Jennie loved to ride in the back seat with the window open. I wondered if they would require seat belts for dogs in the future, remembering with horror last fall how Jennie had fallen off the seat when I hit my brakes to avoid hitting a deer that had darted in front of me from nowhere. Luckily the deer made it and Jennie wasn’t injured although she carried a dazed expression in her soft brown eyes for a day.
Jennie was a good dog, a yellow lab with the sweetest disposition. She had been with me for four years, was spayed at one year of age, and was my trusted traveling companion. Before my break-up with Max, Jennie would sense our movement towards the door, and run to get her leash, which she would dangle from her mouth with pleading eyes. Even cruel Max couldn’t resist taking her with us in the car.
Max is only cruel since he left me; I used to think he was great. No more, Max is cruel. “Isn’t that right, Jen, Max is cruel, right?” Jen barked in acquiescence. I’m sure it was just my tone of voice-I could have said “Max is a gorilla, right?” and Jen probably would have barked her approval.
It was a gorgeous Sunday and we had struck off to Northern Massachusetts to see the leaves in their glorious raiment. We were way up now, almost into Vermont, and I knew I should head back. I was running low on gas, we hadn’t stopped for lunch and Jen surely must need to go to the bathroom, although she wasn’t whining or fidgeting the way she usually does to let me know her needs.
I had spotted a little Mobil station back about ten minutes ago and decided to turn back to get gas. The lights were just coming on at the station and I knew it must be getting to be around 6:30 pm. I never wore a watch on my days off and the clock in my Jetta stopped working a year ago. It glowed a green 10:00 which was true twice a day. I hate clocks and watches and time and schedules and deadlines and pressure…what was I doing-I was on the ride to relax and I was cranking up over time.
The attendant came over and I told him to give me $10 worth. “Where is a good, inexpensive restaurant heading back south on this road?”
“Inexpensive, mmmmm, well the Hemlocks is good for burgers and fries—no McDonalds up here” he said with pride, “just homegrown beef and homestyle cookin’.”
“That sounds good to me,” I said, aware that I was really starving and that Jennie must have to relieve herself pretty soon.
“How far is the Hemlocks?”
“About ten miles back down the highway-it’s off on your right, you can’t miss the big black carved bear as you come ’round the corner.”
Black bear, great, carved or not, I wasn’t pleased with the darkening sky and the hours I needed to get home.
Five minutes into the ride, Jennie began to whine and fidget, my warning signal that she really had to go. I pulled off to the side, left my lights on and held onto Jen’s leash. I wished that guy hadn’t said “black bear;” it was all I could think of now. Jennie took her ladylike position and I could hear her peeing into the gravel shoulder of the road. I could see the dim glow of lights in my car and began to hurry back to the car. There were woods on both sides of the two-lane highway and I heard the snapping of twigs and the rustling of underbrush. Jen heard it too and lunged towards the other side of the road. Thinking “black bear,” I dropped the leash. Dropping the leash is Jen’s signal to “go fetch.” How stupid of me, I thought. I could see her yellow fur in the fading light. Thank God she’s not a black lab, I thought, I’d never see her in this light. I went to the car shaking. ” Jen” I called, “Jen, Come.” Jen emerged from the woods with her ears perked, obviously having a great time. I opened the back door and she bounded into the back seat. Thank God, I said and locked all the doors.
I couldn’t holler at her, she was trained to fetch when I dropped the leash. Of course I usually do that at the beach or at home so she can catch a Frisbee or retrieve a ball, not in the darkening north woods of Massachusetts.
The road got brighter and the houses a little more abundant. As I rounded the corner, a spotlight shone on a six-foot black bear holding “The Hemlocks” sign. I had lost my appetite for about five minutes, but it was back now, big time.
As I opened the back door to give Jen her food (I always filled the small cooler with her food mixed with water and let her eat right out of the cooler when we did day trips,) I held her leash tightly. I noticed she had something in her mouth. What was it? How stupid of me not to notice when she got back in the car. When Jen runs, Jen retrieves: what had she retrieved in those dark woods?
“Jen, give.” No problem for her to relinquish her prize, she wanted her supper.
“Oh, great, it’s a man’s wallet.” I stood with both feet on Jen’s leash even though I knew she would stay while she ate.
Under the spotlight in the shadow of the great carved bear, I examined the wallet. It was a smooth, worn, brown leather, weirdly warm from Jen’s holding it in her mouth.
I opened it up flat-there were six soggy $100 bills in it-a St. Christopher’s medal, a wet photograph of a pretty lady with two boys-old photograph-the picture must have been taken in the early ’50’s. Not one piece of ID, no license, no credit card, SS card, nothing to say who owned this wallet.
Jen was tugging at the leash underneath my feet, pushing the near empty cooler with her mouth, as she tried to get the last nugget of food in the corner of the cooler. “Oh, Jen, you’re done.” I closed the lid on the cooler and let Jen back into the back seat. I put the wallet on the floor of the passenger side in the front and locked the doors. I’ll be right back, Jen, it’s my turn for a little supper.”
I had just shut Jen’s door when two state troopers rushed out from the restaurant, started up their cars and raced in the direction I had just come from with their lights flashing and sirens wailing. I wondered what that was all about, but was too hungry to even ask when I got inside.
There weren’t many people in the little restaurant-a small group of what looked to be hunters with bright orange vests-an older couple and three teenaged boys in bright royal blue and white football jackets (they must have all just made the team, I thought.)
The waitress brought my burger with lettuce and tomato on their home-made rolls. I was so hungry I scoffed it down in no time. The waitress came back and said they had home-baked apple pie if I would like some and fresh brewed coffee. I had smelled the fresh coffee as soon as I walked in the door. I ordered both even though I had wanted to lose ten pounds since my break up with Max and vowed I would drink only de-caf coffee. I didn’t care tonight and the pie and coffee went down quickly too.
The group of hunters was about three tables over, but I began picking up pieces of their conversation as I sipped a second cup of delicious coffee.
“I can’t come back tomorrow,” the oldest one said, “It’s a lost cause, I don’t know what to tell him.”
“Can you buy the wood stove for him while we are here?” the youngest one said. “I can chip in $75 bucks-that’s all I have.”
“No, I don’t have $600 bucks and won’t have it for a least a couple of months-besides, it’s the picture of Mom and us two boys that your grampa is upset about, too.”
Oh, my God, they were talking about the wallet.
The middle one spoke. “Look I’ve got $200 on me, Danny has $75 maybe we can find a wood stove for that-at least we won’t go home empty-handed. Dad should have never tried to do that alone anyway. Maybe he didn’t tell us the right spot where they changed the flat tire. It just doesn’t make sense, Dad doesn’t see well, but Uncle Frank should have been able to find it-maybe it’s still in the pick-up.”
“No,” Danny said, I searched the truck-he dropped it all right.”
I had heard enough to know-I approached the three men slowly-“Hi, I’m Lynn O’Meara-I couldn’t help overhearing you-are you looking for a wallet? My dog ran across the road when I let her out to go to the bathroom-she always plays fetch and she came back with a wallet with no ID-could that be your father’s?”
The three glum men immediately brightened, as bright as the shade of their orange vests. The oldest one said, “Oh, Ma’am I hope so-we drove up here to find it and gave up searching about a half hour ago. This is my son, Danny, I’m Ron and this is my brother, Max.”
Max must have caught the flush of my cheeks and wondered why-I just couldn’t believe I was standing next to a man named, “Max,” having cursed the name all the way up here. The men paid for my supper and we left the restaurant. We approached my car and Jen looked alertly to see if I was in danger-she wasn’t a good watchdog, just a good dog.
“Relax, Jen, it’s okay, you did a good thing.”
I gave the wallet to Max and he wanted my address so his Dad could write to me. I put my phone number down, too, just in case his Dad wanted to call me.
“You know, Max said, you really are going to make my Dad happy. You are a lucky woman, though, too, maybe. Just before you came in, a couple of state troopers said there was a rogue black bear reported about ten minutes north of here. Good thing you didn’t run into him when you let your dog out of your car.”
The six-foot carved bear, holding the restaurant sign spread its ominous shadow over me as I started to pull out of the gravel drive for my long trip home.