by Ellen Riggs
Jilly spoke to the police while the paramedics examined me and peered into my eyes. They asked me a series of questions, which I congratulated myself for getting right. Full marks for the dog hero.
“She’s got a concussion,” one paramedic announced. “We’re taking her in for tests.”
Jilly rushed to my side. “I should have known. You kept mumbling about a farm when you were coming to.”
I nodded and winced. “I saw a beautiful farm. It was a dream, I guess. Or what heaven looks like. There was an alpaca.”
The paramedic laughed. “No reason there can’t be alpacas in heaven.”
“In my heaven there is,” I said. “And a border collie to herd them.”
Jilly stood by while the police asked me a few questions. She corrected me gently in a few places, and I realized I might not be as sharp as I’d thought.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “It’ll all come back.” Glancing at the paramedics, she added, “Won’t it?”
They both nodded, which gave me double reassurance. I looked at the cop. “Why would he keep a border collie in his yard instead of a real guard dog?”
The officer shrugged. “Easier to manage? Less conspicuous to neighbors? But I think he underestimated a border collie’s intelligence.”
Keats raised his head and directed his blue eye at the officer, as if to concur.
“We’ve got officers there now,” he continued. “There’s been a lot of rain recently and it washed out some of the soil. It wasn’t hard to excavate.”
“If the guy hadn’t ignored the dog, he’d have seen that earlier,” Jilly said. “So thank goodness for small mercies.”
The cop said he’d be in touch soon and started to walk away.
“Wait,” I said. “Can you cut the chain off him please?”
“I’ll see what I can do,” he said.
As the paramedics were about to lift me into the ambulance, we heard tires screeching and turned. A reporter came running over and aimed a camera in my face, firing questions at bewildering speed.
Keats sat up and stared at him, but Jilly did more than that. She moved between the stretcher and the reporter and then advanced. “My friend has a head injury. Please leave her alone to recover.”
“We heard she killed someone to save the dog,” he said. “She’s a hero.”
“She is a hero, but she didn’t kill anyone. And nobody died.”
“It’s okay, Jilly,” I said. “I don’t mind telling them that Keats and I nearly bought the farm today. And that’s what I’m going to do now: buy a farm.”
Jilly stepped back to squeeze my arm. “Hush, Ivy.”
“I saw it clearly when I passed out,” I said.
“A near-death experience,” the reporter said, zooming in. “You saw a farm?”
I nodded. “With an alpaca. A llama, too. And a couple of donkeys.”
Jilly squeezed harder. “That’s enough now, Ivy. You need to rest.”
I smiled at the reporter. “She thinks I’m punch drunk. But I know what I saw.”
“And you really risked your life for a dog?”
“Not just any dog. This is one gifted border collie.” I touched Keats. “Can you show them your tricks?”
Keats jumped off the stretcher and did a beautiful pirouette on his hind legs. Then he walked backwards, still upright, before dropping to all fours and offering a white paw to the delighted reporter.
The cop had returned and cut the dog’s collar with one snip. Keats was free at last.
“See?” I said, as he hopped back on the stretcher. “Some dogs are worth crawling around in a dumpster, smashing windows and getting strangled.”
“So that’s what smells,” the reporter said.
“That dumpster was full of rats, too. It was so much worse than carrying the—”
Finally Jilly pinched me. Hard. “That’s enough chitchat for now, my friend.” Leaning over, she whispered. “You know how stories get blown out of proportion and spread on social media.”
“I don’t care,” I said.
“You might later.” She signalled the paramedics. “Let’s roll, shall we?”
“How do you feel now?” the reporter called.
“Great.” I tried to sit up as the paramedics pushed the stretcher to the ambulance. “Like I have a new leash on life.” I rested my hand on Keats. “All because of this guy.”
One of the paramedics pushed me back on the stretcher. “Down. Relax,” he said. “You could have permanent brain damage.”
I scratched Keats’ ears. “We’ve got a second chance. Both of us. Who wouldn’t want that?”
“Your chariot awaits,” Jilly said, urging them to pick up the pace.
“Jilly, you’ve got to slow down and smell the sunflowers,” I said.
“And you’ve got to seal those lips until your brains unscramble. You’re babbling, and you never babble.
“Maybe I do now. New day, new Ivy.”
“Hit it,” Jilly called, sighing.
The ambulance doors closed and we drove off.
“Do you know what, Jilly?” I said, settling back with one hand resting between Keats’ ears.
“What?” She took a rubber glove off the paramedic’s tray and pulled it onto her right hand. Then she pulled up the blanket and started plucking garbage off my pant legs. There was a chicken wing, squashed fries and a variety of garnishes. Her lips parted so that she could breathe through her mouth to fend off my stench.
“I just beat the grim reaper,” I said. “Now I’ve stared him in the face and I know for sure it’s not me.”
“Never was, my friend.” She collected some hot peppers from the remains of my sock and dumped them into the plastic bag the paramedic gave her.
Keats nosed around the bag, hungry enough he’d eat week-old garbage.
“Don’t even,” Jilly said, moving the bag out of reach. “It’s all high-end kibble for you from now on.”
“She’s right about that, buddy,” I said. “Let’s find greener pastures where we can live happily ever after.”
“No more near-death experiences,” Jilly said. “For either of you.”
The paramedic offered me a little paper cup of water and I raised it. “I’ll drink to that.”
Keats gave his odd mumbling noises that sound like agreement.
Jilly shook her head and pulled a soggy nacho chip off my shoe. “Why do I get the feeling this dog has brought more adventure into our lives than we can handle?”
I caught her arm with my free hand and squeezed. It felt good, safe and right to be sandwiched between my two best friends. “I get the same feeling about adventure ahead, Jilly. But together we can handle anything. You’ll see.”
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