly and carefully, she made her way to the kitchen for a glass of tea, or maybe water, even, perhaps, a bit of coke; whatever would be easiest to pour from the fridge. Passing the small trash can, she saw that the can was, of course, full and so, naturally, needed emptying.

Sigh.

If she would get a larger can for her trash, she would not have to empty it out so often. However, could she lift the trash from a larger can? If her son lived close enough to see her every day or so, perhaps… but he did not and would not, probably, in her lifetime ever again. Well, it was a trash can, for Pete’s sake, not a safe for her valuables. In that case, the safe could have been smaller than a cigar box, surely. But, now, carefully she placed her hand against the wall and used it as leverage to pull the trash bag out of the can, then set it on the floor as she slowly, carefully replaced the bag with one of the new ones placed in the bottom of the cans just for that purpose. She then tied the full bag shut with the bag ties built into the trash bag itself and made her way to the back door. 

Outside on her small deck, she carefully shut the door behind her, then huddled inside herself against the cold wind, gripping her small trash bag, shivering; not a happy outside day. Only two steps led down to the sidewalk where the large trashcan which the trash men emptied once a week stood. Letting go of the bag with one hand, she gripped the handrail tightly, lowered herself down the two steps to the trash can, stepped on the built-in lever to open the large lid, dumped in the bag with a satisfying thump, removed her foot, her movements more fluid now, the stiffness from sitting too long wearing off, desire to get out of the cold pushing her along, turned to go back inside from the cold (why put on a sweater for such a short time?), and stopped short.  

What was that?

The dog stepped as stiffly as the old lady had walked just moments ago from the other side of the big trash can, head dipped a bit, one painful looking stride at a time. Though slow, the dog did not hesitate to come up to her, then just stood. The old lady looked down at the dog, a sad sight for sure. Its black head had what must be a white stripe down the middle over its nose. The black coat of its body stuck to its back and side. The tail of the dog wafted back and forth gently. She could not really see the dog’s legs and feet under the what appeared to be frozen dirt.

“Oh, you poor thing!” she said to her unexpected guest. “Where’d you come from?”

And the dog lifted its head. The old lady’s heart melted at the sight of deep brown eyes gazing up at her. The eyes showed no fear, just questions. As the old lady studied those amazing eyes, she could have sworn she heard a question in her head.

Wait….how can you hear a question inside your head that does not come through your ears?

She looked around but saw no one else, just herself…..and the dog, who stood quietly, appearing to study the old lady. Again, the question came to her mind.

And, so, she answered the question she so obviously couldn’t hear.

“Gloria,” she said. “My name is Gloria Shepherd.”

The dog blinked, the tail wagging a bit harder perhaps, but not whipping around.

“You,” the old lady (aka Gloria Shepherd) said, “need a bath badly. And you’re probably really cold.”

Once again the dog regarded the woman who, by this time, felt she should return that look, trying to assure the dog that it had nothing to fear from her—but realizing that probably she should worry a bit about where the dog came from. It surprised her that she was no more worried about the dog than she was. But, then, what better day for surprises than Christmas?

“Well, enough of this cold,” she stated. “No one’s here but me to worry about what I’m doing.” She glanced down at the dog, still calmly looking up at her. “Wanna go inside?”

To her surprise, the dog moved slowly, but with no hesitation, towards the steps up to her small deck, then painfully climbed those two steps, made its way to the door, stopping to look back at her. In her head, she heard, “Did you mean now? Are we going in now?”

Gloria shook her head and, to her surprise, much more easily than the coming down of the stairs, climbed back up those two stairs, opened the door and let the dog into her kitchen.

The dog stood still as she took a cloth from the dish cloth drawer—was she really going to use a DISH CLOTH on a dog’s feet? Well, she had plenty. Soaking it in warm water from the tap, she carefully bent over, surprised that she could stop before toppling, and washed the bottom of the dog’s feet without looking closely—just enough to get the dog to a bath. “Don’t want you muddying up all my rugs,” she said. The dog stood patiently, and Gloria learned another fact about the dog.

“Hello, Girl,” she said.

“Come on,” she said. “We need to get you to the bathtub, though how I’ll get you in, I do NOT know.”

The dog followed her down the hall and into the bathroom. Gloria pushed back the shower curtain, sat on the edge of the tub, and turned on the water, adjusting the temperature to a warm stream—not hot, not cold, but warm enough, hopefully, to warm the dog, soften whatever cold had seeped into her joints, something Gloria understood only too well.

Why wasn’t she more worried about getting her in the tub? Hmmmmm. Gloria thought a few minutes. Well, if that didn’t happen—and, really, she couldn’t lift her—she would just wash her with wash cloths, rinsing them out in the tub. That would take awhile, for sure, but by this time, the mission of caring for the dog filled Gloria. She rose from the side of the tub and went to get extra towels for the floor.

“You stay here, Little Girl,” she told the dog, those luminous eyes still watching the human’s every move. “I’ll be right back, and we’ll figure out something,” and she carefully shut the door, leaving the water slowly filling the tub, the dog standing beside it.

The towels retrieved from the linen closet, Gloria cautiously opened the door to avoid knocking the dog in any way.

But, where was the dog? For a brief moment she glanced around the bathroom, not a large room, nowhere for a dog to run, but, where was she?

And, then Gloria saw inside the tub, the water still slowly filling, and there, as calm as always, stood the dog. "Well, I don't know how you did that," Gloria said to the dog, "but I'm grateful," and she sat back down on the side of the tub.

In the water immediately around the dog's feet floated dirt loosening from the warmth and the water. To Gloria’s surprise, the dog’s feet showed white, then whiter, then whiter yet as the warm water worked its magic. Gloria leaned over, lifted a front leg gently, rubbing softly, and saw even whiter fur come to light beneath her fingers.

She had no dog shampoo, but did have baby shampoo left from company last summer—snow birds traveling through, back to New England from Florida, someone leaving baby shampoo.  Better, she figured, than her own beauty parlor shampoo.

And she put a dot on her hand and again lifted the paw. As she rubbed the shampoo in, the paw glowed white. She worked it in higher up the leg, realizing it look like the dog wore a sock, a bright, white sock. And, so, she went to work on the rest of the dog and found, to her surprise, three white socks halfway up the dog’s legs and one other white foot. Once past the legs, she found at the end of the dog’s tail a bright white couple of inches, like a flag at the end. When she spoke to the dog, the tail would wave sending a shower of droplets of shampoo and water splattering around the bathroom walls. As she washed the dog, Gloria this time checked her paws for any sores or damage from cold. Granted, she didn’t know dogs, but she had raised a son, she did know what scrapes and lesions looked like. To her surprise, she saw none. Relieved, she worked away, humming to herself, not feeling any joint pain, sensing, almost, happiness.

Finally, she took a cloth and carefully washed the top of the dog’s head. To her surprise, at the top of the stripe on the dog’s nose gleamed a star-shaped blaze, previously totally covered in dirt. It took almost half an hour to wash, rinse, wash, rinse to Gloria’s satisfaction that the dog had truly shed all the loose and deep dirt that could be gotten. With the black-and-white coat plastered to her body, the dog showed herself thin, but not starved looking.

“Where,” asked Gloria, “did you come from?”

Gloria turned off the water, placed towels all over the floor, and looked at the dog. She hadn’t really thought of getting the dog out of the tub. She picked up a towel to put in front of her, snapped her fingers at the dog then made kissy sounds with her lips. Suddenly, she again heard in her head, “I can get out; don’t worry.”

Gloria’s head whipped around. Before she even had a chance to say anything, the dog hopped over the side of the tub and landed on the waiting towels. Gloria stared at the dog, then held the towel in her hand to her mouth and laughed. What kind of a dog was this? And did she truly hear the dog in her head?

Yet again, the dog stood calmly, looking up at her, those luminous brown, deep eyes watching her, even the blinking slow and calm. Gloria dried her head to tail, got another towel, dried her again tail to head, then smoothed the fur down with her hands as best she could, all the while, the dog staying close to Gloria as she sat on the tub’s edge.  She could feel some tangles in the coat. Tomorrow she would need to get a brush or find someone to help with those. But for now, nothing more could be done.

“What a considerate dog you are,” Gloria told her. The dog wagged her tail, a bit more enthusiastically now.

“You need a name,” Gloria said. The dog looked at her and sat down on the towels, for the first time her eyes narrowed just a bit. Gloria looked back at the dog and felt her own eyes contract a bit. She wondered if she could get to the bottom of those eyes ever. She glanced below the eyes to the blaze on the nose and followed it up to the star on her head.

“That’s it,” she said to the dog, who tilted her head so cutely that Gloria felt her heart contract in a nearly forgotten fashion. “I’ll call you Star!”

Star stood and shook, her nearly-dry coat fluffing around her, turned, and went to the door, looking up at the handle. Gloria reached around, picking up the towels, let the water out of the tub, knowing the tub would need a hard scrub before being usable again, and carrying the towels to take to the washing machine, opened the door. Star stayed with her as she took the towels to the small laundry room off the kitchen and started their washing. Then, Star sat in the middle of the kitchen and looked seriously at Gloria.

“Are you hungry?” asked Gloria?

She opened the refrigerator and saw the leftover turkey from her small turkey-piece dinner she had prepared, refusing to not cook any special food for the holiday. She had bought a turkey leg and thigh, oven-roasted it like it weighed twenty pounds, prepared other special foods in single-serving sizes, and pretended to enjoy the meal. Now there sat the leftover turkey, though she thought she had heard not to give poultry bones to a dog. She took it out of the refrigerator, got a fork, and scraped every bit of meat off the bones that she could manage. As she worked, Star, as usual, sat politely, watching, not begging exactly, but those brown eyes appeared lit from behind, shining with anticipation.

Gloria put the turkey on a small plate (“How,” she wondered, “did I suddenly become the person who feeds a dog off my personal plates?), and set it on the floor. Star neatly—and Gloria was not surprised—ate every bite of turkey, then licked the plate. As she ate, Gloria filled a bowl with water. When Star licked the last smidgen of turkey from the plate, she drank half the water from the bowl, looked up, again, at Gloria, then walked to the door that led outside.

“Uh oh,” said Gloria. “Do you want to leave me?” It shocked Gloria, how sad that thought made her. It also surprised her, though she laughed to herself, that she heard no answering thought in her head. “Don’t be silly,” she thought.

“Of course,” she said down to the dog, who, still looked up at her, “maybe you just need to go do your business, hmmm?”

Gloria still worried that the dog, now Star, might run off. But, what to do? She had no collar or leash—no experience with dogs at all, really, so opened the kitchen door, then the screen door, and watched as Star trotted to the deck, down the steps, and disappeared into the dusky evening. Though only about 5:00, the days got dark so early in December…..

After a few minutes, Gloria stepped onto the deck. “Star?” she tentatively called. She saw and heard nothing. “Star?” a little louder.

Still nothing.

What did she think, that this dog had chosen her out of the blue, had sensed her loneliness on Christmas Day, missing her son, trying not to feel sorry for herself, and failing dreadfully at it?

Besides, she didn’t really even like dogs. They made the house dirty….you had to take care of them. Even now, her tub waited for a blasting of a cleaning. At least the dog (she came with no name; she could leave the same way) left better off than she had come, cleaner for sure, fed.

She’d be cold tonight. But, she had made it who knows how long without Gloria. Maybe a family looked for her and would find her soon.  Gloria could not worry about her if she so easily slipped away after food….water….that bath.

Still. “Star?”

“Yes?” Gloria jumped six inches straight up and whipped around quickly, wondering when someone had joined her on the deck. No one there. Her head turned the other way—it was gonna hurt tomorrow, no doubt—and still, no one.

Suddenly something cold (and already the outdoors was COLD) touched her leg. Again, she jumped straight up. Yelping, she looked down to see Star backing up to avoid her jumping feet.

“Star!!” And for the first time in who-knew-how-long, Gloria knelt down, putting her arms around the dog, hugging her, causing that tail to wave once again.

Though she got down, Gloria did not know for sure she could get up from the deck. But, she tightly gripped the railing around the deck and pulled herself up. In the second when she felt she might tip back over, she placed her hand on Star, who stood still, exactly as she needed.

Where had this dog come from?

Feeling her fatigue now, Gloria opened the door and motioned Star inside. She locked the door behind her then made her way back to the living room, to the chair beside the little tree on the table. She sat down gratefully, not quite so stiff, not quite so sore. It helped to move—and, truly, she had moved a bit the past couple of hours. Star came and stood in front of her, then put her head on Gloria’s knee and shut those beautiful eyes for a minute. Gloria’s gnarled, arthritic hand, the one that knit with love until it got too sore to knit another stitch, the one that dialed a missing son for the sound of his voice, reached to gently rub the top of that soft, furry head, the shiny white star looking to reflect the lights from her petite tree. Star gave a huge, satisfied sigh, opened her radiant eyes and backed from Gloria’s lap. She looked around the room a minute, for all the world looking to be deciding, then stepped to her right and under the table with the tree, circled three times, lay down on the rug put there to catch any stray tree needles, and fell almost immediately asleep.

Gloria picked up her knitting, thinking to work a bit more on the jacket (sweater?) before making a bit of dinner for herself. There was meatloaf prepared last week in the freezer she could put in the oven. She wondered if Star liked meatloaf?

Her knitting sped by and the garment grew beneath her fingers until she stopped and rested her needles on her lap and looked at the dog beneath the table. Star had not moved, breathed gently, her feet twitching occasionally. Gloria shut her eyes and wondered how long it had been since the dog had slept in a warm, clean place with a full tummy. As she watched the dog sleep, she felt, again, her heart catch, and a desire to protect and care for the dog almost overwhelmed her.

Into her mind the word, “Okay,” wafted. Gloria quickly glanced down at Star, whose eyes, half open, glanced up, only to close again with another huge sigh, as the dog returned to sleeping as serious business.

Gloria laughed. If her son saw her now, he’d be looking for her a home to go into. Well, not much danger of that.

She placed her knitting in the basket on the floor, stood up—a bit more easily, she felt now—and stood looking down at the beautiful black and white dog sleeping under the Christmas tree.

Smiling, she said softly, “Welcome home, Star.”



© Jana Mauney 2017

I Miss the Horses

As usual, no one intended malevolence. When the doctor told me, “You’ll just need a little surgical shoe after this surgery,” he surely believed it, I surely believed him, and, though never has what a doctor told me before a foot surgery been 100 percent accurate after the same, I just took him at this word, because, well, he believed it, and, so, I believed him.

The Wheelie

I have no idea what happened exactly during the surgery to change the circumstances so that I now have to use the little wheelie or crutches (which we had to get at the hospital because, well, we went prepared for not needing anything non-weight bearing). The doctor spoke with Mike, who didn’t get all the meaning. I don’t blame him; we had been there, by that time, roughly eight hours, he wanted to be sure I had woken from the thing, wanted to get me home, himself home, back to the dogs who ran out the front door ecstatically! “You’re home! You’re home! What happened to your foot? It doesn’t matter! You’re home!” as I crawled up the three steps to the living room to
the couch.

Adoring Dogs

And came to a very different Christmas vacation from school than I had intended.

We can do this; we have, after all, done it multiple times before. I own one of the wheelies. Mike went to the storage shed, dug it out, it still works, probably could use a tune up (which is what the doctor originally said my foot needed), but we have everything needed to take care of a person post-foot surgery, even unexpectedly. And I have a cat who checks in, will lie with me on occasion, and dogs who never leave my side but for a walk with Mike—and, even then, return early.

But, oh, I miss the horses. 

I did not visit them the day before the surgery, though I had ridden both the day before the day before. Though the beautiful grey Ghost Ryder is not truly mine, I have privileges of him at times, and he and I have an understanding. My gorgeous painted Tripp stands and allows himself a hug or two; he loves

Beautiful Ghostie Boy

scratches and rubs—and carrots. But, Ghostie, once I put my arms around his neck for an embrace of that big boy, circles his great neck around my back to…..well, he hugs back. Ghostie came from somewhere that not only did not award carrots easily; they apparently had not understood dinner very well, and when he arrived, every bone the gorgeous boy had, showed. He learned, though, fairly quickly, once treats were allowed, how to eat a carrot (we literally had to teach him), that apples taste sweet, that humans, though previously the bringers of harm, can bring good and fullness and what you need, or even, at times, want.

Ghost Ryder hugs me. And other people, I’m sure.  Tripp follows me to the gate in pasture, ready to come in and work.

I miss the horses.

George Gregory, a rancher in the movie “Wild Horse, Wild Ride,” a film about training wild mustangs in 100 days for competition, said something like, “Bonding with a horse is an emotional thing.

Tripp Greeting Me

You feel it more than see it.” As prey animals, they trust less easily than our loved dogs….they must learn confidence in humans, be sure we won’t eat them. But, when we start to get that relationship with them, it rewards in ways so rich and full. A person could have three heads, the sheer look of any one of which could stop a truck, and a dog will run to you, lick you, so happ

Always Happy to See Me

y to see you after the absence of ten seconds or ten hours. I adore my dogs and want them in my life forever. A horse’s affection, though, must be earned, and its reciprocity, if not as obvious to others, rings just as true and authentic.

I’ve missed weeks with Tripp (and Ghostie-boy) before. As previously, when I return to the farm, to the smell that I inhale like good wine, to the sounds of nickering horses, of stomping hooves, to horse culture, Tripp will again walk or trot or, as happens sometimes, run to greet me, lower his beautiful head for his halter, his blue eye turned my way watching my movements, or maybe his brown one glancing towards me that day, will walk with me back to the barn so we'll work. Ghost Ryder will watch to see if he, too, gets to come in for a ride and a treat. They won’t forget, and others in my absence will rub them, will ride that big grey boy, will tell Tripp I miss him.

They will be fine.

When I return, it will be with a better foot, an easier walk, a nicer gait of my own……

But, oh, I miss the horses.

Ghost Ryder and Tripp

Eau de Whisper

The First Snow

Yesterday's rainy, snowy, sleety, weather--it is, after all, December--resulted in the normal red mud of North Carolina winters. It takes more than that, though, to make Mike miss a morning walk with the dogs. Slough that I am, I kept my place on the couch as they headed out.

Half an hour, or so, later, I heard the doggy door BLAM open and Whisper flew in, his ever shadow River close behind, both of them grinning, tails wagging, WET dogs, so happy with themselves and their walks.

The two of them do, sometimes, run back early from Mike and Jenni to share their fun with me. Though Jenni does love me, does come for a gentle, soft rub more often than normal, she truly is Mike's dog. Whisper & River, though, both came by my choice, and both always know my whereabouts.....I squealed at the cold, wet drops flying off their coats slapping my skin, Whisper's beautiful white coat dappled brown from pond scrum or forest dirt or some such. They turned away happily and fell to the floor, still happy, such fun that morning walk!

All this took about, oh, seven seconds.....and, then, wafting from, ummmmm, let's see, yes, Whisper came an odor.....oh, yeah, no doubting that smell......a very strident, emanating, STRONG eau de deceased.

Usually it's my sweet Jenni who finds something for rolling in. Not this time. Maybe he didn't MEAN to roll in it....but, wow..... As the warm house air attached itself to that beautiful white (now red-dappled) ruff, particles of dead something wafted up more and more.....and I found myself quickly OFF the couch and down the hall to the bath tub, Whisper happily following me.

Oh yeah. Uh huh.

I gathered every towel I could find, he trotted behind.

I took some belongings I had in the bathroom OUT so as to escape the waterfall to come. Whisper followed me.

"Whisper! Stop following me!" I scolded, seeing little wet pawprints in the carpet. His tail wagged harder.

I got a metal pan to pour water over him. And, finally, as I made final preparations, just shoved him in the bathroom and shut the door. Affronted doesn't begin to describe the look on his face.

Myself? I finally gathered my nerve and went in.

We have a "jacuzzi tub," which is nice when you want to sit in and have water massage your back, but the tub is very tall. It's not a big round one, takes the normal width of a regular tub, so, tall. When I get in, I actually have to use a stool. So, try to lift a 50-pound dog, shocked at the treatment his mom suddenly exhibited, over the side of a high tub (which is, nonetheless, on the floor, so lifting with your back at a weird angle), the tub door slid to the side, leaving about a three-foot opening, and said affronted dog (wrapped in a towel, because, really, he was RIPE) splaying all four legs out as far as possible.

I am still pretty strong (I lift saddles and such at the barn, of course, wrestle horses on occasion), but I admit the first try failed. You might be wondering at this point, "Where was Mike?"

With One Towel Behind!

That is a very good question.

Again, I wrapped a towel around my struggling, worried dog (who never once tried to hurt me, let it be known), hefted him up, and this time plopped him in the tub. He shivered, his nerves just getting the better of him, but I got my pan, between that and running water wet him down, lathered him as much and as fast as I could (there was also a towel in the bottom of the tub for him to stand on) and washed the boy up.

At which point Mike arrived. "Did he get in something that smelled bad?"

Posing With River

I refrained from saying, "No, I just thought it would be fun to either sign up for mud wrestling or give Whisper a bath," and said, "Yes." All congratulations lack of sarcasm are appreciated.

He--and this is why God made husbands--removed Whisper when we had him all clean and rinsed a couple minutes later, and Whisper suddenly morphed into the happy, proud, GOOD-SMELLING dog he usually is--although, much cleaner.

I cleaned the tub, gathered all but a couple towels that we own, and they now grace the washing machine, then hopped in the cleaned tub myself. Even the towel on which he stood while taking the bath smelled bad...... ugh.

But, gee, he is one beautiful dog......

My Beautiful Boy