The Poet's Dog (3 page)

I
hear Ellie's car drive up to the front door.

Sylvan told me about the theater once. I feel like I'm watching a stage play.

Sylvan comes in looking tired.

He takes off his tweed jacket and stretches out on the couch.

Ellie carries a paper bag.

“That doctor's office made me sick,” complains Sylvan. “There must be an ocean of germs there. That's why I don't like going to the doctor.”

“You went there sick,” says Ellie.

She takes bottles of medicine out of the paper bag and sets them by the sink.

She sits on a stool next to Sylvan.

“He wouldn't let me know what the doctor said,” Ellie says to me.

“You are not my mother,” says Sylvan, his arm covering his eyes. “You are much more beautiful than my mother.”

“Thank you,” says Ellie.

“He has a fever,” I say.

Sylvan takes his arm away from his eyes and stares at me.

“How do you know that?”

“I'm a dog. I smelled a fever, and I can hear chest rumbles in you.”

“See?” says Sylvan with more energy. “I don't need a doctor. I have a dog!”

“Take your pills and drink lots of water,” says Ellie.

“I don't much like water,” says Sylvan.

Ellie laughs a lot.

“I'll be back tomorrow for the class if you're well enough to have it here,” she says.

“Only if someone reads a real poem,” says Sylvan.

“Curmudgeon,” whispers Ellie as she kisses me on the top of my head.

“Rest,” she calls as she goes out the door.

Sylvan doesn't rest.

He smiles at me as he sits at the computer.

“I like that girl,” he says. “And I heard her call me a curmudgeon,” he adds as he types.

“I guess there is nothing wrong with your ears,” I say.

“Thank you, Doctor Dog,” says Sylvan with sarcasm.

“And you took care of Sylvan,” said Nickel.

“I did.”

“Like he took care of you,” said Flora.

Nickel's voice was soft, but I could hear him even with the storm outside.

“It's almost as if Sylvan saved you and brought you here so you could save us.”

“Maybe. One night, late, Sylvan read me part of a poem he had written about me. He called it ‘HE the Poet's Dog.'” I closed my eyes to remember it.

HE
THE POET
'
S DOG

PICKS UP MY DROPPED WORDS

HE

C
ARRIES THEM IN HIS SOFT MOUTH

L
IKE TREASURES

T
O BURY

F
OR LATER

S
O

HE
THE POET'S DOG

C
AN PASS THEM ALONG

A
ND
I
CAN FOLLOW.

Flora put her hand on my back.

“All this time I've been mad that Sylvan left you. But maybe he didn't really leave at all.

“At all,” she repeated softly.

I
t was an evening with no power—a fireplace fire, oil lamps, a candle on the table.

Nickel wrote in his notebook.

The room was warm, but Flora sat with a blanket around her shoulders. She had a faraway look.

“What are you thinking about?” I asked her.

“My youth,” she said.

Nickel grinned.

“Like now?” he asked.

Flora shook her head.

“I feel different.”

“You
are
different,” I said. “You've been brave. You wrote a note and left it for your mother. You kept us in good food for nearly five days.”

I thought of Sylvan's students, romping through life like puppies—young people trying to write their way into adulthood.

“Do you remember when I was born?” Flora asked Nickel.

“I do. I wanted a guinea pig.”

“Do you remember when you were young?” Flora asked me.

“I'm not sure my memories are like yours. I remember Sylvan most because he gave me words for my memories. Before that I remember moments, but I had no words for them.”

Flora lifted her shoulders and sighed.

“I think I feel different because I have worries. I never had worries before now.”

“What are you worried about?” asked Nickel.

“Not what. Who,” said Flora.

“Who?” I asked.

Flora stared at me.

“You,” she said.

Nickel looked up from his writing, waiting to hear what I'd say.

I worried about me, too. But I didn't want to tell them that.

“I have Ellie,” I said. “Don't worry.”

Ellie visits us every day. Sometimes she brings food for dinner.

For a while Sylvan seems better. He writes every day. He reads to me every day.

When Sylvan forgets to take his medicine, I shake the bottles in my mouth so he remembers.

The poets arrive for a class, and the boy who
tried to write
Ox-Cart Man
in his own words reads a poem Sylvan loves. It's called “The Crazy Cows of Spring.”

T
HE COWS ARE CRAZY WITH SPRING,

B
REAKING THROUGH THE FENCE

G
ALLOPING TO TOWN

L
EAVING THEIR COW PIES

B
EHIND.

Flora and Nickel seemed comforted by the idea of Ellie taking care of me every day.

“She can't get here because of the storm,” I told them. “But she knows that I can get in the house and find my open bag of dog food in the bottom pantry bin.” I
paused. “Sylvan taught me that.”

It was bedtime, and we laid down blankets and pillows on the red rug.

“And when you're back home, Ellie will drive me to visit you. In her little red car.”

“Let's have a party tomorrow to celebrate,” said Flora. “I found a can of frosting in the pantry.”

A party.

We turned off the oil lamps and blew out the candle. We could hear ice pellets hitting the windows and roof.

The three of us slept in a heap in front of the fire.

All night.

Together.

W
e woke in the morning at the same time, raising our heads, listening for the sound of wind.

We heard nothing. We looked at one another.

Silence.

The storm had ended.

Surprisingly, Flora burst into tears.

Nickel sat up and put his arm around her.

“It's all right, Flora,” he said. “We knew the storm wouldn't last forever.”

“Can we still have a party?” Flora asked.

I left Flora in the pantry, “rummaging” (Nickel's word) for frosting. Nickel scooped out old ashes from the fireplace and built a new fire for the day.

I lifted the door lever and went outside to stand in the quiet. Then I leaped through the deep snow, through the woods, around the pond, and out to the road where Flora and Nickel's car had been. I stood looking
down the road. The quiet was almost as loud as the noise of the wind.

The snow was high. No one had plowed. It was the longest stretch of white I'd ever seen—up and down the long road.

I listened, but there were no faraway sounds of cars or plow trucks.

Silence.

I turned and went back around the pond, heavy with snow. I passed trees with branches all white.

Then home.

I shook the snow off my body, then lifted the lever and walked inside.

Flora and Nickel looked at me.

“We can have a party. There's time,” I said.

Ellie comes to take Sylvan back to the doctor. She brings me snacks.

Sylvan looks tired and weak, though he has been taking his medicine.

“I plan to talk to the doctor with you today,” says Ellie.

“Don't be a nag,” says Sylvan.

“I have to be a nag. You have Teddy to care for.”

Sylvan looks at her as he opens the front door.

He looks at me then.

“Yes. I do,” he says softly.

When they come home again, I can tell they have been arguing.

“You should go to the hospital if the doctor says so,” says Ellie.

“Not yet. You get sick in the hospital,” says Sylvan.

Ellie lifts her shoulders.

“All right then. I'm leaving you with my cell phone. You can call my landline if you need me. And that's that.”

No one speaks. Ellie and Sylvan stare at each other as if at war.

Finally Sylvan gives in.

“All right,” he says. “Leave the phone.”

And that is when I know Sylvan will not live long.

Ellie gives me a kiss on the head.

As she opens the door, Sylvan calls to her. “Thank you, Ellie.”

I see a flash of tears in her eyes.

Sylvan puts his hand on my head the way he does when we walk in the woods.

Then he goes to his computer with his tweed jacket still on.

He writes something and prints it out.

Then he goes to the couch where he sleeps all night long.

I don't sleep on my red rug, even though a low fire burns there.

I sleep next to where Sylvan sleeps, waking to watch and listen to him.

At dawn he wakes.

He takes Ellie's cell phone out of his pocket. He dials a number.

“Ellie? Please come,” he says.

He looks at me.

“Ellie will care for you. But I hope you find a jewel or two, Teddy.”

A jewel or two? What does he mean?

I lean against him.

“A jewel or two,” he repeats. “Trust me.”

And he closes his eyes, his hand still on my neck.

By the time Ellie gets there he is still.

Silence.

Much later Ellie finds Sylvan's printed note on the desk next to his computer. Ellie reads it to me.

“Dear Teddy and Ellie,

You both made my life joyful.

I have left the cabin to Teddy with both your names there and on my bank account. Ellie, I know you will make sure Teddy is fine. And as you offered, you will be Teddy's guardian to help him find a life with someone who hears his wise words.

I love you both.

Sylvan.”

Ellie puts her arms around me.

“We will both be fine,” she says, her voice quiet and strong.

T
he party food was chocolate-frosted cookies, hard as stone but tasty.

Flora dribbled frosting on my kibbles. I didn't tell her chocolate was not good for dogs.

I lifted the door lever and went outside.

Nickel had shoveled every day, so that I
walked out on a snow path to look at all the white.

Suddenly I saw a faraway figure, dressed in red, skiing through the woods. The figure came closer and closer, coming out of the woods into the clearing toward the house.

I knew who it was!

“Teddy!” called Ellie.

I couldn't believe how happy I was to see her. I wagged my tail and jumped on her as she stopped. She laughed and patted me as she took off her skis, falling down in the snow to hug me.

“Teddy,” she said, out of breath. “I was worried about you in the storm!”

“Did you ski all the way from home?”

“Yes. It was the only way to get to you. My car is buried, and the snow and ice on the roads aren't cleared.”

“I know.”

She looked at the chimney of the cabin.

“There's smoke from a fire!”

I got up, and we walked to the cabin door.

“I didn't build it,” I said to Ellie. “You'd better come in.”

Ellie leaned her skis against the house. We opened the door.

Inside the warm cabin, Nickel and Flora turned from the fireplace. Nickel's
eyes widened when he saw another human with me.

“This is Ellie!” I said happily. “This is Ellie.”

Nickel and Flora loved Ellie right away. Ellie loved the hard cookies with chocolate frosting. She ate three of them, sitting in front of the fire with her hand on my neck.

“I heard on my radio that you two were saved by a family with six children,” said Ellie. “You left a note on the front seat of your mother's car.”

We looked at Flora.

Flora actually blushed.

“I forgot that part of the note,” she said. “I added a bit.”

Ellie laughed.

“It worked. Your parents were not worried about you. Probably tomorrow or the day after, the roads will begin to be cleared. Maybe all the power will be back on.”

She paused.

“I'm glad that you came here,” she said to Nickel and Flora.

“We're glad Teddy saved us,” said Nickel.

“I learned how to save you,” I said.

“From Sylvan,” said Flora, nodding. “Teddy told us about Sylvan.”

All of a sudden Ellie sat up straight, a strange look on her face.

“I just realized something amazing. And wonderful.”

“What?” asked Nickel.

Ellie took a deep breath.

“You and Flora hear Teddy's wise words,” she said.

She took my face in her hands.

“They do,” she whispered. “What Sylvan wished for.”

“They do. You do,” I said. “A bit like the past and the present coming together, don't you think?”

Ellie grinned.

“I do think!” she said, nodding.