Thomas would kill me if I fell overboard. The boys looked up and laughed, seeing it was only a funny little dog trying to sound like a mountain lion.
Thomas smiled affectionately at his friend who seemed to be enjoying the ride every bit as much as he was. What could be better than the breeze ruffling your hair with your best friend at your side?
Thomas recalled words he had read somewhere that explained exactly how he felt: “…a man’s dog stands by him in prosperity and in poverty, in health and in sickness. When all other friends desert, he remains.”
Boy, thought Thomas. That sure describes how I feel about Herman, and this definitely isn’t one of my prosperous times.
Panting and happy, Herman beamed up at Thomas. I only wish my friends at the animal shelter could be as lucky as I am.
For no apparent reason Herman shivered. What was that mumbo jumbo superstition Thomas had read to me? Oh yeah, every time you shivered, someone was walking on your grave. What nonsense, he grunted.
If Herman had an inkling of the sinister plot that was brewing at this very minute, forget the shivers. He would be paralyzed with a bone-crunching fear; the kind that turns brave dogs into jellyfish.
It was late afternoon and ominous, black clouds threatened to cut off what light remained. The air crackled with electricity and thunder rumbled nearby. A black cat nervously skittered across the street, alarmed at the strange static clinging to its fur that made it stand out like the bristles on a hairbrush.
Six steps led from ground level down to a small alcove in front of Thomas’ basement apartment. Two creepy-looking guys peered into the small window of Thomas’ front door. The pair were somewhat shielded from any curious onlookers, those who might wonder what mischief they were up to.
Weed, the leader of the two, whispered, “Hey, Viper, we hit pay dirt.”
“Better be good, Weed. You really messed up that last job.” Viper surveyed the interior. “At least that dumb-looking guy has good taste in stereo equipment. What an easy setup. We’ll be in and out in no time.”
“Yeah, all we have to do is get rid of that yappy mutt.” Weed scowled. “I don’t want so much as a peep out of anyone when we rob the place. Let’s beat it. That goofball could be back any minute with this storm building up.”
3
A Day That Never Should Have Happened
One windy autumn day, a day that never should have happened, Thomas and Herman enjoyed their usual walk around the block. Before Herman came along, Thomas avoided walks. There were so many gang members itching for trouble, he was certain they’d attack him. It was odd how Thomas felt protected with Herman at his side. It certainly wasn’t due to Herman’s impressive size, Thomas smiled.
Just then, the nervous neighborhood cat made a swift pass in front of them. “Stop!” shouted Thomas, but he was too late. Herman yanked his leash out of Thomas’ grasp. Then he bolted after the feline creature, unable to resist his natural dog instincts.
A car appeared out of nowhere careening around the corner. The driver tried to swerve but hit the unfortunate Herman so hard, the little dog bounced not once, but three times along the cracked pavement.
Thomas picked up Herman’s limp body lying motionless by the curb. He searched the wounded animal’s face for any sign of life. Those lively black eyes were shut as tight as the windows in a boarded up house. Herman uttered no sound, nor did he move even one paw as Thomas cradled him in his arms on the way to the car. At least Herman was still breathing, Thomas sighed in relief.
Thomas hurried on, unaware that two men had witnessed the accident from an apartment across the street. They weren’t about to lend a hand.
“Well, it looks like some wonderful driver just helped us out, Viper. Now that the pooch is headed for the doggie graveyard, we don’t have to worry about any noise when we rob that guy's place.”
“OK, Weed. But let’s wait a while till things cool down. We targeted this neighborhood a lot the last couple of months.”
The veterinarian, a kindly young man as tall and thin as Thomas was short and plump, towered over the nearly lifeless dog lying on the cold, stainless steel table. Dr. Tuftingle held Herman’s head x-rays up to the light, squinting through bottle-thick glasses.
He answered Thomas’ pleading look with a shake of the head. “I’m afraid Herman has considerable head injuries, Thomas. We could operate, but it will be expensive and there’s no guarantee Herman will pull through.”
Thomas studied the vet’s sympathetic face in silence. He weighed the situation for an instant then said, “Please go ahead, Dr. Tuftingle. I’ll sell my possessions if I have to.”
Thomas paced the narrow antiseptic-smelling floor for three endless hours. He chewed his nails down to stubs as he waited and waited. Thomas squinted bleary-eyed at the mirage standing in the doorway. No, it wasn’t a mirage. It was real.
A tired but happy Dr. Tuftingle strode confidently toward Thomas. “The operation was a success, Thomas, but Herman will need a lot of rest for quite a while. We had to implant a steel plate in Herman’s head.”
Thomas barely heard a word. Herman was going to be OK and that’s all that mattered.
A week later, an exuberant Thomas and a quiet Herman, head encased in a bandage that resembled a turban, drove home in the soon to be sold VW.
Sniffing out his familiar surroundings, Herman sighed the sigh of one who has endured a great ordeal. He gingerly tested his favorite beanbag pillow. Satisfied, he cast a grateful look at Thomas and buried his jet-black nose under his leg. Then Herman fell into a deep, peaceful sleep.
4
Three Mind-Shattering Words
Almost a month passed by. It was going to be a long winter judging by the frigid air hovering over the city that made Thomas’ heating bills soar to new heights. Herman began to act like his old self now that his head was on the mend. Besides the fact that Herman was recuperating, Thomas received more good news. He wouldn’t have to sell any of his possessions after all. Generous Dr. Tuftingle offered his services free of charge.
“How fortunate I am,” Thomas muttered to his work shoes in the corner of his cramped bedroom, next to the small space heater doing its best to spread warmth.
Thomas’ thoughts were cut short by a voice coming from the living room. “That darned cat!”
The TV was off, so who could it be, Thomas wondered?
“That darned cat.” There it was again.
Mystified, Thomas quietly poked his head around the corner. That’s strange? There’s only Herman sitting on his favorite stool gazing out the window. Herman had a “foot-level” view of any creature that passed by…including the neighborhood cat, the one who caused the driver to make that unfortunate swerve.
What happened next was like something straight out of the SyFy channel on TV. Thomas’ jaw dropped like a steam shovel dumping its load. Riveted on Herman’s profile, Thomas’ eyes grew as large as the headlights on his VW. He saw it with his own eyes and heard it with his own ears, but he couldn’t believe what was happening. Herman was talking.
“That black cat is driving me crazy.”
“Herman, you can talk!”
Herman spun around. “And you can understand me!”
Staggered by the sheer craziness of the moment Thomas blurted, “Herman, do you realize what this means?”
“We’re communicating!” answered Herman, shaking with excitement.
“You have a gift that can help people everywhere,” said Thomas scooping the little dog up in his chubby arms. Thomas walked in circles babbling to himself as the true significance of the matter sunk in.
“Your brain operation must have triggered your ability to speak human.” The man and his dog looked at each other as a new bond forged between them—two beings sharing an out-of-this-world experience.
Suddenly it dawned on Thomas the dangers that could result if their secret fell into the wrong hands. “Wait a minute,” he reasoned. “We have to proceed carefully or people with selfish interests will take a
dvantage of your powers, Herman. They’ll separate us…or worse. Remember what happened to Harry Potter. He nearly died lots of times.”
“Even people with good intentions have made mistakes,” Herman said. He shuddered at the thought of losing the best friend he ever had.
“I think you read me a story about a famous doctor who tried to help all creatures. Now I remember,” Herman said, pleased with his canine memory. “It was Dr. Albert Schweitzer in Africa who believed the world needed laws to protect the animals, too.”
Thomas and Herman puzzled an entire week over how they would break their astounding news to the world. Finally, Herman put his paw on the crux of the matter.
“We have to find someone we can trust—someone whose word is as good as gold and has the power to protect us.”
“I don’t know,” said Thomas hesitantly. “I can’t think of a single person who fits that description.”
Later that same day Thomas surfed the tube for something distracting. Nothing on TV but soap operas and game shows. Absentmindedly he clicked through the stations only half digesting the silly images on the screen.
“Wait. Go back to that last channel!” Herman trotted up for a closer look.
Thomas clicked back to the previous channel. It was Victoria Vickers, the famous talk show host, interviewing a proud author whose book had just hit the stores.
“That’s it!” Herman cried.
“That’s what?” said Thomas, not making the connection.
“Victoria Vickers—a person whose word is as good as gold—a way to tell our story to millions of people…”
“…and gain the protection of someone who stands up for what she believes,” added Thomas, always cautious.
“Let’s risk it.” They sealed their deal on the spot with a high five, paw to hand.
5
A Lucky Break
All five attempts to reach Victoria through her human fortress of handlers ended miserably. A sea of scribbled-on paper flooded the floor of Thomas’ apartment. The sheets bore the discarded ideas from their detective work. Yellow sticky notes containing dead-end phone numbers dotted the refrigerator. It looked like the fridge had a nasty case of “post-it” disease. Worse still, Thomas’ mobile phone lay idly on the table, silent until Thomas could pay the phone bill.
“Anyone as important as Victoria Vickers has as much security as Justin Bieber,” grunted Herman, his black eyes growing serious under his wispy brows. Post-its stuck haphazardly to his wiry fur.
Wracking their brain cells, Thomas and Herman devised a secret plan to contact the illusive Victoria Vickers. The plan’s success depended on their delivering a letter to someone Victoria trusted. At dawn the next day, the shivering pair stood watch outside Victoria Vickers TV studio.
“She has to go in there sometime,” reasoned Herman.
“She’s just not going to show,” lamented Thomas, clapping his shoulders to get warm. “I’m afraid we’re barking up the wrong tree. Oh, sorry Herman.”
“I suppose that makes you a “doubting Thomas,” Herman retorted only half joking.
For days there was no sign. Nothing. Luckily, Thomas took on a few weekend jobs to make up for the time he lost at work. Resigned after their three-day vigil, Thomas reluctantly turned the key to the noisy VW engine. Just then, a black stretch limousine pulled up. Out stepped Victoria herself followed by a nervous lady in a green dress leading a snow-white miniature poodle on a white leash.
Herman’s heart skipped a beat. Too late. Victoria entered a code on a keypad. The trio passed swiftly inside the heavy steel door that led to the inner sanctum. Only those with authorized badges were allowed. Thomas and Herman waited patiently like Ninjas, poised and ready to act out their important mission.
Two hours later, the lady in green and her poodle left the building. That was Herman’s cue. He approached the startled white animal, knowing he had a few minutes at best.
“Bow wow, woof.” Herman explained as fast as he could in conventional dog talk so the lady in green couldn’t understand him. What Herman said was, “Follow me. It’s extremely important!”
To Herman’s amazement, the little girl dog cocked an alert ear, broke into a run and followed him around the corner.
When the two were out of earshot Herman asked, “Who’s the red-haired lady in the green dress?”
“Oh, her name is Scarlet, my owner. She’s Victoria’s secretary,” confided the unruffled poodle.”
“By the way, my name is Herman.”
“They call me Bijou. It means jewel in French,” said the white poodle, a little shy talking to a total stranger.
For some reason, Bijou wasn’t the least bit afraid of this earnest boy dog. There was something reassuring in his manner. She studied the shaggy, white eyebrows that couldn’t quite hide a pair of sincere black eyes.
Herman, also slightly unsure of himself, acted quickly because that’s what German Schnauzer’s are bred to do—act fast. When they see a rat they pounce on it.
“Listen,” Herman whispered in his most confidential tone, though he couldn’t imagine why this perfectly adorable creature was giving him the time of day. “We don’t have much time so I’ll get right to the point. Does Victoria’s mail go to Scarlet first?”
“Yes.”
“OK, Bijou. It’s a matter of life or death. When an envelope with a red star on it arrives, you must deliver it directly to Victoria before your mistress sees it. Can you do that?”
Before Bijou could answer, Scarlet turned the corner waving her green stilettos frantically above her head. The woman’s face looks like a storm cloud ready to burst, Herman mused, mesmerized by the sight.
Herman managed a hurried, “Trust me” as the outraged secretary swept the little poodle up in her arms. Scarlet didn’t say a word. But her try-to-fool-with-me-and-you’re-dead-meat look left no doubt that Scarlet meant business. Then they were gone.
“It’s all set, I hope.” Herman gave Thomas a quick rundown of the past few minutes.
“We’ll be lucky if the letter even reaches Victoria.” Thomas wrinkled his freckled brow, certain their scheme would fail.
Following their plan, the next day Thomas wrote Victoria a carefully worded letter that read as follows:
Dear Miss Vickers,
Your secretary’s dog, Bijou, was instructed to deliver this letter with the red star on the envelope directly to you. That’s why you’re reading it. The information I have to reveal to you alone is, without doubt, the greatest event of the century—perhaps the entire history of the planet. Yes, that’s the simple truth. They say you sympathize with the underdog. Please call me at the number listed at the bottom of the page and I promise to explain everything.
The puzzling letter, particularly its unusual delivery, intrigued Victoria so much that she assigned an expert to investigate this Thomas Thomas—the man with two last names. Convinced that Thomas had no criminal background, Victoria herself phoned the bold young man.
“This first meeting must be kept a secret,” urged Thomas, not quite recovered from the jolt of actually talking to the Victoria Vickers. “You have to believe me, Miss Vickers. Everything will become crystal clear when we meet. Bring all the bodyguards you want, but please, no one else.”
Something in the young man’s simple, straightforward manner prompted Victoria to say, “OK. I’ll meet you Monday evening at 6:00 p.m. at your apartment, Thomas, but this had better be worth it.”
6
The Purple Devils Strike
It seemed like Monday would never arrive, but here it was already 5:00 p.m. Three times Herman and Thomas narrowly escaped colliding, like planets spinning out of orbit. Their project was to remove mounds of newspapers and research notes that invaded every corner of the living room. They temporarily piled everything in the kitchen to save time. Surely Victoria wouldn’t go in there.
Thomas complained to Herman, "I think these piles are multiplying all by themselves. I’m sure there are more now than when
we began.”
A knock on the front door threw Thomas into a panic. Herman watched his friend’s face grow tense. “Oh no. I could swear she said 6:00!”
Thomas opened the front door expecting to see Victoria Vickers. Instead, two scowling thugs shoved Thomas out of the way. They wore Purple Devil logos on their black leather jackets. The one called Weed had a single jagged bunch of purple hair jutting at an awkward angle from an otherwise bald head. Wielding a baseball bat, he turned on Thomas. Thomas tried to duck. Too late. Weed’s bat connected squarely with the side of Thomas’ head. Thomas spiraled so silently to the ground you’d think he was a rag doll with the stuffings knocked out of him.
Herman watched the action frozen with horror. It’s one of those made-for-TV movies only this is real, he shuddered.
“You grab the TV, I’ll take the other stuff,” Weed barked at the bare-chested giant they called Viper. His name came from the ghastly snake tattoo that seemed to slither across Viper’s enormous upper body every time he moved.
The instant Viper hoisted the TV up in the air, Herman sprang from his hideout behind the recliner. He bit Viper fiercely on the ankle. Viper tried to shake the stubborn dog off, but Herman just clamped his sharp, canine teeth down harder. It was almost comical the way Viper jumped around the room trying not to drop the TV. He kicked wildly to free himself from the mini-monster who stuck to him like a Velcro toy.
A final powerful shake sent Herman sailing through the air. Viper became preoccupied with his ankle, which had started to bleed all over his high-tops. That gave Herman time to squeeze his small frame under Thomas’ bed among all the junk and dust-bunnies. Herman cowered with the fear of certain discovery and prayed he wouldn’t sneeze.
Viper searched in vain for the hateful animal. “I thought that crazy dog died in the car accident?”
“Leave that stupid mutt,” the impatient Weed growled. “This guy is history. We gotta get out of here before the cops come.”
As they made their get-a-way, Viper’s nose ring caught on a curtain by the front window. He tripped clumsily out the door, grabbing the doorframe to steady himself.
The house grew strangely quiet after the intruders left. Herman crouched next to his unconscious friend, instinctively licking Thomas’ head. Dog saliva is well known for its ability to heal. But the loyal little Schnauzer knew in his heart that all the licking in the world couldn’t save his friend. If only I wasn’t such a coward,” he sighed. “Thomas might still be alive.”
A black limousine crept to a halt in front of Thomas’ apartment just in time for its occupants to observe two ambulance attendants remove a sheet-draped figure. A couple of uniformed police officers and a balding plainclothes detective chewing a wooden toothpick followed silently. One of the officers struggled to control a small, squirming dog. The lopsided fight ended when they forced the animal into the squad’s back seat. A wire mesh screen, meant to
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