The Dog That Saved Stewart Coolidge (27 page)

After a ten-minute conversation with Lisa, Heather wrapped it up with a few comments.

Then she stood and gave Lisa a hug, which everyone in the Wired Rooster took note of—a real-life celebrity coming emotionally, and physically, close to a local person, an unknown, a noncelebrity.

“This was great, Lisa.”

Her camera crew began to switch off gear and fold up lights and all the rest.

“I wish we could have talked to this Stewart person. But the number I had didn't work.”

Lisa brightened.

“I could call him.”

Heather appeared pained. She looked at her watch.

“If I want this on tonight, we have to run. You know, break some speed limits on the way home. The station manager wants it as well. Sweeps week, you know. This will kill. Really.”

Lisa walked Heather out to the van.

“Did you find anything out about those two ladies from the animal shelter?”

Heather offered a most curious, enigmatic smile.

“Maybe. I'm still working on it.”

Lisa looked down and she shut her eyes in dismay. She had worn a Wired Rooster apron during the entire interview.

I look like a scullery maid.

Well, at least the name of the place was pretty visible.

Just after Lisa left work that day, her mother called.

“I keep hearing all about this dog thing.”

Lisa tried to remain calm.

“Mom, I told you like a hundred times all about it. The boy upstairs taking the dog in and all that?'

“Oh, sure. That dog? Okay, then. I thought it might be some other dog.”

“No, Mom. There's only one famous dog in Wellsboro at the moment.”

Lisa patiently waited for what she knew would be the next question.

“And you and this boy…you're still just friends?”

Lisa wanted very much to tell her all about it, how they had become close and how Stewart had all but found faith—because of her and because of Hubert—but she held back.

It's not the right time. Not yet.

“We're good friends, Mom. He's very nice.”

Lisa heard a sharp intake of air on the other end of the call.

“Lisa, you just have to be careful. Promise me that you'll be careful. You can't go through what you went through last time.”

Lisa closed her eyes and tried to remain calm and even.

That will never happen again. I promised myself that. And I promised you. And God. And she promised not to bring it up every time I mention dating again.

“Mom, he is a great guy. And, yes, I am careful. But—I have to live life. I can't think every person out there is going to disappoint me or hurt me. I want to fall in love, Mom. And I can't do that always being cautious and scared and unwilling to be open.”

Lisa only heard silence.

Then a small cough, as if her mother was simply announcing that she was still on the line but had no idea how to respond to what her daughter had just said—that there was no reason to be careful.

“Mom, I have to go. I'm just getting in the car, and driving and talking on the phone are illegal here.”

“Oh. Okay. But—”

“I'll be careful, Mom. But you have to trust somebody sometime. And maybe I'm starting now, okay?”

Her mother responded with a small, and uncertain, “Okay.”

Robert Kruel sat in his office in downtown Sunbury, looking out over the smattering of afternoon traffic. Kitty-corner to his office was a Tops Market, its parking lot only half full.

Not a shopping day here in beautiful downtown Sunbury.

Robert “Bob” Kruel had the distinction of being one of the two outside attorneys on retainer for the Tops Market chain. Inside the small corporation, they employed one official attorney who handled all the mundane real estate and tax issues that the small grocery chain incurred. But with situations outside that purview, more well-versed assistance was called in—an attorney acquainted with the “real” world.

Robert had gotten the call involving the dog stealing bones from the Tops store in Wellsboro.

He had talked, at length, to Mr. Arden…

Way too long.

…and had interviewed a few others in the store, then had reviewed the sparse case law about animals and stores and thievery.

He stopped staring out into the distance and shook his head.

“I went to law school at Penn State for this?”

He looked down at the notes he'd made for the Wellsboro City Council meeting tomorrow evening. He had circled and underlined the words “special council order of enforcement.”

“And just where did they get that ordinance from? A box of Cracker Jacks?”

Then he began to rub the bridge of his nose in anticipation of the headache that was just beginning to form.

“Well, Hubert, tomorrow is the big day,” Stewart said as he and Lisa settled into the cell following their evening walk. “Or, I guess, tomorrow evening is the big evening.”

Lisa had been silent on their walk over to the jail, as well on their joint walk. In her purse she carried a plastic Ziploc bag that held three cut-up hot dogs—“the good ones and not the store brand,” she said as she showed it to Stewart. “Hubert deserves a good meal.”

Stewart agreed, but Hubert had shown no discomfort with the kibbles he had been eating. Somewhere, Stewart read that dogs don't mind eating the same thing over and over again. He recalled the article stating that sometimes too much variety can be stressful on a dog.

I have no idea why—but it was printed somewhere, so it must be mostly true.

Finally, Lisa spoke, still holding the closed bag, which Hubert had noticed. He was now sniffing the air intently. “I wanted to do something nice for Hubert, but then I had a thought about convicts and their last meal and…”

She stopped talking and began to cry, a little, and not loudly.

Hubert appeared confused.

Obviously she had some sort of treat for him, but then she started crying, so it was apparent that he did not know what to do next.

Stewart moved closer and put his arm over her shoulder.

“It's not a last meal. Please. You'll upset him if he thinks you're upset.”

“But I am upset. A little.”

Stewart hugged her from the side.

“I looked stuff up on the Internet. Unless the dog is showing rabies or something dangerous like that, or if he has chewed somebody up, they won't be able to do anything. And all Hubert here has done is steal things. That's not a capital offense in any state of the union. Maybe like over in Arabia or someplace like that. But nothing bad will happen to Hubert. At least not right away. It would require like a real court order and a real judge.”

“Are you sure?” she asked.

“The Internet doesn't lie, does it?”

She began to smile.

“I guess not.”

So she sniffed once more, then unzipped the baggie and began to dole out the hot dog slices to Hubert, one at a time.

If it was possible for a dog to simply swallow a hot dog slice without chewing, that is what Hubert did. He appeared to truly enjoy them, but did not take a lot of time eating them or savoring their all-beef, no-filler goodness.

“You're just like a man,” Lisa chided. “Just give them the food. No subtlety at all. No noticing the lack of additives and preservatives, no enjoying the authentic Ball Park frank experience.”

After the last slice had been swallowed, she reached down and stroked Hubert's head. He whimpered as if he truly enjoyed her touch, and probably the meal as well.

“You're such a good dog, Hubert,” she said, and he looked up and climbed up onto the concrete bed beside her. After a few minutes of trying to find the perfect position, he lay down beside her and placed his head in her lap, closing his eyes as she petted him.

“Why don't you read something to us, Stewart? Hubert likes being read to, don't you, Hubert?”

Hubert growled happily without opening his eyes.

“Okay. I read this last night at home. I guess it's famous or something. I probably heard it before, but I liked it. It's short.”

Lisa nestled in closer to both Stewart and Hubert.

“It's from the Psalms, although I can't figure out why they don't call them ‘songs.' That's the way it's pronounced, right? Songs. Change the spelling. Get with the times.”

Lisa nudged him in the ribs, making sure she did not move too much and disturb Hubert.

Stewart flipped through the pages, then stopped, and went to the front of the Bible, and to the index of chapters. He found the page number and flipped to it, then thumbed through a number of chapters, finally stopping.

“You think they could do all this alphabetically. It would make it a lot easier to find stuff.”

He smoothed out the page and adjusted the book in his hand and then began to read, in a clear, serious tone:

No one spoke for a long moment after he was finished. Then Hubert raised his head and growled with certain emphasis.

“Hubert liked it,” Lisa said. “And I thought it was beautiful. That's one of my most favorite parts of the Bible. When I was little, and scared or lonely, I would read that.”

Stewart didn't say anything, just pulled her close to him.

And they sat there, on the hard concrete bed, in the Wellsboro Jail, for a long, long time. No one wanted to break the magic of that intimate moment.