The Dog That Saved Stewart Coolidge (14 page)

T
HE BREAK
ROOM
at the Tops Market was again all atwitter with the brazen return of the dog bandit. The canine had struck again only twenty minutes prior to the break.

“Another daylight robbery,” Dennis King said, pushing his straggly hair behind his ears and then capturing it with a faded SeaWolves baseball cap, the minor league team from Erie. “Somebody should call the
Gazette
.”

Stewart had already sent a text message to Lisa outlining the bare basics of today's heist.

“Somebody said the dog's already a felon. That's pretty bad, isn't it?”

That was Darlene Killeen, a very young and very naïve cashier, less than a year from walking the halls at Wellsboro Area High School as a Lady Hornet on the pep squad.

Dennis waved his hand in dismissal.

“Nope. A felony has to be five hundred dollars all at once. You can't steal a bunch of little things over a month and be charged with a felony.”

Darlene nodded, sipping on a Diet Coke.

I wonder why all our stock people are well versed in felony matters?
Stewart thought to himself as he typed another text message to Lisa—this one about the felony discussion.

“The dog looks healthy,” Darlene said. “I got a good look at him as he scampered past. I only looked because I heard Mr. Arden screeching from over in Dairy, I think. Or maybe it was Produce.”

“It was Dairy. He was complaining 'bout how the chocolate milk was stacked. We had so much in the back cooler that we had to use two rows instead of the one on the plan-o-gram. He made us pull it all out and reset the whole case. And stick the rest in the back reefer. A definite pain.”

“Well, anyhow,” Darlene continued. “The dog looks healthy enough. Like he's being fed somewhere. Not like a runaway dog or anything. He's got to belong to somebody—somebody who doesn't care if he's like a criminal or something.”

“But not a felon,” Dennis added as he finished off his large can of Monster. “Just a simple misdemeanor, that's all. A fine and a week in jail, tops.”

“What about the owner?” she asked as she stood up to return to work, smoothing out her apron and making sure it was correctly tied and adjusted symmetrically.

“That's who I was talking about,” Dennis said firmly. “The dog—well, maybe they'll put it down. Dogs in grocery stores, that just ain't right. Probably a public nuisance or something. Or a health hazard. And for a dog, being a public nuisance or a health hazard ain't good.”

As the three of them walked down the stairs and back to work, Stewart wondered if Dennis actually knew what he was talking about or was simply playing at being a semi-hardened criminal to impress the easily impressed Darlene.

When Stewart arrived home that afternoon, Hubert was sitting in the middle of the kitchen, his tail wagging happily, a smile on his face. Stewart knew he was excited, as if Hubert could barely prevent his haunches from ecstatic wiggling.

Stewart knelt down and in three jump-steps, Hubert was nose-to-nose with Stewart, whining softly, a happy whine, offering gentle head butts against Stewart's chest.

“I'm glad to see you, too, Hubert.”

After a few moments Hubert settled down and Stewart sat next to him on the kitchen floor.

“Hubert,” Stewart said, his voice rising on the end of the word.

Hubert immediately lowered his head.

“Did you come to the store today?”

Hubert lowered his head farther.

“Did you steal a rawhide bone?”

Hubert then looked up, just an inch, with his eyes focused on the living room.

Under the corner of the rug were two rawhide bones, still wrapped in plastic, slipped under the corner of the rug, almost totally covered, but not really.

“Hubert, why did you steal another bone? You know that's wrong.”

At this Hubert lay down, put his head between his paws, his chin on the ground, and closed his eyes.

Maybe he's just hungry. I've been feeding him just like the bag said. And even a little more.

Then Stewart looked to the bones again.

He's not eating them. He hasn't even chewed the plastic wrapping off.

After letting Hubert wallow for a moment in guilt, Stewart reached out and put his hand on the back of the dog's head and stroked him a few times.

“It's okay, Hubert. I know you don't know right from wrong. At least people's right and wrong.”

Hubert jumped up and almost enveloped Stewart between his front paws, demanding, as it were, to be hugged back, to be forgiven, to be loved.

“You have to remember, Stewart,” Lisa said as she sipped at her tea in Stewart's kitchen, “Hubert is a dog of deprivation. We don't have any idea how long he was out on his own.”

Stewart liked Lisa in his kitchen. He liked having her near. He'd even bought a new box of tea, thinking that if she ever wanted tea in his kitchen, he would have fresher tea than the four-year-old box of Tetley tea bags he'd had since his senior year in college.

He didn't smile when he looked at her, though he wanted to. He didn't want to make it too obvious. Perhaps his lips formed a slight smile, just a snippet of a smile, and that was all.

“What if he lived around here? Maybe he's local and he's just a bad dog?” Stewart said.

At this Hubert growled, just a little, just to register, as it were, his complaint with Stewart's personal assessment and character assassination.

“I don't think so, Stewart. I talked with Mr. Grback about it, and he was virtually certain it wasn't a local dog.”

“How would he know?”

Hubert got up from the rug in the living room and walked to Lisa and sat next to her, looking up at her with both admiration and expectation. She smiled at him and began to scratch behind his ears.

“He said he's been running that free classified section in the
Gazette
for lost pets since he's been editor. He said that no one loses a pet that they don't call him for a free ad. He said it doesn't matter if it were a gerbil or a mouse or a moose. People call because they know the ad is free. So if Hubert had an owner in town, that owner would have called.”

Stewart shrugged. “Maybe.”

“He said somebody probably dumped him off on a back road somewhere. Or even on the interstate. It happens all the time, he said, because people don't want to pay the twenty-five dollars to a shelter to take an unwanted animal. And he said that most people are jerks.”

Stewart laughed.

“He's a keen observer of human nature.”

Lisa's face beamed. “He just likes being gruff with reporters. Like he's still in New York City, I guess. But I like him. He's smart.”

“Of course he is. He's printing your stories, right?”

Lisa tilted her head and smiled at Stewart—more than just a smile, a thank-you sort of expression on her face.

Stewart let it be silent for a long moment. It was obvious that the both of them enjoyed that moment.

“But the hard part of all this is I can't figure out how to keep Hubert inside,” Stewart said, finally breaking the silence.

“Your lock still doesn't work?”

“It never did, really. All it takes is a little push—or pull—and the door opens. And if I ask Jerry to fix it, which I doubt he will—or can—he'll see Hubert. He's already asked me to be on the lookout for him. Wants to split the reward. And Hubert growls a little bit when someone is at the door—even me. Larry would hear him.”

“I know. It's kind of touching, that Hubert wants to protect you like that. What about a little hook-and-eye latch on the outside of the door?” Lisa asked.

“I thought of that. But if Jerry sees that, and he will for sure, he'll know something's up. He has some sort of idiot-savant radar for spotting things that don't belong. He noticed when I bought a new tire when the Nissan was still running. Who looks at tires? Anyhow, a hook-and-eye I could understand on the inside—but not on the outside.”

Lisa nodded her understanding.

“I guess I could try to put a chair or something in front of the door—but then how would I get out?”

Lisa switched hands on Hubert.

“And the door downstairs doesn't lock at all, so that's no help either,” he added. “I watched him open it with his nose in about two seconds. So no barrier there.”

Lisa sipped at her tea.

“This is really good, Stewart. Thanks for getting it just for me.”

Stewart hoped his blush did not show. Hubert offered a contented growl.

“Thanks. It's the store brand—but the good store brand. There's good and then a little better. This tea is from the little better section.”

“Well, I like it,” Lisa said with finality.

At that, Hubert looked up at Lisa and rumble-growled again, but it was a pleasant, happy growl, as if he were in on the discussion.

Which Stewart was pretty sure he wasn't, but then, he could never really be sure with Hubert.

After the tea and coffee had been consumed, after evening had come upon Wellsboro, Lisa picked up her purse and stood.

“You want to go to the Frog Hut?” she asked, surprising Stewart, surprising him a lot. “For ice cream?”

Again, girls don't normally ask me out—ever.

“I didn't think it was open yet.”

Lisa's face scrunched up in thought.

“I think it's open all year. Pretty sure, anyhow. But it's open now for certain. I saw people coming out at lunch. I feel like an ice cream cone. Want to go for a ride?”

“Sure.”

Hubert danced about, happy that something was happening and that Stewart and Lisa appeared to be happier than normal.

“No, Hubert, you can't go.”

Hubert appeared crestfallen.

“No, he can go,” Lisa said. “It's dark enough to sneak him into the car. And I think Jerry is over at the Moose Lodge tonight. Two-for-one draft beer special, I think.”

“Oh, yeah. That is tonight, isn't it? Well…okay. But do dogs like being in cars? I never had one.”

“They love cars. My grannie's dogs did. And I bet Hubert does as well. Right, Hubert?”

At this, Hubert jumped up and down, in excitement, obviously not knowing what was about to happen but excited that he was being included.