One More Time, New Roads

by David Howells

Day of Rest?

  By traditional breakfast-time, Sam and Elsie had given up on catching up on sleep. Maybe a nap later would be in order…actually, there would be no ‘maybe’ about it. By spoken agreement, a Sunday Siesta was entered into mental day-planners as a must.

  Sam tried calling Madison Monitoring, but got their answering service. For some reason, that seemed just a bit ironic to both of them. Still, it was a Sunday. Both thought that the business office just might toe the line of so many other businesses and take off on the Lord’s Day. However, twenty minutes later, the house business phone rang. Elsie picked up. “Hello?”

  Sam figured she was taking another animal clipping appointment, so he went in to start kibble construction efforts. By the time perking and easy-over egg sizzling were well underway, Elsie came into the kitchen.

  “We’re slated for Thursday for installation. It’ll be in the evening. They’ll try to get the other five houses on the same day. I let them know that we could serve as ‘holder of the house keys’ for anyone who couldn’t stay around to let them in.”

  “Good idea. Honest, Dear, I proposed to you for your looks. It’s nice to know I got a brainy babe as a bonus. Mind feeding the pooches?”

  The morning routine wasn’t completely wrecked by the previous night, but it still felt off kilter. There was that cloudiness of mind that happens with interrupted sleep, a fog that takes a while to dissipate. The karma of the house had a slightly hollow echo to it. That was mostly dispelled with the coffee and eggs. The larger sized dog food can was divvied up with two thirds for Jigsaw, one third for Fawn.

  “Now don’t you go getting fat by stealing Jigsaw’s food, sweetie. Let that big doofus get all porky. You and I will stay as svelte as Greek statues. She picked up Fawn and made to carry her off to the front porch, snagging half of Sam’s dessert cinnamon roll out of his hand as it was making its way mouthward.

  “Wait a minute, there! What did I do?”

  “Ahem? Does the word ‘celebrate’ bring anything to mind?”

  “Oh, yeah. Forgot. Bon appetite. Come on, Jigsaw, let’s follow the gossamer ladies outside.” Taking two cups, one with cream and one black, with cup handles deftly in one hand and the leash on the other, Sam joined Elsie on the porch. Her rocker was already gently in motion, Fawn happily on her lap being stroked. Sam sat down and gratefully accepted the last morsel being popped into his mouth, then managed to transfer one of the cups to his fiancée’s possession without spilling a drop.

  “So, future bride of mine, what would you like to tackle today? Gardening? Back yard fence mending? Shopping?”

  “Sam, how about we don’t do any of that? It was a long night. Sunday’s supposed to be a day of rest, right? So, how about we take it easy today?”

  That sounded pretty good, but once the coffee was history, it was time to take the dogs for their morning constitutional.

  The sixth house on the right belonged to Jack Russell. Sure enough, he spotted the couple on their regular walk. He’d been watching for them. Nice couple, he thought, though a bit laid back for his taste. Jack trotted out on an interception course, with Octane on a leash, ricocheting from one possible squirrel sighting to another.

  “Glad to catch you! Mind if we join? Thanks!” There hadn’t been time for a response. “Talked to all the others. D’Angelos will need you to hold their keys. So will Kemptons and Gasparis. The others have it covered, but say thanks.”

  Jigsaw gave the pronking pooch Octane a dour gaze. He liked to romp like any other self-respecting dog, but frenetic insanity was definitely not on his agenda. Fawn used Jigsaw’s legs as mobile zoo bars, allowing her protection from Octane’s manic phase (he somehow never got around to the depressive end of the equation).

  “Oh, yeah! Got a card for the Ricks. I’m getting the neighbors to sign it. Here, I got a pen.”

  Despite the clipped staccato phrasing that left one a little breathless, Sam and Elsie would later admit to both thinking how thoughtful and organized Jack was. Maybe that was what had attracted his wife to him in the first place. Elsie said, “That’s so nice of you, Jack. Have you heard anything about the Ricks?”

  “Sure did! Both are ok. They’ll be in oxygen therapy for a while. Takes a bit to get the bad gas out. Glad we all got alarms coming. I’ll sleep better.”

  Another mutual thought, “He sleeps?”

  “Going out there later. Will tell’em you said hi. I’ll introduce you when they get back.

  They reached the end of their road and Sam told Jack they were going to continue on for a bit, needing to work off some cinnamon bun calories. After a final dozen rapid fire random topics, Jack took Octane back up the road. Sam and Elsie leaned against the stone entry-way wall for a few minutes, blowing through pursed lips. Sam then handed Jigsaw’s leash over to Elsie and peered around the right-side stone column marking the entryway to their road.

  “Is he gone, Sam?”

  “I think so. It’s quiet.”

  “I’m exhausted. Good Lord Almighty, I think Jack and Octane share DNA. It’s just too funny Octane’s an actual Jack Russell.”

  They began a very leisurely stroll back up the road. Halfway up, Jack’s car was seen tooling down the road at a fair rate of speed. It wasn’t that he was speeding too badly, but his driving had a sort of erratic quality to it. The speed changed, and there were little bobs and weaves even when there wasn’t another car in sight. Jack waved as he passed the nice older couple, and Octane could be seen bouncing from window to window.

  Sam shook his head. “The wonderful thing about Tiggers…”

  Elsie took both leashes and led the dogs to the back yard to release any energies absorbed by Octane. Sam closed the door and sighed. “Home free. Hon? You want some tea or a nap?”

  From the back door came, “Yes, please.”

  Sam closed the gap by entering the kitchen and started filling the kettle. “Flavor?”

  Elsie kept tossing the tennis balls. “I’ll take the chocolate mango.”

  Morning tea tradition…she got the ‘SuperMom’ mug, he got his ‘Betty Boop’ souvenir mug. “Nice…I’ll take that, too. Nibble choice?”

  The dogs were let back in. “Whatever you would regret losing the most.”

  He looked in the fridge. Ah. In the blue Tupperware tub were the last four Russian tea cookies. Even if he got mouthy, he’d at least get one. “Got it. Front rockers or back nook?”

  Elsie hung up the leashes and started rinsing out the coffee pot’s mechanical insides, saving the grounds for her mulch pile. “Let’s rock, Sweetie.”

  The dogs opted to snooze on their blankets, apparently having also had too much excitement for one day. That left Sam and Elsie just enough time for one cookie and three or four sips each before the next crisis. “Elsie, my dear, isn’t that Danielle coming up the road with…um…what’s their Retriever’s name?”

  Elsie’s eyes were a bit sharper. “Rockette. Oh, dear. Something’s not right. Hang on, Sam. The morning’s not finished with us yet.”

  The way Danielle Metz was trotting up the road didn’t look like someone out for a happy jaunt, and the golden fur looked funny on Rockette. Normally, the fur fluffed in the breeze like amber waves of grain. The closer the pair got, the more was revealed. Danielle’s expression reflected concern. Rockette’s gait suggested pain. Her fur now became obviously full of…

  “Burrs. Oh, my stars, Danielle, Rockette’s more burr than fur! What happened?”

  “We were over at the Kelly’s and took Biscuit and Rockette back down their path to the river bank. A red fox ran right across our path, and Rockette about took my arm out of its socket! Joan managed to keep Biscuit from bolting, but Rockette dragged me for a bit before I got the leash off my wrist.” True to the story, Danielle’s shirt and the front of her shorts sported some small twigs and a few grass stains. “Elsie, I’m so sorry to come on a Sunday, but…”
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br />   “Don’t say another word. I have regular business hours for regular business. This is an emergency. I’d feel terrible letting Rockette suffer. There’re burrs in the woods?” They got up and let in dog and mistress.

  “It was news to us, too, but no one had been off the trail before. Guess that fox knew some tricks to get rid of pursuers. I had to go about a quarter mile to find Rockette, and mainly by following her cries of pain. Can you help her?”

  “We’ll take care of it, dear. I’m afraid we’ll have to give her a buzz cut. She won’t be naked, but this bitch is about to go butch. Sam? I’ll need both of you in on this one.”

  He had assisted in fur emergencies before, though nothing to this extent. The poor animal must have over a thousand of the things stuck in her fur. “Hon, I’ll try, but where can I hold where I won’t be pushing the burrs deeper into her skin?”

  Good point, Elsie thought. Keeping Rockette on the floor, lest a pain jab cause her to jump off the grooming table, Elsie sat down and began to carefully denude the haunches while Sam kept a bag in easy reach for wads of tangled fur-burr. It took about fifteen minutes, but the early stages of relief were helping to calm the nearly crazed Retriever while allowing a relatively pain-free area for Sam to hold onto in support. The next strategic area to clear was the muzzle and the back of the head. With this kind of work, getting bitten is a very real danger, so the muzzle was a priority. There was much less square footage on that region, taking only about five minutes this time.

  Back and front with cleared areas now gave enough security to have Rockette up on the grooming table. The electric motor that raised the platform was fairly quiet with the ‘yap dogs’, as Sam called them. The louder whine of the mechanism gave proof to Rockette’s much larger mass.

  Danielle said, “My husband Bob says my baby here is forty-five pounds of muscle, six pounds of concrete. Owww…you have an ice pack? My shoulder’s really starting to hurt.”

  Sam looked at Elsie, who nodded her permission. He trotted out of the grooming room and retrieved a flexible gel pack from the freezer. Hot and cold packs, both had discovered, helped people getting on in years enough to be mandatory medical home-help aids.

  They were about a quarter of the way through the task when Sam took a closer glance at Danielle’s shoulder. Her tank top left enough flesh exposed for him to witness a growing discoloration of the skin. “Danielle? Is Bob home?”

  “No, he’s taken our son Kyle to see his grandparents. Why?”

  “Elsie? Look at Danielle’s shoulder.” Both women did.

  Danielle said, “I think I’m going to be sick.” The darkening of the skin was getting more intense and widespread, and swelling was in evidence.

  “Sam, go call the rescue squad. Tell them no lights or sirens. We don’t want Rockette getting spooked now more than ever. Danielle? You sit over there and keep pressure and ice on that shoulder. Elevate the arm if you can over the chair back. That’ll help with the circulation return.”

  Sam was already talking to County Dispatch circa 911. After reaffirming the address and letting them know the house animals would be in the bedroom with the door closed, he closed the cell phone. “They’ll be here in about seven minutes. Elsie? What you told Danielle to do was right on the button. Danielle? You’ll be fine, I’m sure.”

  A minute later, there was a knock on the door. “Already?” all three said almost in unison. Sam went for the door, and there was a young man in slacks and a sports shirt. “Madison Rescue, sir. Fast response car. I was in the neighborhood. May I see the patient?”

  Elsie clipped, Sam supported, Danielle sniffled and gave the occasional yip during the ‘sling and swath’ process that immobilized the damaged shoulder and kept the refreshed ice-pack in place. Danielle was well enough to skip the stretcher ride to the ambulance, which rolled in right on schedule. She stopped walking.

  “But what about Rockette?” The paramedic and the EMT looked at each other. Was there another patient in the works somewhere?”

  “Who’s Rockette?” the EMT asked.

  Elsie responded, nodding to her emergency client, “You’re looking at her. You boys handle your emergency, I’ll handle mine. Scoot, all of you, you’re spoiling my creative muse here. Danielle, Rockette will be fine here until you get back. What’s her feed schedule?”

  A few quick details on keeping some semblance of normalcy in her beloved pet’s life completed, Danielle left Rockette in the able and caring hands of Ms. Partlow and Mr. Carney.

  Clipping began again in earnest when there was another knock on the door. “Now what!?” bemoaned Sam.

  “Go on, answer it. Rockette’s calmed down a lot. We’re through the worst of it. I’ll just do the easy stuff until you get back.”

  Sam went to the door and opened it. Three neighbor couples were at the door. One had a carafe of something drinkable, one had what looked to be a pie plate covered with foil. Sam looked beyond them and saw more coming up the road. He started to chuckle. “Day of rest, my Jewish arse. Come on in, folks. Nobody died. Thanks for caring enough to come check in on us. Put that stuff on the table there. Janie? You know where the mugs are. Pete? I’m putting you in charge of door duty. Mona? I’ve seen you help with Elsie’s work before. You go to the grooming room. She needs your help. Mark and Mabel? Standard after-Romp chair arrangement duty. Barbara? Do you have Danielle’s husband’s number? Good, give him a call and let him know the story with Danielle. Let him know it’s not dire, but that they should get over to the ER, and not to worry about Rockette.”

  Forty-five minutes later, Mona and Elsie escorted a much-relieved and much less furry Retriever out to the crowd. Mark commented, “That’s the biggest Chihuahua I have ever seen.” Jigsaw and Fawn were let out of the bedroom, and spent a good three minutes giving Rockette a sniff-down.

  Two hours later, Sam and Elsie were once again without additional human company. One of the assigned dog blankets had been folded up for a doggie bed and added to the bedroom’s canine snooze project. The tired couple decided that they’d be one with the snoozing canines when the phone rang. Sam wanted to let it ring, but Elsie said it might be Danielle about picking up Rockette.

  It was. She was being released from the hospital with a diagnosis of a tear in something called a ‘labrum’. Bob, their son and she would swing by the pharmacy for some meds and be by in about half an hour to retrieve the Retriever. An hour later, since there was a snafu with the pharmacy getting the faxed prescription, the Metz family arrived for pooch pick up.

  Elsie was going to make the whole ordeal a gift to the injured customer, but Sam felt that doing freebie emergencies would lead to that being taken advantage of. Elsie charged a hundred dollars even, which the Metz’s felt was more than fair. The de-burring operation had taken over two hours, the kenneling of Rockette included not only feeding and getting rid of the two grocery bags of hair, but added on was a timely emergency shoulder-care procedure on the dog’s owner. A vet’s bill would have been far steeper, and that route would have allowed Rockette to suffer for far longer.

  Elsie waved, closed the door, turned to Sam and ordered, “Not one more thing is to happen today. We don’t go outside, we don’t answer the phone. I’m toasting a couple of bagels for dinner and then hitting the hay. You with me?”

  Sam gave the dogs one more back yard break, doled a treat into their food bowls, then turned off the phone’s ringer. He shut down both their cell phones, and taped a ‘do not disturb’ sign to their front door, just in case.

  It was six-thirty PM. Sam woke up once around four in the morning and observed that the two of them were fully dressed, minus the shoes.

  “So what?” He went back to sleep.