One More Time, New Roads

by David Howells

Epilogue

  10 years later

  “Well, old girl, we’ve shared a lot of coffee and kibble on this porch, haven’t we? Mind if I unload a bit? Thanks.

  “I went ahead and buried Jigsaw next to Fawn’s grave out back. Damned roots. Should have used a back hoe. They were fine dogs, good companions, the both of them. I miss both of them, sure do. So does our house, I think. It’d be foolish for us to replace them. It’s too late for that.

  “It’s too bad, too, that you had to give up your grooming business. I swear your dog customers were more rabid on making their appointments than your human hair care clients used to be. Still, that protégé of yours, Melanie what’s-her-name, she’ll do fine. Orientals, go figure. They can turn a piece of scrap paper into a work of art.

  “I still like having the Romp here, though. Dogs. Always were a part of our lives, and always will be I guess. Oh, remind me to put down more stakes into the ground where that ditzy Dachshund Blitzkrieg was burrowing. Hate to have a great escape, Lassie style, from the next Romp.”

  Sam sighed, sipped his cup, and continued. His listener was patient.

  “What a ride we’ve had; the countries we’ve visited, the places we’ve seen together. The ruins from the Aztecs, the Incas, the Mayans. The Great Wall. The Pyramids of Egypt. That was all pretty amazing, but nothing beat coming home to our house and pups. That was always the best part of every trip we took.

  “Guess we’re too on in years for traveling anymore. Just don’t have the desire. If we want to see some place, download it on the computer and put it on that oversized TV screen you used to rag me about. I get more out of touring our street here than one in Paris.”

  The porch creaked to the rocking chair rhythm. “Darned old floor-boards. They’re getting old and creaky, too, like me. Running out of places to put more nails. Remind me to call Fred Kepplemyer about repairing it before one of us puts our leg through a weak spot. Rest of the place is pretty solid, though. We took good care of her, we did. I think the old place is finally healed from the former owners’ sad fate. The main legacy we’ll leave the next owners is how clever we were in hiding away dog hairs in hard to get at crevices. Hope the next folk aren’t allergic to animals.

  “Speaking of which, I talked to Henrietta Quintz. You remember her? The real estate agent that got us to look at this place and kept the murders secret from us? Yeah, that’s the one. Hon, we gotta face facts. We didn’t outgrow this place…it outgrew us. Or maybe we out shrank it. I told her to sniff around and get a feel for what she might bring in the market. No hurry, mind you, but it’s good to know the facts before making any decisions.

  “Hey, this new muffin mix isn’t too bad. The extra raisins make the difference. Ah, my wife. How many goodies have you shamelessly robbed me of with your rules and penalties game? You know what? I’d give a lot, I mean a lot, if you would please steal just one more biscuit…just one more time. For old times sake? I love you, Elsie.”

  With that, the old man got up from his chair, picked up the carafe and biscuit tray, leaving one untouched nibble on ‘her’ rocker arm. “For you, my love.”

  Sam Carney turned and walked into the house that waited to whisper its stored memories to its remaining Master.

  Maybe, he thought, there’d be a game on, or something, anything just to pass the time.