by Peg Kehret
“Seeing Eye dogs are,” she said. “I don’t know about regular dogs.”
I had already decided I couldn’t take a chance on trying to pass Snickers off as a service dog. There was too much risk that it would lead to being questioned by the authorities.
“This is a plain old dog,” I said. “A pet. He’s really well behaved.”
“You’ll have to talk to the bus driver,” she said.
I had noticed a small park down the side street, so while I waited for the bus I took Snickers there for a walk. He loved sniffing the grass and the trees.
When Snickers squatted to do his business, I saw a young woman with a toddler frown at us. I removed one of the small plastic bags from my pack, slid my hand inside, and picked up Snickers’s waste. I quickly turned the bag inside out and dropped it in a trash bin. The woman smiled approvingly, and I was glad I’d had the foresight to buy bags.
When the hour was almost up, we walked back to wait for the bus. Ten minutes later, it wheezed to a stop. I waited while the driver, a bearded middle-aged man, helped two people retrieve their luggage. Then I approached him.
“Excuse me,” I said. “I’m planning to take the bus and I’m wondering if it’s okay to bring my dog. He’s friendly and well behaved.”
“No dogs allowed.”
“I could pay extra for him.”
I saw the man hesitate and realized that any extra would probably go straight into his pocket rather than the bus company’s coffers.
“He’ll probably sleep the whole trip,” I said.
“How big is he?” the driver asked, which seemed like a stupid question, since Snickers was standing right beside me.
I pointed, and the man seemed to notice Snickers for the first time.
“No way,” he said. “I thought you meant a little lapdog. Too many folks are scared of dogs. I could lose my job if I let you take him on board.”
I made my lower lip tremble and tried to force a few tears from my eyes. “He’s the only family I have,” I said. “My dad left years ago and my mother died and I need to get to my sister’s house. I can’t leave my dog behind. I just can’t!”
“Save your acting for the movies,” the man said. “I’m not risking my job over a mutt.” He walked away from me and entered the coffee shop on the corner. When he returned carrying a paper cup, he refused to look at me.
As I stood at the curb watching the bus pull away, I got a face full of exhaust fumes, but they weren’t the only reason I felt sick. What was I going to do now?
I walked to the coffee shop and sat at one of the outdoor tables. I spread my map out, found where I was, and calculated how much farther I had to go. More than nine hundred miles. Could I walk that far? Could Snickers? If we made twenty-five miles a day, it would still take over a month.
I had enough money for a month’s worth of food, but where would we sleep? I had no sleeping bag or tent and didn’t want to carry them anyway, so campgrounds were out. I was pretty sure that places that rent rooms, such as the YWCA, would not allow a dog and even if they did, my money would run out before we got to Enumclaw. What about weather? Sometimes in summer there are thunderstorms and even tornadoes.
I thought briefly about hitchhiking but quickly decided against it. Too risky. I wanted to find Starr, and I wanted to keep Snickers, but I did not want to climb into a vehicle with somebody who I knew nothing about.
Maybe I could board Snickers at a kennel and then come back for him. He would be safe and fed while I continued my journey on the bus. As soon as I found Starr and had made plans for my permanent home, I would retrieve Snickers and take him to live with me. I wondered how much it cost per day to board a dog.
I tied Snickers’s leash to the table leg, went into the coffee shop, and asked if I could look at a phone directory. I turned to the Yellow Pages and looked under kennels. When I saw an ad for dog boarding, I wrote the number in my notebook, untied Snickers, and found a public pay phone.
“How much do you charge to board a dog?” I asked, when Kanine Kennels answered.
“How much does your dog weigh?”
“I don’t know.”
“The charge varies, depending on if the dog is Small, Medium, Large, or Extra-large.”
“I think he’s mostly bassett hound with some black Lab.”
“That would be considered a large dog. It’s thirty-five dollars a day.”
I gulped. “Where would you keep him?”
“We have six- by ten-foot covered kennels with concrete floors. Each dog gets a blanket to sleep on unless you bring his own bed.”
“Would you take him out for walks?”
“Twice a day.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I have to think about it.”
Mentally, I marked off a six- by ten-foot space. It wasn’t very big, especially when I tried to imagine Snickers inside it.
It wasn’t cheap, either. It would probably be at least two weeks before I could bail him out. That would be four hundred ninety dollars! It might take longer than two weeks to locate Starr, and then come back to get Snickers. Meanwhile his stiff old body would be resting on hard concrete. Even with a blanket, that didn’t sound comfortable.
Snickers nudged my knee as I stepped out of the phone booth. I scratched him behind his ears while his tail whacked the ground. I looked into his brown eyes and knew he’d be miserable in a kennel. He’d think I had abandoned him, the same as everyone else. Even if I could afford to board him, there had to be a better solution.
I looked at my map again. If I took an older two-lane road, rather than the highway, it was twelve miles to the next small town. Snickers and I could walk twelve miles. It would give me time to think of a plan, and I’d end the day closer to Starr than when it began. Not as close as I had hoped, but twelve miles was better than nothing.
Before we left, I filled Snickers’s bowl with water in the coffee shop’s restroom and carried it out to him. After he drank, I used what was left to water a shrub.
It felt good to walk briskly along with Snickers at my side. Maybe Rita was right about exercise. She always said it was good for the mind, as well as the body, and I did feel optimistic as I headed down the road. I still didn’t want to try to walk all the way to Enumclaw because it would take too long, but maybe I should walk whenever there were short distances between towns, just to stay in shape. It would be like training for a sport, except I would be accomplishing an even greater goal—finding Starr.
7
Unfortunately, Snickers was not up to a twelve-mile walk. After an hour of walking, Snickers began lagging behind instead of walking beside me. He didn’t limp, exactly, but he walked more and more slowly, as if his legs hurt. I realized an old dog who had been sleeping outside with no medical care probably had arthritis. Maybe his joints ached, and if he had been accustomed to spending his days in the bushes next to the restaurant’s parking lot, where he got little exercise, he was badly out of condition. The pads on his feet were probably sore by now, too.
I needed to find my twin sister, but Snickers needed a nap.
Flat fields stretched as far as I could see. Farm country. I didn’t know what crop these fields were. Potatoes? Soybeans?
I sat on the shoulder of the road, at the edge of a plowed field. Snickers sank down beside me, heaved a sigh, and closed his eyes. The air smelled dusty, as if it had not rained for a long time. I dug my hands into the dry dirt between two rows and let it sift through my fingers.
The rural setting felt peaceful and spacious—and lonely. I wondered what Rita was doing, and hoped she wasn’t too worried about me. I wished I had a way to let her know I was okay without also giving away my location.
If I saw a café with Wi-Fi in one of the towns ahead, maybe I’d ask someone with a laptop if I could send an e-mail. I didn’t think that could be traced to the town it came from, only to the person who had the e-mail account. If the police asked the service provider where the person who had the account lived, did AOL, or who
ever the account was with, have to reveal it? I wasn’t sure. Better to be safe and not send an e-mail at all.
While Snickers slept, I examined the bottoms of his feet. His toenails needed to be trimmed, but he had thick, tough pads that looked as if he could walk many miles on them without a problem. His muscles must have been what ached. I didn’t know what to do to help that, except to let him rest.
I let Snickers sleep for an hour, then roused him and headed on down the road, walking until he trailed behind me on the leash again, rather than trotting by my side. We continued the day’s journey on a one-hour-on, one-hour-off schedule.
Just before sunset, we arrived at a town that consisted of a water tower, a one-pump gas station, a feed store, a combination drugstore/hardware store, and a grocery store. No motels. At first I didn’t think there was a restaurant, either, but then I saw a faded, hand-painted sign that said JUNE’S HOME-COOKED MEALS. June’s restaurant turned out to be one large room at the front of June’s house.
A bell jingled when I went in. A short, plump woman entered, wiping her hands on a purple towel. Her blond hair formed a frizzy halo around her head.
“Howdy,” she said. “I’m June.”
“I’d like to get a meal,” I said.
“Have a seat.”
She gestured at three round wooden tables that seated four people each. The centerpieces consisted of a bottle of ketchup, a paper napkin holder, and a salt and pepper set.
I chose a table and sat down. I was the only customer.
“You have your choice of a grilled cheese sandwich or a bowl of chili.”
“Grilled cheese would be good.”
“Anything to drink?”
Since there was no menu, I asked, “What is there?”
“Hold on a sec, let me check,” she said, and disappeared into the back room. When she returned, she said, “I have milk, apple juice, and water.”
“Apple juice, please. And could I also get water for my dog? I have his bowl.”
As I took Snickers’s bowl out of my backpack, June walked to the window and looked out.
“Good gracious,” she said. “Don’t leave your dog out there like some poor relation. Bring him in. He can rest under the table.”
“That would be great,” I said. “Thanks.”
I brought Snickers inside.
June rubbed his ears and said, “Well, aren’t you a handsome boy? Just look at you! What’s your name?”
“His name is Snickers.”
“Snickers?” she said, as if it were a foreign word that she’d never heard before.
“Right,” I said. “Snickers, as in candy bar.”
“Oh, that kind of Snickers. I was thinking of a mean type of laugh.”
She petted Snickers again, then headed back to the kitchen. Soon she returned with a plate of table scraps. “I thought Snickers might enjoy some leftover stew,” she said.
Snickers stood as she placed the plate before him. He wagged his tail.
“It’s for you, Snickers,” I said. “Go ahead.”
“Would you look at that?” said June. “He’s trained not to gobble down his meal until you tell him it’s okay? I never saw the likes!”
“I didn’t train him,” I admitted. “He just always waits until I say he can eat.”
“Now that is the most polite dog I’ve ever seen,” June said. “He’s welcome here anytime.” She poured water from a pitcher into Snickers’s bowl. “You new in town?”
“Passing through,” I said. “Is there a place to rent a room?”
“Are you alone?”
“No. I’m with Snickers.”
June laughed so hard that she had to wipe her eyes on the bottom of her shirt.
I didn’t think it was that funny, but then there probably isn’t a lot of comedy in this town.
“Myrtle Fishby used to take in boarders, years ago. She might rent you a room. Depends on whether her Social Security check covered the utilities this month. I’ll call her.”
I could hear June’s side of the conversation. “Myrtle? Do you want a tenant tonight? It’s a young girl and her dog. I don’t know; a funny-looking dog, with big ears. He’s very polite. Yes, I did say a girl; I meant the dog is polite. The girl is nice, too. Just a minute, I’ll ask her.” She held the receiver against her chest and asked, “Are you staying only one night?”
“Yes.”
“One night, Myrtle.”
June spoke to me again. “It would be ten dollars.”
“I’ll take it.”
“Okay, Myrtle. I’ll send her over after she eats.”
It was the best grilled cheese sandwich I’d ever had—golden brown with a buttery taste, and the cheese all melted and gooey and oozing out the edges. It was real cheddar cheese, too, not the “cheese food” they use for nachos at fast-food restaurants.
The apple juice was served icy cold in its can and tasted great with the hot sandwich. I wished I could have all my meals at June’s.
“That was delicious,” I said as I swallowed the last bite. “How much do I owe you?”
“Two dollars.”
Only two dollars? For a home-cooked sandwich, a can of juice, and stew for my dog? I couldn’t believe my good fortune. I laid three dollar bills next to my plate, and asked how to find Myrtle’s place.
June pointed. “One block down, on the corner. The yellow house with the pots of petunias on the porch.” As I left, June said, “I’m cooking breakfast tomorrow. Pancakes and eggs. If you’re interested, come on down any time between seven and nine. You too, Snickers.”
“We’ll be here,” I said.
Myrtle had turned on the porch light, so I had no trouble finding her house, even though it was dark by then. She led me to a small room furnished with one twin bed, a wooden chest of drawers, and a table lamp. A braided rug on the floor would work for Snickers. I handed her the ten dollars.
“You don’t have to pay until you leave,” she said.
“That’s okay. This way you know you have it.”
The sheets on the bed smelled of sunshine. Rita always hung the sheets outside to dry, so the smell of fresh air made me think of her. Until I had lived with Rita, my sheets and pillowcases had always come out of a clothes dryer, except at Jerod’s apartment, where they never got laundered at all. At first I had thought Rita was foolish to lug the wet sheets into the backyard and hang them on the clothesline, even if it did conserve energy, but once I got used to that fresh, clean smell, I found I enjoyed it.
I slept soundly, awakening once when a train rumbled through town and blasted its whistle. As I fell back asleep, I heard Snickers snoring softly on the rug beside my bed. I felt safe here and wondered what it would be like to grow up in a small rural town, to live one’s whole life in a place where a dog gets invited into the restaurant and served a free meal of table scraps. That would be against all the Health Department regulations in every place I’d ever lived. It was probably against the rules here, too, but the difference was that here nobody cared.
The next morning as I ate scrambled eggs and blueberry pancakes at June’s, she brought her cup of coffee to my table and sat down across from me. “Where are you headed?” she asked.
“Enumclaw, Washington,” I said.
“You have kin there?”
“My sister. I’m going to live with her.”
“How are you fixing to get there?”
“The bus, if the driver will let me take Snickers along. The last driver wouldn’t allow him on the bus, so we walked awhile.”
“Tell you what,” June said. “I need to visit my aunt today and I’d just as soon go now, before it gets too hot. You and Snickers could ride along, if you want. It’s about fifteen miles west of here. The Trailways bus stops there.”
“That would be great,” I said. “Thank you.”
I helped her wash the dishes. When she put a CLOSED sign in the window, I said, “Aren’t you worried that you’ll lose customers if you close in the middle of
the day?”
“If I’m not here and they’re hungry, they’ll wait until I get back. Where else are they going to go for a meal?”
We piled into June’s Jeep and off we went, with Snickers’s nose aimed into the wind and his ears flapping out behind him.
The town where June’s aunt lived turned out to be a sad-looking cluster of houses, some unkempt mobile homes, and a large grain silo. A one-pump gas station appeared to be the only commercial establishment in town. The peeling paint and dirty windows made me wonder if it was open for business or abandoned.
“I’m afraid it isn’t much of a town,” June said as she pulled up in front of the dilapidated gas station. “The bus will be along soon, though.”
“Thanks for the ride,” I said.
“You be careful, honey,” she said. “Stop for a meal if you ever get back this way.”
Snickers and I climbed out. I watched June’s car cross the road and turn left, disappearing behind a windbreak of trees.
8
There wasn’t a real bus stop—no shelter of any kind, no bench to sit on, not even a sign. I opened the door to the gas station and went inside, where I was surrounded by loud music, the kind the radio stations call “golden oldies.” I didn’t recognize the song—something with a saxophone solo. An old man in coveralls sat on a high stool behind the small counter with his eyes closed, tapping his fingers to the song.
“Excuse me,” I said.
The radio band continued with the sax replaced by a string section. The man swayed to the beat, a half-smile on his lips.
I spoke louder. “Excuse me!”
The man opened his eyes, frowning. He turned the knob on a large brown radio, and the music faded. “What can I do you for?” the man asked.
“I want to catch the bus, and I was told it stops here. Do I get a ticket from you?”
“From the driver. Just stand on the side of the road, and when the bus comes, wave your arms to signal the driver to stop. He’ll pull over, and you can pay your fare then.”