Conversations with Saint Bernard

by Jim Kraus

  Like life itself. Like people.

  To a man who had grown up in a city, had never camped in the wilderness, had never traveled to remote places, the isolation, such as it was, was unnerving. Perhaps his uneasiness had affected Lewis. Lewis whined a bit when George stopped, looking out on the expanse of lonely darkness.

  “Bedford. It’s not so far. We’ll go there. It’s a pretty big town, Lewis. An hour or so is all.”

  Lewis whimpered, softly, almost as if he did not want to show his discomfort.

  “You need to go out?”

  Lewis looked out the window and saw only dark.

  Then he looked back at George with a worried expression.

  “Lewis, I’ll come out with you. And I’ll get my flashlight, okay?”

  Lewis seemed to be comforted and stood, waiting to be unhooked from the seat belt.

  He hopped down to the gravel at the side of the RV and began sniffing loudly, with great purpose.

  Then he heard a gentle chorus of mooing and the crunching rustle of the grass and launched himself back into the RV, tumbling inside, barking and whining and scrambling to find his footing.

  George was startled as well. He turned the flashlight toward the sound. A trio of cows stood behind a wooden fence, only a few feet from the side of the road, chewing slowly, looking as if their sleep had been disturbed.

  “They’re cows, Lewis.”

  Lewis peeked around the side of the RV door, growling softly, hoping it would scare off those large, dark, ominous, and potentially deadly creatures.

  “They’re vegetarians, Lewis. They wouldn’t eat a dog. Not even a soft one like yourself. Come on down. You need to go out. They won’t hurt you.”

  It took four minutes until Lewis finally climbed down to the side of the road, all the while listening to George’s encouragements and entreaties. The soft mooing of the cows offered Lewis a peaceful reception. No screeching or bellowing, just a soft bovine lowing, clear and distinct in the silence of the valley and the absence of traffic.

  Lewis accomplished his mission outside, never once letting his eyes off the mooing trio.

  “You done? Time to move on, Lewis.”

  Bravely, Lewis took a step toward the fence, and one of the cows nudged forward as well. Lewis had his nose up to the top of the fence, and one cow leaned its head over the top.

  “They must think you’re a furry baby cow, Lewis.”

  The two animals sniffed for a moment, and then Lewis snorted once.

  “Hay fever?” George asked.

  Lewis backed up to the RV and then hurried inside, wuffing gratefully as George secured the door behind him.

  “Cows, Lewis. Just cows.”

  Lewis took his seat in the front and kept a vigilant look outside.

  “They won’t come after us, Lewis. They’re slow. And mostly gentle.”

  George put his blinker on, looked in the rearview mirror, and pulled out onto the road.

  “We’ll find a place near Bedford. Maybe there’s a Walmart there. I hear they don’t mind if an RV spends the evening in their parking lot.”

  The night felt as if it wrapped up George and Lewis and the RV in an encompassing bear hug, only a blink of a barn light or isolated farmhouse breaking into the darkness, and not often. The absence of the moon, hidden behind a thick scud of clouds, removed even a possibility of seeing behind the arc of the headlights.

  “Makes you think, doesn’t it, Lewis? I mean, the darkness. All you can see is the small patch of road in front of us. Everything else is gone. Maybe the world is out there . . . and maybe it isn’t.”

  Lewis turned to George and turned his head sideways. He looked like he wanted to wuff in agreement, but he did not. Instead, he waited and then turned back to the passenger window.

  “It’s like being adrift from everything else. It’s where I’m at. Lewis. I’m not tangled up with anyone . . . except you, and only temporarily . . . and being alone is not a bad thing at all. I don’t have anyone else to worry about.”

  Lewis shook his head. George did not think he was disagreeing with him, although he might have been.

  “You know, Lewis, I think I realized something important today.”

  Wuff.

  “I realized a person’s last days can be good, or they can be horrible.”

  Lewis did not reply. He simply looked and listened.

  “I suppose I knew it all along. Well, I don’t suppose. I did know it. But it wasn’t until today the truth finally made a real impression on me. I truly grasped what it means, you know?”

  Wuff.

  “With Hazel, her last days, her last years, our last years, were simply unbearable. Hard, unforgiving, painful, and horrible. And I bet, with Peter, the days are terrible for him as well now. Having his wife do everything for him. Feeling totally helpless. He’s trapped by a broken body.”

  Wuff.

  “But here’s the difference between Peter and me, Lewis. I know when the end is coming. We haven’t talked about it, you and I. And I’m not going to talk about it with you. Some things are better left unsaid. I think it would just upset you if I said anything more about it.”

  Lewis snorted.

  “Well, some secrets are going to remain hidden and unspoken, regardless of how you feel about it.”

  Silence filled the RV, other than the low rumble of the tires on the rough macadam road.

  “I think Peter hoped he was near the end of things, near to absence of pain, but he couldn’t get there. You heard him, Lewis. He would have ended it if he could. He could see a place where he wouldn’t suffer and where he wouldn’t make his wife suffer alongside of him. But now, all he can do is wait. He has to suffer. His wife has to suffer. Nothing fair about it, if you ask me. Nothing fair at all. This world is just not a fair place.”

  Lewis shook his head.

  “I know what people say—it is part of life and it’s what you sign up for when you get married. Okay, maybe so. But what if I get sick, Lewis? Then what? My daughter has to take care of me? She didn’t sign up for it. She has a husband. She doesn’t need to take care of two people. It wouldn’t be fair to her.”

  Lewis simply stared, a confused look in his eyes.

  “So . . . a person in my situation . . . without attachments—well, I have some wonderful liberties, Lewis. I can decide if the last days are good—or bad. And I have decided they will be good. This truth, this realization, is liberating, Lewis. Liberating.”

  Lewis appeared ready to agree, then stopped and did not utter a sound, as if he were trying to understand George’s logic, his argument, what he was saying. Lewis was smart, but he was not versed in every human possibility, in every nuance of the human condition. Some things people did confused Lewis. Some emotions he could not read, could not understand.

  “I have spent my life being in control, Lewis. I have been straightlaced and followed the straight and narrow, and I have obeyed all the rules. I didn’t speed. I paid my taxes. I went to church with my wife, when I would have rather stayed home. But I did what I had to do. And for the most part, I guess it was okay. I suppose, if I’m being honest, I don’t regret any of it, Lewis. I don’t.”

  George slowed down for a narrowing of the road. It was a bridge, and the concrete abutments were no more than an arm’s length from the side of the road. The road noise changed, for the short instance, then grew louder, then fell away again, a near silent, hissing rumble.

  “Lewis, my life is in my hands. And I say it is time for a change. It is time for me to embrace what time I have left . . . and to enjoy it.”

  Lewis stared, then after a moment of consideration, he wuffed, twice.

  “I’ll enjoy this trip, Lewis, instead of treating it as an obligation. We have a long way to go before we sleep, Lewis. A long, long way.”

  Lewis looked out the front windshield with a worried look.

  “Not tonight, Lewis. We don’t have a long way to go tonight. Only a few more miles. Then we’re done and we’ll st
op, and I’ll make some dinner, okay?”

  At the word dinner, Lewis brightened and smiled and began to fidget, as only a St. Bernard can, with elegance, solidity, and stately bulk.

  George smiled, then something came to mind, something he had not thought of for years and years, even decades.

  He was in the eighth grade at Gloucester Junior High school.

  Mr. Roescher.

  English.

  The section was poetry.

  George, like many of his eighth-grade friends, had little use for it.

  It sounded prissy, if you ask me.

  George let the memory wash over him.

  And no one says prissy anymore, do they?

  But each reluctant student, no matter what they thought of iambic pentameter or free verse, each and every one in the class had to pick one poem and commit it to memory.

  George picked Robert Frost because he lived in Boston, near Gloucester.

  The last stanza of his selection came roaring back to him, the words loud in his mind, and he spoke them aloud, in a deep clarion voice: “But I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep.”

  Lewis listened intently, to the rhythmic words, and if George could guess an emotion expressed in Lewis’s face, it would be a graceful resignation to the unchangeable.

  “Do you want to hear the whole poem, Lewis. I think I remember most of it.”

  Lewis looked over, with a quizzical look, and wuffed.

  “I’ll take it for a yes. He called it ‘Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening.’ ”

  34

  Trudy heard the thump from upstairs, the quick footfalls on the steps, and the blur of Alex as he slid, on stocking feet, into the kitchen, like a hockey player sliding into the boards.

  The computer monitor on the kitchen desk filled with Lewis’s smiling face, his nose the width of a man’s palm, as he sniffed at the camera on his end of the Skype call.

  “Lewis!” Alex shouted, to which Lewis stared, a little perplexed, and then smiled back and wuffed excitedly.

  “It’s Alex. Your buddy, Alex.”

  George must have been to the side of the camera and was trying to explain to Lewis, again, Alex was not behind the small tablet computer, but back home in his kitchen.

  Lewis looked over his shoulder, then leaned to the right, trying to see what was behind George’s tablet device.

  “He thinks you’re here,” George explained. Alex saw George’s hand pat Lewis on the head.

  “How are you, Lewis? Are you being a good dog?”

  Lewis wuffed happily, several times. Alex could tell Lewis was excited because he began shifting his weight from one front paw to the other, rocking his frame back and forth, a few inches at a time.

  “Where are you, Lewis?”

  Lewis looked off-camera to the still unseen George.

  “Williamsburg, Virginia.”

  Wuff.

  “Is it fun there?”

  Wuff.

  “Lewis saw a horse, and I think the horse was more afraid of Lewis than the other way around.”

  George narrated their recent travels, with Lewis adding an enthusiastic wuff now and again. Then George moved the camera slightly and showed Alex his recent drawings, holding the sketchpad up close and flipping the pages.

  “You draw good, Mr. Gibson.”

  “Thanks, Alex. And by the way, Lewis has something to show you. I’ll have to help him with it.”

  George’s back filled the screen.

  “Hold still, Lewis.”

  In a moment, George moved away and there sat Lewis, wearing his goggles, which Alex had already seen, and now, a helmet, neatly strapped under his chin.

  “I found this in Washington, D.C. It’s a child’s size and fits him perfectly. We got to talking to a woman we met at the Vietnam memorial and she suggested the idea. And now Lewis is much better protected when we use the scooter.”

  “Mom!” shouted Alex. “Look at Lewis! He’s got a helmet.”

  Trudy hurried over to look, standing behind Alex, peering down at the screen.

  She could not help but laugh.

  “Mom,” Alex complained. “Don’t laugh. You’ll give Lewis a complex or something.”

  “Sorry. Sorry. You look absolutely charming, Lewis. And I’m glad you’re safer, too.”

  George put his face into the frame for a moment.

  “I never go much above forty miles an hour . . . but still, better safe than sorry. And Lewis enjoys wearing it.”

  Then Lewis’s face returned to the center of the screen.

  Alex started to tell Lewis about his day and week and all the things happening at school and how all his friends told him to say hello for them. Lewis appeared to love these talks, and if Trudy had to venture a guess, she would say Lewis definitely recognized Alex and knew exactly what was going on.

  I find it hard to believe as well . . . but it certainly seems like it.

  Trudy edged away from the vicinity of the computer and went back to dicing green peppers for the evening meal, adding them to a bowl of other chopped and minced ingredients.

  Alex and Lewis talked for a long time. Alex told Lewis the desensitizing shots were going well, they didn’t hurt, and the doctor said he was making fast progress. And Alex talked about Little League, which he was trying again, and maybe even soccer. They chatted and wuffed.

  The Alex looked back to his mother. “Mom, say good-bye!”

  Trudy looked up, called out a farewell, and watched as Alex waved and saw the connection go black.

  Alex stared at the screen, then slowly turned to his mother.

  “He seems to be having a good time.”

  “He does.”

  Alex bit his lower lip.

  “Does Mr. Gibson seem different to you?”

  “Different? How?”

  Alex shrugged. It seemed like a shrug was his first response to virtually any question.

  Maybe it gives him time to think.

  “I dunno. He seems . . . more cheery. More happy.”

  “Happier. Not more happy.”

  “Whatever. But he seems different than when he left. Like he’s not as serious as he was.”

  “It’s a good thing, right?”

  “I guess.”

  Trudy had noticed the same thing but did not mention it. She had told herself Alex would make up his own mind as to how this George and Lewis arrangement was working out.

  “Maybe Lewis has been making George happier. Because he has someone to talk to. Everyone needs to be part of something, don’t they? Families are important, and maybe George sees Lewis as part of his family—temporarily.”

  “I guess.”

  Alex got up and walked to the kitchen door, heading back upstairs to his room.

  “But he wasn’t supposed to change, Mom,” Alex said. “Mr. Gibson was just fine the way he was.”

  Trudy put down the knife.

  “Are you worried Lewis is going to like him more now? And he won’t want to come back home?”

  Alex appeared as if insulted, or almost insulted.

  “No. He wants to come home. I can see it. It’s Mr. Gibson I was worried about. Lewis is fine.”

  Trudy did not know how to respond, so she put on her best mommy smile.

  “Mr. Gibson is fine. He was just excited to show you the new helmet for Lewis. I think it’s all there is to it.”

  Alex nodded.

  “Yeah, maybe. I hope so.”

  And then he was off, back upstairs, back to work on his project for American history.

  He was giving a report on the Battle of Gettysburg, using drawings of Little Round Top and the Devil’s Den drawn by Mr. Gibson, who had sent photocopies to Alex.

  I hope it was just the helmet and not something else.

  Trudy went back to chopping, turned the gas on the stove, then stopped.

  Why are we so suspicious of people being happy for no reason? It doesn’t seem logical, does it? But it is the truth.

 
; 35

  Lewis barked as George motored the scooter past the small dog park. Several dogs looked up, searching for the barking, and appeared surprised—no, shocked—to see a large dog wearing goggles and a helmet, seated in a sidecar, his front paw up on the rim of the sidecar, the wind blowing back his fur, his jowls slapping as they rolled along.

  George had taken to waving to just about everyone who noticed them. He would smile broadly, lift his left hand, and offer a friendly wave of acknowledgment.

  “Not every day they see a senior citizen driving a St. Bernard in a sidecar, Lewis. You see people point and stare and smile.”

  It wasn’t like this before. I wasn’t like this before. I’ve changed. The plan hasn’t changed, but I have.

  “Well, Lewis,” George said as they came to a red light. “If you don’t want the interaction, or the attention, don’t take a dog for a ride in a sidecar, right?”

  Wuff.

  The pair, George and Lewis, were scootering up Lookout Mountain, just south and west of downtown Chattanooga. George would have described it as “scootering back and forth, up the mountain,” because the road switched back on itself many times, the slope being much too steep for a direct, frontal assault.

  After more than four months on the road, riding in the scooter had become old hat for Lewis, although the joy he expressed at getting into the sidecar had not yet seemed to dim in intensity.

  And George felt more and more at ease in piloting the scooter in traffic.

  Best purchase I ever made, this scooter. Makes almost every place accessible.

  George wanted to escape the afternoon heat of a late summer day in the mid-South and decided going up in elevation would offer some cooling relief.

  On account of the recent heat wave that lasted for several weeks, he had even taken Lewis to a professional groomer. Up until then, George brushed the dog with some regularity, a chore that neither of them seemed to enjoy.

  But along a back road, south of Knoxville, they had traveled past a large sign pointing to Luella’s Dog Spa and Hair Cuttery.