THE WHITE DOG
Edith Croft had lived in a small town all of her life and when it was time for her to retire, she felt like something different. Somewhere with lots of people-all kinds of people-where there was excitement and action. She wanted everyday to be different and even a little challenging. She had been thinking about an apartment in a modest sized city, on the second or third floor with windows looking out on the street. With a lot of people around and many places to explore, she thought she wouldn’t become set in her ways of unwilling to welcome new ideas and experiences. And since she could afford to do whatever she wanted, at least until her saving gave out, she did just that.
With a thrill of satisfaction every morning, she looked down upon the busy people bustling past. Soon some of them became familiar and she even christened them with names. None of them ever looked up as they scuttled past. From the window, she would turn her swivel chair and look around at her pleasant big room, where everything was just where she wanted it, and eventually, prepare herself to join the throng.
She had made herself a big cloak with huge pockets inside and out. There were a lot of things she wanted to carry and she balanced the weight of her cargo comfortably. She still carried her cane when she went out; if she stayed out too long or went too far, it as handy and welcome.
Today she wondered if she would again see the white dog. “If I were Sherlock Holmes, I would call what has been going on. “The Mysterious Case of the White Dog!” Something MYSTERIOUS was really happening to her. It was not frightening or even upsetting, but strange, very strange. She would be strolling along through the neighborhoods and suddenly see-for just an instant-a white dog. And then she would see something that was going to happen that she must prevent or someone that she must help and without thinking what she should do, she was doing it. How many times now had it happened?
The first time, she thought, was when that woman had her coat caught in a car door and was going to be dragged away. She had almost jumped across the front of the car and made a great howl! And then caught the woman as the man put on the brake. No one was hurt. Both the driver and the woman thanked her excessively. She hardly realized what had happened until it was over.
Next there was the man carrying all the flower pots-so many pots that he couldn’t see where his feet were taking him. And there was the white dog, and an open manhole immediately before him and here came Edith side-swiping him out of the way and knocking him down. Luckily the pots were plastic and did not break. He even gave her one to express his thanks. She filled it with a red geranium and some ivy and placed it on her window sill.
And the boy drawing pictures with colored chalk on the corner where the curb had been worn away. She could hear a car racing toward the corner, the dog had appeared, and she had pushed the boy out of the way when the wheels slid up on to the sidewalk.
The most memorable of theses adventures had been when she had heard a child screaming and crying from an apartment building. The door flew open, and the dog appeared and ran frantically up three sets of stairs. She kept seeing flashes of his white coat as she climbed after him as fast as she could. There was a woman unconscious on a bed and a child still moaning and trying to wake the woman up. Edith dialed 911 on her cell phone and tried to calm the child until emergency medical men came with a stretcher. She rode with them to the hospital and apparently got there just in time. As soon as Edith found out that the child’s Mother would be alright and the child’s Father appeared, she left quietly. As she made her way home, she wondered what was going on in her life. And why the appearance of the white dog.
She was beginning to feel that she needed to go out every day to prevent some tragedy or accident. And she wanted to get a good look at that dog! Was he real or a figment of her imagination? Or maybe something was wrong with her eyes. And who could she tell about all this? Would she sound sane?
With a sign, she pulled on her cape and checked her pockets for a scarf and warm gloves. It was turning out to be a beautiful day with bright sunshine and puffy clouds. She took a deep breath and looked carefully around. No dog. Good!
When she turned the corner to go to the library, she was startled to see a new bench sitting in front of one of the apartment buildings. Very nice it was, with a concrete foundation and what looked like teak wood on the seat and back and arms. An old man, looking very satisfied with himself, smiled at her. “Like my bench?”
“I certainly do! Did you donate it to this house?”
“Nope, had nothing to do with it. Or…with all of the others that they’ve put up for people in this neighborhood to use. Came by in a big truck with about a dozen of them and just put them wherever they thought they were needed. Great idea, I think.”
“I do too. They look comfortable.”
“Take a seat and see for yourself.” She sat down, leaned back and sighed.
“Somebody knew this was just what we needed around here. There’s something special about this neighborhood. Have you lived here for a long time?”
“Not very long. I’m still considered a newcomer, but people know me and are always friendly.”
“It’s the same with me, I’m “in” but I’m still out in a sense.” She closed her eyes and relaxed, feeling the sunlight warm her face. His next words made her jump to attention.
“Where’s your dog today?”
She choked. “Where did you see me my dog? I don’t give a dog.”
“You have two dogs-both white-a big one and a little one.”
“TWO DOGS! Oh, no, I’m sure I don’t have two. I don’t even have one, but I do remember seeing a white dog…….several times.”
“Big or little?”
“I don’t know. He’s very fast and I can’t get a good look at him, but if you’ve seen him, please tell me all you can about him! Please!”
“It’s part of a mystery. You’re right, you know. There is something strange going on around here. Not “bad” strange but “wise strange, good strange.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Well, it’s like me. Since I moved here, I have a sort of instinct about sick people. I can be with somebody and know that they should see a cardiologist because my own heart starts flopping around. Or I can tell if there’s an infection in a wound or a disc in the spine that should be taken care of because I get a sort of “taste” of the symptoms.
Sounds stupid. Now, this man coming toward us has a bad toothache.”
“Come on now!”
“No I mean it!” He stood up when the man started to pass the bench. “Mister, Mister, is you going to the dentist for that tooth?”
“I am. What are you? A mind reader?”
“It was the way your head kind of tilted as you walked.”
“Good guess. Anything else wrong with me?”
“So my doctor told me last week. Got me on a diet and medication. Which is why I don’t need a toothache on top of everything else?”
“You’re going to be fine. Both problems will be taken care of.”
“Thanks……I guess. You’re weird, man.”
“I know. See you around.”
Edith stared at the man as he went away and then said, “So what has this to do with me and my white dog-which I don’t have?”
‘I’ve been watching and I’ve named you the “Catcher.” Because you always keep something from happening. The dog seems to signal…and...”
“Yes, you’re right. I see the dog and then what needs to be done.”
“And you do it.”
“I don’t know why I do it. Or if I should do it. I don’t seem to have time to think about any of it. How can I stop it?”
“Why do you want to stop it? You’re helping out. Me, I get to warn people to get medical attention if they need it and nobody’s ever got mad at me. Some have even looked me up to thank me.”
“I can’t take this in. I don’t understand what’s going on. I don’t want to be out of control. Perhaps my mind is getting too old…Maybe I should go home.”
“You don’t want to do that! You’re a vital part of the new picture around here.”
“What new picture?”
“C’mon. Let’s go visit the Fudge Lady. We’ll both have fudge and that’ll cheer us up. It’s always good to talk with the Fudge Lady.”
“I assume eating candy will be a part of this visit, although what good fudge would do is beyond me. Tell me, as we walk along to wherever this woman id hiding, who are some of the other-what can I call them. There’s a guy who can smell a probable suicide, which he attempts to prevent. And the listener or listeners. I suspect there is more than one of those.”
She grabbed his arm. “I bet I know one of them. She’s always in the Laundromat and I can understand why that would be a good place for her to work. Who else?”
“There’s the shoulder lady…”
“Who known when someone needs new benches materialized because we all need somewhere to sit down and talk to people….”
“Or our legs get tired. Mine do. You don’t have much time to get to your “patients” before the problems start, but I bet you need to sit for a spell afterwards. And pet your dog maybe.”
“I don’t own a dog,” she signed wearily.
“Maybe we should refer to the dog as your “spotter.”
“And call him “Spot!” I suppose and laughed.
“What REALLY do you think is going on? You must have though about it. You must have some theory.”
“I can’t prove anything. I don’t worry about that any more. Because good comes out of every bit of it. It’s all helpful and healing and kind and just. And it’s stupid to complain about things like that. I accept it all. With pleasure and gratitude. I’m glad to do my part. I hope you will see it the same way.” He stopped and they went up a flight of steps to a porch, where a woman was sitting and knitting. On the table before here there were generous pieces of fudge and a box with a slot in it. The sign propped up against the box said “Donations for the Poor.”
The woman smiled and nodded toward the fudge. Edith’s escort said, “I haven’t had a piece for two weeks, so I’m do a treat. And I’ve brought a friend.”
“Please help yourselves.” She continued rocking and knitting and smiling as they both chose large helpings. As Edith opened her mouth to take a bite, he held out a plastic baggy to her. “Don’t eat it here.”
“But I want to eat it now.” She paused. “What’s in it anyway-marijuana or some drug?” The woman in the rocking chair shook her head. “I promise there’s nothing but cocoa and butter and sugar and vanilla. I usually have mine with a cup of tea. How do you take yours, Herb?”
“Coffee with my piece. Good and hot with a bit of whole milk.”
“I’m Edith,” she said to the woman, putting the fudge into one of her pockets
“He’s Herb, as I’ve just learned and you are….”
“Bonita.” She reached out her hand and took both of Edith’s hands into her own.
“Happy to have you abroad.” Edith reached into another pocket and placed a bill in the basket. “Can I stop to visit with you at any time? Just to talk.”
“Of course! I would love that.”
Herb turned to leave and she followed him down the steps. Both walked silently until they came to another new bench. They both sat down. “What’s worrying you?” Herb asked.
“I believe her when she said there were nothing foreign in the fudge but I don’t understand why the fudge isn’t just fudge. Why is there something mysterious about it?
“It’s not mysterious. I think of it as a reward.”
“Do most of the normal people around here buy fudge from Bonita?”
“Once they taste it, they do. Because whenever you eat it, you are reminded of a special event in your life or time in your life when you were completely happy. And you feel those emotions and live for a few moments back then. Most people don’t actually realize that remembering has anything to do with fudge. But we do. I feel like we’ve pioneers in some new experiment to make this world a better place to live. We don’t know much about what’s going on around in this galaxy. Anything’s possible.”
“W aren’t…angels, or anything, are we?’
“Do I look like an angel?”
“I take your point.”
“Go home and have your fudge.”
“She did. And cried happy tears of joy
Copyright ©.2009 by Marjorie Schlitz
Marjorie is a published short stories writer. Many of her poems have been published in Fresh! Literary Magazine anthology. One of her stories won first place in our summer literary contest.