The Bernie Factor

by Joseph S. Davis

  Chapter 14

  Nick stopped dead in his tracks, just inside the kitchen. The telephone on the wall caught his eye, and he had the sudden urge to call Vincent and tell him that not only did he get the dog, but the dog talked to him. He wondered how that would go over.

  “I’m sorry, did you say the dog talks to you?” Vincent would ask. “Before we continue, tell me, how much have you had to drink? How many straight days and nights have you gone without sleep? What medications are you taking, and how long have you been off them?”

  No, calling Vincent was not an option right now. Nick drew in a deep breath and walked back into the main room. He decided to approach this head on and see where it took him. Once back in the room, he looked squarely at Bernie.

  “Sounds good to me, Bernie. Now get out of my chair so I can get back to trying to earn a living as a writer.”

  Bernie jumped out the chair with an urgency that took Nick aback. Holy crap, did he just do what I asked? Am I really communicating with a dog? No, fool you’re actually talking with your dog. Nick moved with a certain degree of trepidation, unsure how things would unfold. Nick kept his eyes fixed on Bernie as he lowered himself into his favorite chair and hovered over the laptop that sat on the ottoman. He opened the Apple’s lid as the computer’s screen illuminated his face. With unblinking eyes, Nick fixated on Bernie, now settled onto the rug in the middle of the room. Nick took his eyes off Bernie and began navigating his way through word documents until he had an open screen, ready to write.

  “Well,” Nick said. “I sat my ass down. What do I write about?” Bernie gave Nick a blank look, pushed his nose into the rug, and rolled onto his side. Nick stared and waited for a message. When it appeared none was forthcoming, he reverted to his own devices and focused on the blank screen. Nick typed a couple of words only to quickly backspace over them. After several minutes of typing gibberish and feeling uninspired, Nick slumped back into his chair, defeated.

  “This is an inauspicious beginning,” he muttered under his breath. Nick closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind. His breathing slowed as his shoulders began to loosen from the tension of non-productivity. He felt himself sink farther in the worn old leather chair, knowing if this continued, sleep was not far off the horizon for him. Just he as he teetered between the worlds of concrete reality and abstract imagination, a voice cut between the two realms and jolted him upright in his chair.

  “Anybody home?” Vincent walked through the door with a bag of dog treats. Bernie jumped to his feet and ran to Vincent who stood squarely inside the front door. Bernie paced from side to side and kept raising his nose to the bag of treats. Vincent got down on one knee and scratched Bernie behind the ear.

  “No wonder our friend Nick found you so appealing,” Vincent spoke. “You are quite the handsome ball of fur, aren’t you?”

  Bernie pushed off his hind legs and landed his front paws on Vincent’s shoulders. The force caught Vincent unexpectedly. He fell backwards on his rear end, momentarily defenseless as Bernie licked his face and smeared his black framed glasses with dog slobber. Vincent laughed and turned his head from side to side and arched his back in a half-hearted attempt to avoid Bernie’s affection.

  “Bernie, take it easy on the old fellow,” Nick said as he rose from his leather chair. “At least let him buy you dinner first. You look desperate for attention.” Nick bent down and picked up the bag of dog treats that had fallen from Vincent’s hand. “Oh, never mind, dog. It looks like he did buy you dinner.”

  Nick lifted the bag to eye level and gazed at the silhouette of treats on the inside. He opened the brown sack and pulled out a bone shaped biscuit. By this time Bernie’s attention diverted to Nick, who dangled the treat just above Bernie’s nose. Two or three quick sniffs led to the St. Bernard lifting himself off the ground and snatching his newly found canine hors d’oeuvre and retreating to the kitchen. He plopped himself on the middle of the linoleum floor and began devouring the snack as quickly as he had taken it from Nick.

  Nick looked back down at Vincent who remained on the floor, wiping his glasses with his shirttail, a warm grin spread across his lips. Nick extended his hand and Vincent grabbed hold. Nick hoisted his friend to his feet.

  “Now that’s a playful puppy,” Vincent said.

  “Or just hungry,” Nick replied. “They gave me a small bag of dog food when I left the shelter, but I think he’ll make short work of that.”

  “Better throw him anther biscuit before he comes back after us,” Vincent said. “He’s licking linoleum in there. We only have seconds left.”

  Nick reached into the bag and tossed another treat into the kitchen. The biscuit skidded across the floor and came to rest by the front of the sink. Bernie inched along the linoleum like an army soldier crawling through a hail of gunfire. When he got close enough, he lifted his front paws and drew the biscuit toward his massive jowls.

  “Did you see how he flattened out his body?” Vincent asked. “I’ve never seen a dog that size, get so low.”

  “Well, yeah, you have cats. They spend the majority of the day conspiring on how to accumulate weapons of mass destruction without the use of opposable thumbs. Their ultimate victory is you hog tied to a kitchen chair, while they attempt to extract a large ransom from the European central bank.”

  “European central bank? Really? Why would they go international? They’re domesticated cats. That makes them domestic by nature.”

  “It’s all part of their evil ruse. They plan to lull you into a false sense of security while they orchestrate simulated attacks around the globe, thereby gaining a financial foothold on developed countries. Don’t you see the possibilities here?”

  “No, I can’t say that I do. However, I do have reason to believe if you sat down and put these wacky thoughts on paper, you’d have a completed literary project.”

  “Hey, Bernie and I were just making some progress before you interrupted us,” Nick lied.

  “You and Bernie? Is he co-authoring?”

  Nick hesitated. This was not the right time to tell Vincent that he thought he and Bernie had some sort of telepathic connection. Was that what it was? Was he having telepathic communications with a dog that had human thoughts and was capable of authoring books? With thoughts like this, Nick worried he’d soon be sleeping in a kennel and licking himself as he and Bernie experienced a role reversal. Honestly, the licking part didn’t sound so bad.

  “Yeah, sure, why not?” Nick responded. “I’ll take whatever help I can get.”

  “I hear ya. So what about that cute little number you told me about at the shelter. What was her name?”

  “Shauna. And the good news is I’ve got Bernie in some obedience lessons that she’s running. So it looks like I got a couple of weeks to see if she’s as interesting as I think she is.” Nick shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back in forth on his heels, grinning from ear to ear.

  “Well this seems to be working out splendidly for you. All of the pieces are falling into place. See, I told you a dog could help you meet somebody. Although, I have to admit I didn’t think it would happen this fast. Tell me a little more about her.”

  Nick’s eyes gazed upward as he drew a picture of her in his mind’s eye.

  “She has long, wavy strawberry blonde hair that I’ve seen her wear down her back and sometimes clipped up. I’m not sure which way makes her more attractive. She has green eyes that look like pale emeralds. She’s taller than most women, but not crazy tall. For a woman, she has a rich, deep voice that echoes a certain confident air. She definitely works out doing something. She sure looks like she’s in good shape. I’m going to need to hit he gym, I think.” Nick looked down at his belly and gave it a couple of thumps.

  “Green eyes that look like pale emeralds? Not only has this girl got your attention, but you’re actually sounding like a writer. I, for one, hope it works out so I can mee
t her.”

  “You can. Just go down to the shelter and get a couple of Rottweilers to play with your cats,” Nick joked. “I’m sure they’d find Hector and Emilio delicious.”

  Ignoring Nick, Vincent asked, “Do you have a leash and a collar for this big boy?”

  “Not one I get to keep,” Nick said.

  “Well then, let’s jump in your truck and head down to the Pet Mess. Let it be my gift to the both of you.”

  The Pet Mess was a locally owned pet supply store. It was a family operation and wildly successful in the Pine Valley area. Multiple entrepreneurs tried to convince the owners to open other stores, but they were home bodies. Pine Valley was their niche, and they’d done quite well over the years, even pushing out the big boys when they tried to get a foothold in town. Years of exceptional customer service, including the occasional house call for a variety of reasons, built a loyal customer base that expanded exponentially.

  “If you’re buying, I’m flying.” With the words barely off Nick’s lips, Bernie bounded to the front door. He raised his front paws up to the storm door’s lever handle and opened the door as his weight lowered. Nick and Vincent watched as Bernie ran to Nick’s F-150 and paced back and forth by the driver door.

  “Well o.k., then,” Vincent said. “I guess he’s ready, too. That was kinda like he understood everything we just said. Weird.” Vincent stepped out of the door and onto Nick’s front steps.

  “You have no idea, brother,” Nick said under his breath as he made his way outside.