The Dog That Saved Stewart Coolidge

by Jim Kraus

  “Just don’t get too serious. No repeats and no more scares, okay?”

  “Okay, Mom. Like I’ve already told you a hundred times.”

  “I’m just being a mother, okay?”

  “Okay. And will do. Or won’t do, as the case may be.”

  Lisa thought that was clever and funny, but her mother didn’t laugh.

  Too soon. Too close. Maybe never, I imagine.

  Stewart’s phone rang again. He seldom logged in more than one call per day, so today was a red-letter day in terms of data usage.

  “Hey, Stewie, they caught the dog, didn’t they? And it was you all along. You get the reward?”

  Stewart slowly explained what had transpired early that morning. His father sounded disappointed.

  “You coulda played this one better, Stewie. Made a few bucks off of it.”

  “I know, Dad. I guess I didn’t figure out the right angles.”

  He would have argued with him, or pointed out that he did not want to profit off the situation, but knew it would be a frustrating proposition to try to do so.

  “And I hear you were up in Coudersport getting the dog shots or something. I used to see that lady vet around more. But I ain’t seen her in any of the usual spots for a long time. I hear she got religion or something.”

  “Yeah, the receptionist said she’s dating a local pastor.”

  “A preacher? Don’t get me started on preachers. I tell you what, Stewie, they’re all just after your money. They’re all hucksters, I tell you. But don’t get me started.”

  I will do my best not to get you started, Dad. Really I will.

  “And you were right here yesterday. You could have stopped by. I had a six-pack in the fridge and there’s a Pizza Hut right around the corner.”

  “Sorry, Dad. I had to get back to…work.”

  “Yeah, I know how that is, Stewie. Work night and day and no one cares, you know?”

  “I know, Dad. I know.”

  Later that afternoon, after Stewart had finished work, he realized that simply being at work was awkward, since no one in the store knew exactly how to broach the “dog” subject with him, so they’d left him mostly alone. He was, at the same time, an abettor and a hero. Thankfully, Mr. Arden was in Sunbury all day for managers’ training and had had to leave moments after the police arrived to arrest Hubert. After he punched out, Stewart walked to the police station, which shared space in the municipal building with the city council offices and the city clerk, as well as serving as the downtown fire station.

  Sitting at the first desk was the dog-arresting officer from this morning, Lieutenant Quinn.

  “Sir,” Stewart said, a little louder than he wanted, but he wasn’t really sure of protocol in this situation.

  “You’re Stewart, right? The one with the dog.”

  “Yes sir. I just wondered if you could tell me where they’re keeping Hubert?”

  Lieutenant Quinn appeared puzzled.

  “That’s what we called the dog, sir. Hubert.”

  Lieutenant Quinn tightened up his already tight face.

  “Odd name…but, whatever, you know.”

  “Yes sir. So is Hubert at the pound or what?”

  Lieutenant Quinn wiped at his face in a soul-weary sort of gesture.

  “Son, you’re not from around here, are you?”

  Stewart shook his head.

  “No. I grew up in Lewisburg.”

  “Well, Lewisburg may have a dog pound or a city animal shelter or whatever, but Wellsboro doesn’t. No call for it, really. Until today, that is.”

  “So…”

  Lieutenant Quinn stood up and adjusted his belt again. It appeared to Stewart that belt adjustments were a very common occurrence with Lieutenant Quinn.

  “We have two holding cells here. Hardly ever use either of them. They’re small. If we got prisoners, we take them over to the Tioga County Prison. They’re set up for it. You know—meals, showers, beds, all that sort of stuff. And bathrooms. These cells lack certain necessary amenities, if you know what I mean.”

  “So…”

  “We have…your Hubert in cell number two. It’s a little bigger and it has a window.”

  “Lieutenant Quinn, I know I’m not from around here, and I don’t want to sound stupid, but can I visit him? I think he was mistreated by whoever had him before me and I sort of promised I would take care of him. I don’t want to lie to a dog. Not to Hubert.”

  Lieutenant Quinn’s gruff expression gradually gave way to a more sympathetic expression.

  “I hear you, Stewart. And to tell you the truth, I think you coming in would be a great idea. “

  “Really?”

  “It would.”

  Stewart was forming a new opinion of the policeman.

  “In fact, Stewart, I would appreciate it if you came in a couple of times a day. You know, to take him for walks and stuff. I don’t want to clean up after a dog. And I don’t want anyone who works here to clean up after a dog. That’s not on anyone’s job description, let me tell you.”

  “Really?”

  “All of this, this pain in the behind, is because of that Mr. Arden. And Bargain Bill didn’t help matters, either, what with his reward and all.”

  Lieutenant Quinn stepped closer to Stewart and lowered his voice.

  “Stewart, this place is always open, so you can sort of come in whenever you want. Just check in at the desk. Providing the night clerk isn’t sleeping, that is. He’ll give you the key to the cell. That sound okay to you?”

  Stewart felt like singing, at least briefly.

  “Sure, that sounds great, sir. I could come in early and maybe once during the day and once more at night. Could I bring a blanket or a cushion so Hubert has something to sleep on?”

  “Sure, Stewart. Knock yourself out,” Lieutenant Quinn said.

  “Listen, I have to run home to get his food and a water bowl. That’s okay, right?”

  “Sure.”

  “And is it okay if Lisa—you met her this morning—if Lisa comes with me to visit?”

  Lieutenant Quinn rolled his eyes, but then smiled.

  “Sure, kid, you can bring your girlfriend with you.”

  Girlfriend? Is that what she is? Wow.

  Lisa and Stewart hurried back to the municipal building in Lisa’s car. Lisa carried a soft pillow and a thick blanket and Stewart carried a plastic Tops bag with Hubert’s food and two bowls—one for the kibbles and one for water.

  Hubert appeared ecstatic when the two of them walked in, and even more ecstatic when Stewart took the fist-sized key the clerk had given him and unlocked the door. Hubert leaped and licked and offered barks and whimpers of happiness. Eventually he settled down and Lisa and Stewart sat on the concrete platform that must have been intended as a bed for the unfortunate prisoner. Lisa made sure the pillow and blanket were arranged just so on the floor. Hubert sniffed and inspected the bed carefully, circled it a few times, then lay down just for a moment, but rather than be apart from them, he jumped up on the rock-hard bed with his two humans, grinning and smiling and growling.

  “I’ve never been in a jail cell before. Have you?” Lisa asked.

  “Nope. I’ve been in a couple of jails—as a visitor. My dad was locked up a few times. Nothing serious. Disorderly conduct. Public intoxication. That sort of thing. A few days. A week once.”

  Lisa grew serious.

  “Stewart, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories.”

  “It’s okay, Lisa. He is what he is. And I can’t change the past.”

  “But that’s so hard. Seeing a parent in jail. Especially for a kid. How old were you?”

  Stewart did not look at her when he answered.

  “Maybe ten, the first time. Maybe younger. I’m not totally sure.”

  Stewart looked away and out the small window. You could not see anything but the dark blue afternoon sky.

  “I’m sorry, Stewart,” Lisa repeated and hugged his arm tightly.

&n
bsp; “Yeah. Well, lots of people have it a lot worse than me.”

  Hubert was watching them talk and when Lisa hugged Stewart’s arm, he began to get excited, a little, whimpering with an odd whimper—not of pain, but some manner of canine celebration, nudging Stewart closer to Lisa, pushing the two of them together, tighter and closer.

  They sat, a tight-knit group of three, for a long time.

  “We need to take Hubert for a walk. I told you what Lieutenant Quinn said about not wanting any accidents in here to have to clean up.”

  “Sure.”

  Lisa was about to make a comment about this being the first time she has been in public with a known criminal, but as soon as the thought entered her mind she glanced at the serious look on Stewart’s face and self-censored the remark, chiding herself for being insensitive and unthinking.

  But at least I didn’t say it.

  The three of them skirted the main streets in Wellsboro—not that there would be that much traffic, but they didn’t want to stir things up more than they were already stirred. Seeing them out in public might set Mr. Arden off and force Lieutenant Quinn to take a harder stance on visitation.

  When they returned, Stewart poured out kibbles into the dish and filled the water bowl with fresh water from the fountain in the hall outside the cells.

  Hubert sniffed at both, but did not taste either. He seemed content simply to know that both were there when he did get hungry or thirsty.

  Hubert looked up at them with canine satisfaction, or contentment.

  They petted and hugged and petted again, then slipped out of the cell, and while Stewart locked the door, Lisa was on her knees, petting Hubert through the bars.

  Stewart knelt down as well.

  “Listen, Hubert. You have to stay here tonight. You understand? You have to stay here. It will be okay. I’ll come back in the morning and we’ll go for a walk then. But you have to stay here alone tonight.”

  Hubert stepped back and sat down, his face gone serious, almost somber, as if he finally understood that he was under lock and key and would not have Stewart sleeping nearby.

  He barked once, a serious bark, a bark of understanding.

  “You’ll be okay, Hubert,” Stewart said as they approached the outside door. “We’ll get all this straightened out in a few days. Okay?”

  Hubert barked one time, softly, as if saying good night.

  As Stewart and Lisa walked to her car, she turned to Stewart and took his hand.

  “Stewart, what happens if this all goes bad? What happens if they declare him a public nuisance or a threat to the public health or whatever? What if we lose him? I talked to my attorney friend and he said they could issue a big fine—or even have him put down.”

  Lisa’s voice trembled as she said the final words, as if saying them would somehow give them credence, which she did not want to do.

  Stewart did not know where his sudden calm came from. He thought he would be more distraught than Lisa was.

  But he wasn’t.

  There was something about the way Hubert stoically sat there, in jail, waiting for someone to keep his promise, expecting that promises made would be promises kept. And Stewart had little experience with people keeping their promises. But this time would be different. This promise would be kept—or he would sacrifice all to make it happen.

  “It will all be okay, Lisa. It will.”

  He looked deeply into her eyes.

  “I promise.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  STEWART FAITHFULLY came to the police station three times a day: before he went to work, after his shift was done, and later in the evening. Hubert must have timed his arrivals. Every time Stewart walked through the front door of the department, he could hear Hubert barking—not loud or insistent or frantic, but more like calling out, or just saying hello.

  On the evening of the third day, Stewart asked the officer on duty if Hubert barked while alone in the cell.

  “Nope. Quiet as a church mouse. Only barks when you show up.”

  “That’s good. I would hate to have him be a bother,” Stewart added.

  The officer, a young patrolman with a shaved head, leaned back in his chair, the chair squawking in complaint, and stretched his arms behind his head.

  “He’s okay. We all go in to check on him, you know. I think it’s pretty stupid to lock a dog up. We all do. Make you pay a fine or whatever. But such are the ways of small-town politics, you know?”

  “I guess.”

  “He’s a really nice dog,” the officer said. “Reminds me of my dog when I was a kid. Kind of gave me the urge to get another one. Or adopt one from a shelter or something.”

  Stewart walked into the cell area and unlocked the door.

  Hubert, of course, was wiggling with excitement, whimpering, head bobs, and all.

  “Must be boring here, all by yourself. Nothing to look at.”

  Hubert barked in agreement.

  “Well, let’s go for a walk first. Then I’ll feed you. And we can talk. Okay?”

  Hubert barked again, again in agreement.

  They took their normal, stay-off-the-main-drag route, and twenty minutes later were back at the jail. As they walked through the office, there was a stack of books on an unused desk, right next to the entrance to the very small cell block. A handwritten sign was taped above the stack: HELP YOURSELF. So Stewart took one, thinking that he could read for a while as he sat with Hubert to keep him company.

  Stewart filled Hubert’s bowl with food and the other with fresh water and returned and sat on the floor with Hubert, drawing his knees up and leaning his back against the concrete bed. It was not the most comfortable place to be, but Stewart thought that if Hubert could endure it twenty-four hours a day, the least Stewart could do was to spend a few more moments with his dog.

  My dog. That sounds weird. But I guess that’s what he is. Mine.

  Hubert sat next to him and leaned against him, and Stewart put his arm around the dog’s neck. That caused Hubert to wiggle closer. Stewart grabbed at the book, thinking the station must have some sort of free lending library for people waiting disposition of their arrest, or whatever.

  It was not a contemporary book.

  It was a copy of the Bible.

  “But it’s not black. It doesn’t have a Bible cover.”

  He showed it to Hubert, who dutifully sniffed it.

  “Is that legal, Hubert? A Bible that doesn’t look like a Bible, I mean.”

  Hubert grinned and sniffed at it again, nudging the book with his snout, nudging it closer to Stewart, as if asking to be read a story from the book.

  “Hubert,” Stewart chided with a smile, “you don’t understand English. Or at least this kind of English. Too many thees and thous for a dog, even a smart dog like you, to understand.”

  Stewart flipped open the book and read a few sentences. To his surprise, he could actually read it and it actually made sense.

  “They must have changed this since I went to church as a kid, Hubert.”

  Hubert nudged at the book again with his snout, growling happily.

  “You really want to hear something?”

  Hubert barked, not loudly, but firmly.

  Stewart flipped the book open at random and began to read. It was somewhere in the middle of a section marked Daniel and, while Stewart didn’t exactly follow the story since he’d started it in the middle, Hubert appeared to like listening to him read aloud. He leaned more and then slowly slid down, until he was on his side and his head was in Stewart’s lap. His eyes were half open and there was a faint smile on his dog face.

  “Huh. I sort of could figure things out in this. Like it was almost modern.”

  He closed the Bible for just a moment and looked at the cover again. It did say HOLY BIBLE in small print, and Stewart was pretty sure they couldn’t print that if it wasn’t true.

  He flipped it back open, closer to the end.

  “That’s the new part of the Bible, Hubert. Th
at much I know.”

  It was a section marked John.

  He scanned the page and his eyes stopped on one particular verse—or sentence. Stewart wasn’t positive what they were called in this new version.

  Stewart read aloud, “I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one can come to the Father except through me.”

  “They talk a lot about truth in this book, don’t they, Hubert?”

  At this, Hubert scrambled to his feet, or paws, and butted his head against Stewart’s chest.

  “What?”

  Hubert looked up and grinned, then butted his head again, as if he wanted to push that thought into Stewart’s heart.

  “You want me to read more?”

  Hubert offered a quiet bark in reply.

  Stewart thumbed through a number of pages, ran his fingers down the pages, at random, then stopped and read, “And you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.”

  At that, Hubert barked again, and bounced up and down, and offered one last head butt against Stewart’s chest.

  Stewart closed the Bible and set it on the concrete bed and put his arm on Hubert’s shoulder, wanting to settle him down.

  “This is what Lisa knows, isn’t it, Hubert? This stuff about God and knowing about the truth and peace and stuff.”

  Hubert growled, agreeing.

  “I could ask her what this all means, couldn’t I?”

  Again, Hubert growled, a truly-happy-at-last sort of growl.

  Stewart looked at Hubert, looked into his eyes, and thought he could see something mysterious and otherworldly there, as if Hubert had a secret, had the truth, and was waiting for Stewart to come upon it.

  “Lisa knows all about this, right?”

  Hubert growled and began to dance and wiggle, excited.

  “Hubert, be serious now.”

  Hubert stopped moving and stared back.

  “This is what you knew, right? When we left you here that first night. In jail. You knew…something…something that gave you peace. Right? I didn’t think dogs understood things like this—but I guess if God made people, He made dogs, too, and maybe He made some dogs who know more than others. Right?”