Early December. A sunny kitchen. Tea and cookies.
“The dog is the problem,” says Carol, wasting no time stating the case to her brother Ben. “And because I have four cats, two little kids, a busy husband, a formal Japanese garden ill-suited to a large dog, and no time to take the dog for walks; and you are single, self-employed, have a big unkempt, pardon my French, backyard, and your grown daughter visits only rarely, you should take the dog.”
Ben waits before responding, certain his sister has more to say.
“We’re so close to resolving this,” she adds with a hint of ferocity. “He needs to move.”
“Pop or the dog?” asks Ben, the quip irresistible, though he knows Carol will take him literally.
“Pop, of course,” she says, exasperated. “He spends half his time at Fall Creek Village with Mary already. He’d move tomorrow if he could feel okay about leaving the dog behind.”
“Kirk,” says Ben, stating the dog’s name, short for Kierkegaard, their father a retired philosophy professor. “The last time I talked to Pop he said he wasn’t sure he was ready to give up the house. Or Kirk.”
Carol sighs emphatically. “Our father is eighty-four. He risks life and limb going up and down the stairs to his bedroom. The front porch is a broken hip waiting to happen. The only thing keeping him in that death trap is the dog.”
“Kirk,” says Ben, nodding. “The love of Pop’s life.”
“Mary is the love of his life now,” says Carol, gritting her teeth. “He’ll have a wonderful life at Fall Creek Village, and there’s an apartment available in Mary’s building. He can be moved in by Christmas. Don’t be selfish.”
“Sis,” says Ben, smiling sadly, “this has nothing to do with selfishness. This has to do with Pop being ready to move.”
“The dog is the problem,” says Carol, folding her arms.
“Kirk,” whispers Ben. “His name is Kirk.”
A large brownish mutt, seven years old, with a barrel chest and floppy ears, Kirk is often mistaken for a brown Lab. His face is more St. Bernard, though, and he is a reflexive herder, so sheep dog is suspected in the mix. Whatever his origins, Kirk is definitely a one-person dog, and Oliver is that person.
Kirk is sniffing around in the backyard when Ben arrives in the late afternoon. The scent of Oliver’s son elicits nary a reaction from the dog. Ben is neutral to Kirk, a person who demands no attention and, as kin to Oliver, is part of the pack.
“Come in,” says Oliver, calling to Ben from the kitchen. “Door’s open.”
Ben finds his father removing a perfectly cooked chicken from the oven, the kitchen table set for two.
“I thought we’d eat in here,” says Oliver, setting the sizzling fowl atop the stove. “Just the two of us. No need to trek to the dining room. This house was made for a big family, not one old fart and a big farting dog.”
On cue, Kirk noses open the kitchen door and trots inside happily, eager for a taste of the delectable bird. Ben smiles at Kirk. Though he can visualize the big dog living with him, even likes the idea, he cannot imagine Kirk being happy without Oliver.
“I always give him a little of what I’m eating,” explains Oliver, carving a piece of chicken and dropping it in Kirk’s bowl. “He doesn’t beg, but…” Oliver pauses for a moment, then grins at Ben. “I guess I’m thinking if I ever move from here I’d like you to take him. Would you?”
“I fear he’ll pine away without you,” says Ben, gazing at Kirk gazing at Oliver. “He’s not a cat, loyal to whoever feeds him. You guys are soulmates.”
“True,” says Oliver, nodding, “but you smell like me, and you’re big and strong, and I’ll come visit.”
“I’m surprised were having this conversation, Dad,” says Ben. “I didn’t think you were ready to let this place go.”
“I wasn’t until yesterday,” says Oliver, filling their goblets with wine. “Mostly because of Kirk. But now that I know the secret to a successful transition, I’m ready.”
“Where did you learn this secret?” asks Ben, smiling quizzically.
“I have now read seven books about dogs, and three about wolves, and the secret, in a nutshell, is familiarity plus trust plus love.
Two days later, Ben goes to stay in his childhood home with Oliver and Kirk, accompanies them on their three daily walks, and takes the leash with more and more frequency until Kirk no longer bats an eye when Ben holds the reins, as it were. The three of them dine together, hang out by the fire together, and go on drives together. Ben wears Oliver’s jackets, and Oliver teaches Ben where Kirk loves to be scratched and what Kirk loves to eat.
On the fourth day of Ben’s stay, Oliver leaves Kirk alone with Ben for the entire day. And though Kirk is anxious and worried in Oliver’s absence, he eats well and walks with his usual vigor, and acts like a happy puppy when Oliver returns.
After seven days of living at Oliver’s, the three of them move to Ben’s house and resume their routines in this new place. Every day Oliver talks to Kirk, explaining things; and because Kirk is deeply intelligent, he gets the picture and begins to devote more of his attention to Ben.
Two days before Christmas, Oliver makes the move from his old house to his new apartment at Fall Creek Village. Ben leaves Kirk at home when he comes to help his father pack up the last of his things, but Kirk somehow escapes from the yard and finds his way back to Oliver’s, a full twenty blocks away.
“I wonder how he got out.” says Ben, more surprised than annoyed by Kirk’s arrival. “I thought my backyard was hermetically sealed.”
“A most clever fellow,” says Oliver, wrapping his arms around Kirk. “No fence or gate can keep him in when he has a mind to get out.”
“Then how will I keep him from running away?” asks Ben, his heart deeply moved at the sight of his old man with Kirk, two buddies nearing the end of their time together.
“Oh, he’ll stay with you,” says Oliver, kissing Kirk’s nose. “He just came to be with us one more time at the old den.”
Ten o’clock on New Year’s Eve, the night cold and clear, Ben and Kirk arrive home from an evening stroll to find Oliver kneeling at the hearth, building up the fallen fire. He is wearing a black tuxedo, which is very unlike him. Kirk licks Oliver’s cheek in greeting, then takes a good sniff of the odd new clothes.
“Mary took me to a snazzy party,” says Oliver, getting to his feet. “I haven’t worn a tux since my tenure party a thousand years ago.”
“Where is Mary?” asks Ben, giving his father a hug.
“Back at the ranch,” says Oliver, holding onto Ben a little longer than usual. “I had her drop me off. I just…missed you guys. Thought you could take me home in the morning.”
“Our pleasure,” says Ben, heading for the kitchen. “Egg nog?”
“I’d love some,” says Oliver, sighing contentedly.
Now Kirk barks his bark that means he wants some, too.
“Yes, yes,” says Ben, touching Kirk’s head. “But no rum for you.”
San Francisco native Todd Walton’s Buddha In A Teacup (2008) and Under the Table Books (2009) each won the Bay Area Independent Publishers Award for best book of the year. Todd’s audio books and songs are available from iTunes. View more of his work at www.underthetablebooks.com. You can write to him at P.O. Box 366, Mendocino, CA 95460.
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