26 Years Online
••• The International Writers Magazine - Dreamscapes Fiction

Dogs • Gregory Smith

Edgar was having a rough weekend. Stuck in bed with a respiratory infection, his niece did not visit, and, worst of all, his neighbor, Mrs. Spratt, failed to show up as planned with Edgar’s beloved dog, Sparky.
Depressed and lonely, the old man refused his lunch tray and curled up in a ball, trying to sleep.
“I just want to die,” he mumbled. “Then again, I don’t want to die. Who will take care of Sparky? I’m sure he misses his Pappy. So, as of now, I don’t want to die. But that can change. Besides, I’m scared of dying. I don’t want to be alone.”
It was then his niece Irene knocked on the open door and entered the room.
“Uncle Edgar,” she began, “I just signed the papers downstairs. They will be transferring you to Last Resort Nursing Facility as soon as your infection is under control.”
“Dang!” he replied, sitting up. “What about the house? And what about Sparky?”
“We’ve been through this before, Uncle Edgar,” she said. “You cannot take care of yourself anymore, let alone take care of the dog. The house is a mess. I can’t keep on coming over when you need something fixed or run out of food. I live too far away for that.”
“ I much don’t care about the house. It’s only four walls and a roof. But Sparky…what’s going to happen to Sparky?” he asked.
“I can’t take him. You know my situation at home,” Irene replied. “I work. The kids are in school all day. Then there’s…”
“Your dang cat!” Edgar scoffed.
“Yes, Fluffy wouldn’t like it. I’m going to see if Mrs. Spratt won’t keep the dog for good,” she said.
“She will never bring Sparky to see me,” the old man claimed, shaking his head. “Like today…where is she? And she doesn’t feed him like I do at home.”
“You’re right,” the niece agreed. “She gives him healthy dog food…not cheesesteaks and pizza and other junk all day.”
“What about those visiting nurses?” he asked. “Why don’t we try them again? This time I promise not to chase them out of the house.”
“No, it’s settled, Uncle Edgar. I don’t want to hear anything else about it. Look, I’m your Power of Attorney and I think this is what is best for you. Now, I have a two-hour drive home before the storms set in. I’ll be back to visit you once they send you to Last Resort. You’ll like it there. I understand Last Resort has a therapy dog you can pet.”
“I don’t want some shared dog!” he moaned. “I want my own dog. And you won’t be seeing me at no nursing home! Me and Sparky will do just fine together.”
That’s when Edgar started coughing up a storm, spitting wads of green mucus into a handful of tissue.
“I’ll send the nurse in,” Irene said. “I’ve got to go. Love you, Uncle Edgar! Get some rest!”

                                                 ********
Edgar curled up in a ball again, his cough subsiding, his eyes growing heavy with sleep.
“Well, I’m back to wanting to die again,” he muttered to himself. “Without my dog, what is there to live for? Only, I’m still afraid. I wish someone would tell me what it’s like. Will I go to Heaven or…the other place? I wish I wasn’t alone to find out.”

Suddenly, the old man started to shake. Was it from the infection? Or was the chill from fear…fear of the unknown? Or was this finally the end? His time to leave the world behind?
 Where was that nurse? He pushed the call bell button and waited in silence.
 That’s when he heard scratching at the door of his hospital room. Peeking in was a familiar curly-haired head of a pooch.   

“Sparky, my old friend!” the old man crowed, peering through his bed-rails. “I knew they couldn’t keep you away! Come say hi to your old Pappy!”
The beautiful black and white poodle jumped up on the bed, smothering Edgar with sloppy kisses, his nasal canula slipping out of his nose. To his surprise the old man discovered he longer needed oxygen any longer.
The dog circled three times before finally nestling next to his master, his head resting on the old man’s leg.
“How did you get here without that mean, old neighbor? How did you get on the elevator, let alone push the buttons to the fourth floor? Well, whatever…I’m just glad you came to see your Pappy!” Edgar said, rubbing the dog’s silky coat. “Let me look at you. You’re nothing but skin and bones! Things aren’t like when I was home with you. Well, don’t you worry. When I get out of here, we’ll be eating hamburger again…”

Sparky looked up, cocking his head sideways and then spoke in a gruff voice: “I came to take you home,” the dog said. “Without you I’m heart-broken. And hungry! It’s too bad your lunch tray isn’t here.”
“What in tarnation?” the old man mumbled. “Sparky, it must be the drugs they have me on because I swear you just talked to me.”
“I did,” the dog confirmed. “Now touch my collar and let’s get you out of here.”

Edgar touched the blue collar and instantly found himself sitting in his favorite rocking chair. They were home, only “home” wasn’t in his senior living apartment. Somehow Edgar Buchanon had traveled back in time to his boyhood home on Catherine Street.

Startled, the old man looked around, not sure if this was reality or some sort of wonderful dream. Antique furniture and end tables with lacy doilies decorated the cozy living room. A warm fire crackled and snapped in the fireplace. The pleasant aroma of chicken noodle soup filled his senses. His mother had to be cooking soup in the kitchen.
“Ma!” he called out. “Ma, are you in the kitchen? The soup sure smells good!”
“Put it on the table!” barked Sparky. “I’m ready to eat!”
The sound of little feet running down the hall caught Edgar’s attention.  Why, if it wasn’t Timber, his childhood dog!
“Timber, old pal!” Edgar said. The small, light brown cocker spaniel stood on its hind legs, bouncing up and down and twirling in circles in front of the old man, greeting him while Sparky sniffed the stranger.
 “Sparky, meet Timber!” the old man said. “Timber and I used to go fishing together. Do you remember how we would walk down to the creek and fish for hours, not a care in the world, just me and you? Remember how you used to splash in the water, and I would holler at you? ‘Timber, you’re scaring the fish away!’
“I sure do, Pappy,” Timber replied in a high-pitched, squeaky tone. “You cussed me out like a drunken sailor. But I took no offense. Touch my ratty collar and we can fish again.”

Intrigued, Edgar touched Timber’s brown collar and it was steamy July. Edgar sat on a lush bed of green grass under a shady tree. He was eight years old and looked like Huckleberry Finn wearing a straw hat. A breeze blew refreshingly cool off the rolling water. Edgar felt a tug on his fishing pole, and he reeled in a sparkling rainbow trout as Timber barked his approval.
“Nice catch!” the dog said,” We’ll be eating good tonight! I’ll be in my usual spot under the table, just waiting!”
Sure enough, there they were…Pa, Ma, Edgar and his little sister Jenny at the kitchen table, eating dinner. In between hiding his peas underneath his mashed potatoes, Edgar handed pieces of trout to Timber, who scarfed up the fish with glee.
“Hmmm…something sure tastes ‘fishy’ around here!” Timber remarked, licking his chops.
“Hey,” Pa said between bites, pointing his fork at the boy, “I see what you were doing! Feeding that mangy dog your supper!”

Time dissolved back to the living room as Edgar’s reminiscing continued.
“You were always chasing something, if it wasn’t your tail, it was most likely a ball.” reminded Edgar, scratching Timber’s floppy ears.
“I was a great ballplayer in my time,” Timber recalled. “A regular ‘Babe Ruff.”

 Just like that they were back in the concrete playground where Edgar played baseball with his friends. One of the boys, Ritchie Riggatoni, hit a ball clear across the churchyard. Timber raced for the ball, grabbing it before the kid who was playing center field, and ra from the schoolyard toward home.
“Hey! Get the ball! It’s your dog, Buchanon…get our ball back!” Ritchie yelled.
Edgar chased after Timber, who by this time was a mere brown speck down the block. Exhausted, the kid found Timber several blocks away in their backyard. The dog had leaped over a fence, ball in mouth, and headed under the shed. Edgar sprawled out in the grass, reaching under the shed and tried to snatch the ball from Timber’s mouth.
“Remember how you growled at me?” Edgar asked. “But I never worried about you biting me. And I finally got the baseball. I took it back to my friends…the cover ripped and torn, all wet and slobbery. They told me what I could do with that ball.”
“Sorry, Pappy. My dog instincts got the best of me,” Timber whimpered.
Edgar had a good laugh thinking of those fond childhood memories. Gosh, it was good to laugh again.
“And every night you would sleep in my bed,” recalled Edgar. “In the winter you kept me warm. I remember how you would steal the covers!”
Nestled in their toasty bed together, both boy and dog snored softly, the sound of a distant grandfather clock chiming three times, the frost gathering on the icy window panes. They were together from morning until night, inseparable companions.
“We walked to school together every day,” the old man reminisced. “You were always there to walk me home, every single day. Such a loyal pal! And when you got old, I went away to the Army. When I read in Ma’s letter that you got hit by a dang Chevy right in front of our house, I bawled like a baby, right there in the barracks.”
“I ran away, looking for you, Pappy,” Timber explained. “Who knew the Army wasn’t across the street? Please, let’s not go back to that scene.”
“But I was wrong about you dying, because here you are right now,” Edgar said.
“I’m here to return the favor, Pappy,” Timber sighed. “I’m here to tell you not to be scared. Transitioning is as soft as a whisper. WE are all here to help you. Be not afraid, my friend.”
 They sat quietly together until the old man fell asleep in his rocker.

                                          ********
 Both Sparky and Timber were gone when the old man awoke out of his slumber. He got to his feet and looked out the bay window, past Ma’s lacy curtains. There was a large black dog sitting on the porch, howling.
“Well, I’ll be dang! It’s Duke!” he cried.
He scrambled to open the front door and there was his old hunting dog, Duke, sitting up pretty on the front stoop.
“Hello, there, Pap! May I come in? Awfully cold out here. Mighty cold, indeed,” mused the dog in a distinct Southern drawl.
“Sure,” Edgar said, ushering old Duke inside the warm living room.
 “This reminds me of how I found you,” the old man reminisced. “Your muzzle was all covered with snow, just like now. Did you ever hear that story, boy?”
“Only about a thousand times!” sighed the dog, sprawling out near the toasty fire. But go on, have at it.”
“Well, let me tell you all about it,” Edgar began, plopping himself into the rocking chair again. “I was married once. Hard to believe, huh? To say I was henpecked would be an understatement. Clarabelle was always bossing me around. “Do this” and ‘Do that.” Worst of all, she was a cat lover.”
Duke frowned when he heard the word” cat,” letting out a low growl.
“Now, don’t get me wrong…I had nothing against felines but it’s just that dogs were more friendly to me. For a long time, Clarabelle forbade me to have a dog in the house. Then one day you showed up. You were just a pup who appeared at the backdoor one morning. You must’ve gotten lost somehow. I figured nobody wanted you, seeing how you had no collar and no identification. So, I decided to adopt you. The only problem was Clarabelle. She ruled the roost and I admit to being a little scared of her and the frying pan.
 “I sneaked you into the basement,” the old man continued, “and I started saving part of my dinner every night and taking it down the basement for you. Clarabelle started getting suspicious. ‘Why are you spending so much time in the cellar all of a sudden?’ she asked me.
“Then one day one of her dang cats caught a scent of dog and got really curious. You started scratching at the cellar door and the old lady heard it. You ran up the steps, looking for me. The cat screeched and started running around the house, you right after it.
"Meanwhile I was upstairs taking a nap, all covered up in bed. Suddenly I felt you jump on me, licking my face. That was followed by a whack on my head courtesy of Clarabelle’s frying pan.
“You brought a dog in this house without asking me!” she roared. “In the end, it came down to you or Clarabelle and her cat. Well, the answer was simple.”
“Aww, Pappy…Don’t get all sentimental on me,” Duke said.
“Just one thing,” Edgar said, “You were the worse hunting dog ever. You ran the other way from the deer and the rabbits! Who would’ve figured it…a hunting dog who wouldn’t hunt!”
“I just didn’t have the heart,” Duke claimed. “I’ve always been more of a lover than a fighter, Pappy. Look what happened when we met Lassie.”
 The old man started to laugh hysterically, slapping his left knee with joy.
“You mean the day you came to work with me? It was ‘Bring your dog to work’ day. I remember it just like it was yesterday!” the old man sighed.

Instantly they were back at the plant. Edgar was fifty-two years old, wearing his usual work attire: faded blue jeans and a gray work shirt. They were gathered in a crowd with other workers and their mutts.
“I remember this! I worked here for close to thirty-five years until I retired! We made high-end dog food here,” Edgar recalled.
“Oh, no…here she comes!” Duke sighed.
A beautiful collie walked toward the group of workers who had gathered. The dog walked with an air of dignity about her. She was being led by a well-to-do man, dressed from head to toe in a navy three-piece suit and dark blue tie. A huge entourage followed the famous canine: one gentleman was taking notes while a middle-aged lady brushed the collie’s long, silky hair, as another lady powdered the dog’s long snout.
“Lassie is here, straight from Hollywood, to thank everyone who makes her favorite dog food,” the handler proclaimed. “She is making personal appearances all around the country for our loyal sponsors of her TV show. By coincidence, Lassie is also promoting her new canine shampoo, which Lassie herself created. It’s called ‘Wet Dog’.”
“Holy moly it’s the real Lassie!” Edgar said, mesmerized by the dog.
“No personal signatures today, please,” Lassie said to no one in particular. “I’m not quite up to it.”

The factory worker’s dogs were lined up to meet Lassie, hoping to win her affection. Dobermans, German Shepherds, and Boxers were all there, with water bowls positioned everywhere.
Edgar prodded Duke to go over and introduce himself to Lassie. Dreams of marrying a movie star and becoming rich floated in his doggy brain. Working up his confidence, Duke got in line to meet the star.
“No more hamburger. Steak every dang night!” Edgar said, salivating.
“Well, hello there, little lady,” Duke said, finally snout-to-snout with the glamorous canine. “Duke here. Fleas to meet you!”
“How repulsive!” Lassie replied, her nose up in the air. “Are you saying, sir, that I have fleas?”
“Why don’t we step outside and sniff a few trees together?” Duke proposed.
“How dare you talk that way to a star!” Lassie answered, turning away, her long tail brushing against Duke’s face. Rejected, Duke returned to Edgar, his tail between his legs in shame.
“So much for being rich,” Duke grumbled. “ I suppose I came on too strong when I invited her outside to smell a few trees.”
“That’s alright, boy,” Edgar consoled, petting Duke’s coat. “I guess we were meant to be together, just me and you.”
 Old Duke slowly started to fade away until he was barely visible.
“Duke, don’t go!” the old man cried. “Duke, don’t leave me all alone!”
 The dog completely disappeared like wispy smoke, leaving Edgar alone in the darkness.
“Where am I?” cried Edgar. “I don’t want to be alone anymore. Where are my dogs? When I’m with my dogs, I’m the happiest. It’s like I’m in Heaven. Help me…someone!”

                                                                   ********

Like a bright and beautiful sunrise lights the fading night sky, the darkness slowly melted away. Edgar found himself on an old country dirt road. It was summer and he heard the chirping crickets in the fields. He took an unimpeded deep breath of fresh air, noticing how his lungs were clear, the respiratory infection gone. He looked down at his once weather-beaten, old hands and found them soft and youthful once again. In fact, somehow Edgar was young again, in his twenties.

 From across the nearest meadow full of wildflowers, he saw three dark specks running toward him. The closer they came, the better he could make them out…three dogs, all of different sizes, shapes and colors, namely Sparky, Timber, and Duke! They greeted him with licks and kisses as Edgar bent down to pet them.
“I’m so happy to see you!” he said, practically in tears.
“Pappy, it’s beautiful here!” Timber commented. “Do you think there’s a creek nearby to go fishing?”
“I don’t know, boy,” Edgar responded. “Let’s go down this road a piece and see what we can find.”

They walked a while before coming to a fork in the road. Beyond the hills lay the afterlife, the end of the eternal road. The skies to the left were smoky and dark, while the skies to the right were bright, blue and full of sunshine. The wooden signpost read Hades to the left and Heaven to the right.
“I’m thinking we should go right,” the old man said.

A few miles down the road they arrived at a wide-open meadow. An abundance of colorful, fragrant flowers played there, in the greenest of lush valleys, with cool ponds and splashing waterfalls and blossoming fruit trees all around. A young man stood at the end of the long road. He was holding a clipboard and checked his list as Edgar and his dogs arrived.
“Welcome, everyone!” greeted the man. “We’ve been expecting you. Go right in and make yourselves at home.”
“Are dogs allowed in here?” Edgar asked cautiously. “I’m not going anywhere without my friends.”
“Of course,” the man said with a smile. “All creatures, big and small, are welcome in Heaven.”
“That doesn’t include cats, does it?” Sparky asked.
“All creatures,” the man repeated.

As they walked through the pearly gates of Heaven, they found a peaceful place where they could frolic, sleep, fish and eat all they wanted, all day, every day.
And there, sitting in a field of green, lounging on a bed of flowers, was Lassie herself.
“Well, hello, Duke!” she cooed. “Nice to see you, big boy!”
“Lassie?” he gulped.
“I’ve decided you’re not so bad after all,” she replied, batting her eyelashes.
“This really is Heaven!”” Duke said, smiling.                              

They were finally home, together again…this time for ever.

© Gregory Smith 10.01.25

Heavenly Connection
Gregory Smith 9.01.25
A phone call to Heaven

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