The Meeting Star--Star Story Number 4

Ally Stabler groaned, stretched, and turned slowly over to check the time. Light crept in around the

window shades, so obviously the day dawning was Saturday or Sunday. She thought carefully and

remembered that yesterday she had, indeed, clawed her way out of bed to go to the office where she worked, had, actually, worked the whole, long day.  Therefore, Saturday.

Glorious Saturday.

So, then, Saturday, the end of February…..a soccer game in the cold at some point for Kevin. Ally groaned again, smacked her hand over her eyes, and tried to remember the time she had seen on the schedule taped to the refrigerator door last night. Late morning, she remembered that. Well, at least later morning…..no need to rush out of bed. Lots of work to do here at home, of course, but the work wouldn’t leave anytime; it would be there in ten minutes….or fifteen….or more.

Ally dozed until she heard her oldest son, Revin, leave for his Saturday morning job, doing yard work for several elderly people around the neighborhood, contracted out, sort of unofficially, by a neighbor who owned a yard service company. The “unofficially” apparently helped with the paperwork and tax part; Ally just took the neighbor and Revin at their words, and hoped they knew enough to keep Revin, the neighbor, and herself out of trouble. After her husband had left when the two younger children both still wore diapers, Ally worked and scrimped to be able to stay in their house. So far she had managed. But, she knew that without Revin’s efforts, they would likely have had to move to an apartment or some lesser house—one with a smaller yard, a smaller house, though this one did not bring “large” to mind. He kept up the yard with  no help from Ally, and he did as much maintenance work on the house as he could figure how to do on his own. This day, perhaps, Revin’s day would be short. The cold curtailed what he could do, but he would check the houses on his schedule, ask if the owners needed something, maybe put salt out on frozen spots if wanted.

When Ally had started to take a second night job at a department store, Revin showed anger towards his mother the only time she could remember. “Who’ll take care of the kids?” he demanded.

“You can use time at home to study. I can work, and you can take care of them when you’re home from school.”

Revin’s eyes had filled with tears as he started to crumble in front of her. “No!” he cried. “No! I have my job at the pet store and on Saturday. I do fine in my classes. You HAVE to take care of Kevin and Devin! That’s why I have two jobs. If you start another job, why am I doing all this? Mom, you can’t!”

His despair so caught her off guard and so gripped her heart that she assured him she would not work outside her day job, keeping her evenings and weekends free for the younger children. “But,” she quietly asked her son, still gasping air as he tried to calm down in front of her, “who cares for you?”

His tear-filled eyes looked at his mother, going flat before her. “I’m fine, Mom. You and me, we look out for each other, and for the kids. Just don’t talk anymore about another job. In a little while I’ll be done with college, and then I’ll get a real job.”

Ally looked at her son and felt her heart shatter. No child should have to take the responsibilities that Revin carried. The two younger, though they missed having a father, did not really remember their dad. Revin, though, not only remembered him, but he could remember good times with him, his father taking him to the park, playing ball in the yard, being tossed in the air and caught by the man he called, "Daddy." When her husband had left, overcome, apparently, by the responsibility of his growing family, Revin, seeing his mother weep as he packed his bags, had taken his father’s large hand in both of his smaller ones, stared up into the eyes so much like his own, and begged his father to stay. “Please, Daddy, don’t go. I’ll be good. I’ll be really good.”

Almost, Ally thought, almost that caused the man grown, the man right then deserting his family, to change his mind. She never knew if he had a girlfriend somewhere else; he never said, and she did not think she could bear the knowing. But she did see resolve settle in after momentary doubt on his face. He reached down to kiss the young boy’s head, turned, and without even checking the two sleeping toddlers in the other room, left the house.

Despite his promises of monetary help, she never heard from him again, except to get papers in the mail, divorce papers. He gave her the house, whatever money there was in the bank…..against the advice of friends, she signed and returned the papers to the attorney’s office in the envelope provided.

And she and Revin became the team to keep the family above water, fed, clothed, the younger children in activities, Revin, late elementary school age when calamity struck, began mowing yards, doing yardwork, even that early. After that, he never seemed to not be working. Still, he finished school with good grades, enough to get a small scholarship, and started at the local university, part time, three classes a semester, the minimum he could take and keep his scholarship.  Ally never doubted he would finish, and finish well. The determination she saw on his face at night as he studied, fatigue aging him beyond his years. She never again suggested she would take on more of the load, but she watched her eldest son sadly, and she prayed that, somehow, his load could lighten in a way he would allow. No child should have to carry what her son did, but his childhood stopped years too soon.

She wouldn’t mind if her own life eased up a bit either, while making requests.

For now, a soccer game awaited. Ally rolled out of bed, pulled on her robe, went down the hall, and called to her youngest son, “Kevin, up, up! You need to get breakfast and get ready for your game!” Then, “Devin! Let’s go.” And footsteps ran barefoot along the floor, children happy upon wakening.

Ally smiled and headed for the kitchen.

Two hours later she sat in a folding chair, wrapped in a coat, a blanket over that, her thermos of coffee on the ground beside her. Grey clouds pressed the cold air down on the field, insulating the chill around them. The boys, shorts and shirts over sweat pants and sweat shirts, ran up and down the field, gloves on their hands, hats on their heads, puffing like miniature steam engines back and forth across the field. Talent showed by this age; you could tell, ah, this one could play this sport, that one could flick an ankle and move the ball away from all the other players easily. But, for the most part, boys just ran, kicked, slammed into each other, periodically someone accidently kicked the ball into the goal, and everyone on their team leapt up and down on the frozen earth, high-fiving, the claps muffled with the gloves, screaming like they had won the world cup.

Devin, Kevin’s sister, younger by a little over a year, had a smaller chair positioned by her mother, but also spent time running around with other children. The parents, always keeping that spare parent eye on them, pretty much let them play within sight. It must help to keep them warm, and who could blame little girls for not wanting to watch boys play soccer? Give them a few years……

When half time came, Ally grabbed up an indignant Devin, ran to the car and revved up the engine. She adored all her kids, but thawing out for five minutes truly was not too much to ask. Kevin would never miss her presence on the sideline. She quieted Devin’s protesting squawks by giving her a juice box, brought just for that purpose, then, as the air from the heater warmed, removed both their gloves and showed the girl how to rub her hands in front of the air now pouring into the car. Ally even felt her fingers start to thaw…..oh, the little things, like non-frostbitten fingers!

So, when the “tap-tap-tap” pecked at her window, Ally jumped straight up in the seat, almost, but not quite, hitting her head on the ceiling of the car. “What the…….?”

She turned and saw what (who?) could best be described as a little old lady beaming a smile at her through her window. Ally stared at her. The lady waved a mittened hand (of course, it was mittens) and continued to smile.

Oh, thought Ally. Oh. No. She. Does. Not. Want. Me. To. Lower. My. Window.

Gray, or maybe white, hair escaped from the knitted cap tworn by he old lady looking in at Ally and Devin. The smile didn’t waver. Ally sighed, and pushed the “down” button for just a second, stopping when the opening reached about two inches.

“Yes?” she asked.

“Hi!” chirped the old lady, “I’m Gloria Shepherd. I’m so sorry to bother you. But, are you Revin’s mother?”

Ally stared at the gray-haired apparition standing at her car window. Who the heck was this woman, and how did she know her son?

“I’m sorry,” she answered, “but do I know you?”

“Oh, I apologize,” laughed the lady. “I met Revin here at your other son’s soccer practice this week. He and I talked a bit—I don’t know if he told you? Anyway, Star and I,” and the old lady looked down for a second; when Ally glanced down as well, she saw the back half of what must be a dog, “met Revin and watched your other son—Kevin is it?—practice. We thought we’d come see part of his game. We got here a little late, and I don’t know how long I can stay. But, I wanted to introduce myself.  Like I said, I’m Gloria Shepherd.”

“Pleased to meet you,” stated Ally. Probably that was a lie, but though the hot air still poured over her and Devin, she hated letting any of it out that crack in the window.

“Well, then,” said Gloria Shepherd, and started to turn away.

Suddenly, from, um, somewhere, Ally heard, well, not really heard, but did hear, “You might let us in the car for a minute. Gloria’s really cold.”

Ally jerked her head around to look at Devin. “Did you say something?”

Devin, straw from the drink box in her cute little mouth, shook her head.

“Soon, please.”

In spite of herself, Ally looked up at the old lady and said, “Why don’t you get in the back for just a minute to warm up?”

“Oh, THANK you,” answered Gloria Shepherd. And without even asking, as if she knew the answer beforehand, she acted like letting a dog in a person’s car was standard procedure. The black and white dog lightly jumped into the car and delicately stepped over the seat to make room for the old lady.

Outside, the players started making their way back to the field. They noticed Kevin wrapped up with another couple of boys standing on the sideline. So, he would not start this half…. Ally sighed. Good. I can warm up for another few minutes.”

Except….who WAS this woman?

The dog panted softly from the back seat, surely not from the cold, and Gloria Shepherd prattled on about meeting Revin at practice this week. “I gave him my name and phone number, did he tell you? In case I could help maybe babysit sometime if you get in an emergency?”

Something in the back of Ally’s mind clicked. Ah, yes. She looked at Gloria Shepherd in the rearview mirror. “Ah, yes,” she said. “I remember he did say something. I think he put the paper with your number on it on the refrigerator. I’m sorry. We were all so tired that night. He told me about meeting you at dinner, but after dinner he just went straight to bed. He never does that, so I kind of worried he was sick.”

“Oh?” inquired Gloria, “is he okay?”

“Oh, yes,” said Ally. “He said he rested that night better than he had in a long time.” In spite of how weird this whole thing was, she smiled. “He had a history test that morning, and he did really well on it probably because he wasn’t too tired to think while he took it. He works too hard.”

“Oh, I’m so glad!” Gloria said. “He studied some for that test while he was watching Kevin practice the other day.”

“Yes,” Ally smiled sadly, “he has too many things to do, and he studies whenever he gets a chance.”

“Well,” said Gloria, “the offer stands. If you need help, if I can stay with the younger children sometime or you need a break or I can run an errand for you, please call me. Star and I would love to help.” She hesitated a minute, then said, “I can probably find some people to vouch for me, if you’d like. I don’t blame you for not trusting me right off.”

Ally turned around to look at the old lady, then looked over into the dog’s face. Soft, deep brown eyes returned her scrutiny. Revin had mentioned, she now remembered, meeting a nice dog. “Walter, “ he had said, “would like her.” As Walter was Revin’s cat, Ally didn’t see how that made sense, but she also had not had time or inclination to figure it out.

Now, looking at those endless eyes in that black face, a white stripe starting at her black nose covering her snout and ending with the star-shape blaze on her forehead, no doubt the source of her name, Ally understood why the dog stayed in her son’s memory.

“Kevin likes me, too.” Ally looked over at Gloria Shepherd, but realized the old woman had not spoken. She glanced at Devon, now pulling on her gloves, getting ready to go rejoin her friends playing on the sidelines.

Maybe the cold is getting to me, she thought.

“I appreciate the offer,” she told Gloria. “I’ll keep it in mind. There are times I need someone. We don’t have other family here…well, anyway, thanks.”

“Kevin likes me, too,” as if to reiterate the first time.

Ally got very still, and Gloria looked over at her dog. Star glanced at her, but returned her watching eyes back to Ally. The corners of Gloria’s mouth turned into a little smile, and she shook her head just a bit and sighed.

“Maybe Revin didn’t have a chance to explain to you that Star can sort of communicate with us?”

Ally twisted herself, her big coat and sweat clothes bungling her efforts, trying to see Gloria behind her. “Communicate?” she squeaked.

“I know. Dogs can’t do that, can’t talk, can’t do the ESP thing. It’s just that Star is, well, different.”

Ally stared at the old woman a minute, then yanked herself back around and exclaimed, “Oh, look! Kevin’s back out on the field! Come on, Devin, let’s go watch him.”

She turned off the car, and she and her daughter quickly exited, not even waiting for Gloria and Star. Gloria, a bit more slowly, climbed out of the back seat, picked up the handle of Star’s leash, and kissed a sound to bring Star lightly over the end of the seat to the cold ground.

“I don’t think, Little Girl,” she said, “that you should be so talkative.”

Star looked up at her, then started walking towards the soccer field. “Oh, no!” exclaimed Gloria, “it is WAY too cold to just stand there. We’re going home.”

Star stopped at the end of her leash. She didn’t pull; she never pulled. “Only untrained dogs pull on their leash,” she had one time commented to Gloria, the only time Star had ever commented on other dogs or behavior or even that she had any training. But now she just stood. Gloria knew this dog, this wonderful dog who must at least feel the bitter wind blowing harshly, cutting through Gloria’s clothes so that, no matter how many layers she had put on before leaving home (sitting and knitting in her soft chair had been her first idea this morning—another idea the dog had kibboshed), even if the dog’s double-coated fur protected her more than human clothing, even with all that (Gloria realized her thoughts confused themselves a bit there), she knew for sure that if Star wanted to go to the field, short of picking up the 40-pound dog and lugging her home, something Gloria could not physically do, they would go to the field.

“Oh, Star,” she sighed.  Then, in her mind, she heard, “the woman and the little girl,” and so she knew why. For some reason Star felt she must help Ally and Devin (at least she remembered their names), so she hunched closer inside herself and her winter clothes and, with this unusual dog, hiked to the field.

Hopefully it wouldn’t take long.

Star went and sat beside Devin’s chair and put her head in the girl’s lap. Gloria saw that the other girls had disappeared, either sitting on a parent’s lap or, no doubt, in some of those WARM cars whose engines she now heard running. Devin didn’t jump or appear surprised or startled by the black-and-white dog head suddenly resting on her. Instead, she smiled shyly and began to rub Star’s head, causing Star’s eyes to shut contentedly, a trait Gloria recognized as Star showing pleasure.

“Isn’t she cold?” asked Ally?

“You’d think so,” replied Gloria. “But she really likes children, and she wanted to come say goodbye to Devin before we go home.”

Ally looked back at the boys running the field. “Well, thankfully the game won’t be much longer; then we can ALL go home.”

From the chair where the girl and dog appeared to have slipped into their own world, the hood of Devin’s coat bobbed up and down. “Okay,” she said, “I will.”  After a pause, she continued, “I promise.”

Ally looked curiously at her daughter then, at a shout from the field, turned back to the game, a couple of the boys hugging themselves, actually acting like they felt the temperature. The rest of them jumped around like spring time.

Boys.

Devin glanced up at Gloria as her mother watched the game. “Would it really be okay if I stayed with you sometime?”

“Excuse me?” Gloria replied.

“Like if my mom has to be somewhere in the afternoon and Revin is busy working or studying? Maybe Kevin and I could stay at your house for awhile?” Devin looked down at Star, who gazed adoringly at the girl. “Star said so.”

Gloria smiled and shook her head. “Well, if Star said so—and, more important, if your mom thinks it’s okay.”

So, of course, immediately Devin grabbed her mother’s arm and started pulling. “Mom! Mom! Can I go stay with Star sometime when you’re busy in the afternoon?”

Ally glared at Gloria. Who was this woman, and why was she so interested in spending time with her children?  Gloria said, “It wasn’t my idea, really.”

Then, just as Ally started to explain personal space and “maybe not” to Gloria and, probably more difficult, to Devin, she heard, “It’ll be okay.”

Ally’s mouth smacked close.

She still looked straight at Gloria and knew the old woman had not spoken; for sure Ally’s young voice was not in her head.  In spite of everything she knew as possible, she looked down at the dog, who had lifted her head off of Devin’s lap and moved over to sit in front of Ally.

“It’ll be okay.”

Ally studied the dog carefully.  At this point she accepted that Gloria had not spoken, and she knew the voice in her head did not come from Devin. She would recognize her children’s voices anytime, anywhere. Dogs could not talk, of course, or project voices to a brain. But, she could not doubt the voice she heard inside her head.

Maybe she could work out a vacation somewhere warm soon….

Gloria watched the emotions play on the face of this overworked, overwhelmed mother. As Star glanced at her owner, Gloria turned to the little girl, for just a moment forgetting the cold. “Devn,” she said, “would you like to learn how to knit?”

“What’s that?” asked Devin.

Now Gloria’s mouth dropped. How could the child not know knitting? Ally ducked her head, embarrassed. The old lady probably thought for sure she neglected her children—but who had time to knit, well, except old ladies with dogs and no kids.

“Well,” Gloria said slowly, “it’s making things like this hat I’m wearing.” She pulled the hat off, and instantly regretted it, her ears immediately reacting to the bitter wind. As Devin inspected the pink hat, nice and thick made specifically for such cold weather, Gloria held back from snatching it from the little girl’s hands. Ally, seeing the game end (Kevin’s team lost by one goal, but the boys mainly seemed ready to get off the field), started packing up their gear.

“Give the hat back,” Ally said to her daughter. “Tell Ms. Shepherd ‘thanks’ for showing it to you.”

Slowly, Devin returned the hat to Gloria. “Thank you,” she said. Then, “Do you think you could show me how to make a hat?”

“Devin,” Ally sharply said.

“Oh, sure!” chirped Gloria, happy to replace her hat. “Let me help you put all this stuff in your car. Then Star and I need to get home. We live close to here. I knit all the time. I just sent off a jacket to my son who lives out of town, and I’m making him a hat now to match it. You can see if you like the way his looks or this one better. “

Gloria beamed down at the little girl, then lost her smile as she shivered with another wind gust.

As they folded chairs, put mugs in the bag brought for that purpose, Devin said, “When can I come?”

“Devin!” Ally sighed. Gloria looked at Ally. She saw Ally about to give a reason it could not happen soon, though Gloria enjoyed teaching knitting to others, when, suddenly, Ally stopped and looked, bemusedly, down at the dog.  Gloria smiled.

“We’ll work out a day,’ she said to Devin. “I gave your big brother my phone number. You call me next week when your mom says you can, and you can come over. I have to get you some yarn, but we’ll get you all set up.”

Devin, happy at the thought of lessons to come, ran off to the car, carrying her small chair, bouncing it on her leg as she ran. Gloria looked at Ally. “Do you mind,” she began, hesitated for a few seconds, then continued, “do you mind telling me what she said to you?”

Ally shook her head. “Dogs can’t talk.” Star looked from one of the women to the other, her tail wagging just a bit.

“Oh, of course not,’ twittered Gloria. “But, I’ll be really glad to teach your little girl to knit, let her make a scarf or a hat. Maybe she can come after school one day and give you and Revin some rest time or just some time to yourselves. If you don’t want me to, I understand. I’d hesitate letting my child go with someone I didn’t know.”

Ally stopped gathering, stopped folding, and looked at Gloria. “Ms. Shepherd,” she said.

“Well,” said Gloria, “actually, it’s Mrs. It’s Mrs. Shepherd. My husband died some years ago now.”

“Oh. Sorry. Anyway, Mrs. Shepherd, I’d be grateful for the help, frankly.  Some days it’s just hard to get home before the kids. Kevin has a friend down the street where he can go, but Devin…she kind of feels left out, even though she can stay at Kevin’s friend’s house. Anyway, I’ll call you, if I may.”

She picked up her load and started walking.

“Mrs. Shepherd, thank you.”

Gloria smiled, shivered as the wind hit her again, and said, “You’re welcome.’

She and Star turned away from the field and the game, from Ally and Devin, and from all the other parents and friends and children. Star picked up her pace now. Perhaps she understood Gloria would appreciate a warm, soft chair inside. Then Gloria heard, “Mrs. Shepherd?”

Gloria turned and saw Ally watching her. “Yes?”

Ally spoke softly. “’Let her come.’ That’s what the dog said. ‘Let her come.’ Do you know how she does that?"

Gloria smiled gently. “No,” she answered. “But I’m starting to wonder how often I’ve missed her messages to me. She’s always kind, and she’s always watching out for someone. In fact, that's kind of how we met, Star looking out for me. Star is right. Let her come, and Devin and I will have a good time.”

Ally nodded her head, surprised at feeling a bit of weight lifted from her. Perhaps at this frozen soccer game—and here came Kevin, racing by to the car. “Hey, Star!” as he reached down, kissed the dogs head (Star closed her eyes with pleasure) and ran to the car. “I’m freezing!” Perhaps here she had found a bit of help, relieving one less worry. 

Well, it wasn’t the lottery, but she’d take it.

She hefted her chair and bag and walked to the car to take her children home.

Gloria looked at Star. “Take me home now, please.” The thought floated through Gloria's mind, and she happily turned again with her dog and, not quite so cold as they had been, they made their way home. 

© Jana Mauney 2017

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