Cormac_ The Tale Of A Dog Gone Missing Part 10

"I'll be there," I said. "Can I ask what this is about, Tiffany?"

"I'd rather just talk to you in the morning, if you don't mind."

"I'll see you tomorrow morning," I said.

I ended the call and put the phone in my pocket. "What in G.o.d's name now?" I asked aloud. Cormac had his eye on me, as though he knew all that business was about him. "We'll just have to wait and see, won't we?"

I got my phone out again and called Emily at the university to tell her I'd found Cormac. She wanted the whole story, and by the time I'd brought it to the point where he sat beside me in the Jeep, southbound from Birmingham, we were almost home. I also phoned Todd Coverdale, but he was in court, so I left a message with his receptionist.

I ruffled Cormac's ears and rubbed his neck. When my fingers touched the collar, I took note of it for the first time. It was red, and all of a sudden it looked completely out of place, visible remains of his handling and care and keeping by others. "Look, Mr. Mick, I have to tell you you've got a new collar waiting at home," I said, as I unsnapped the red collar and dropped it on the floor of the Jeep. "It's the kind that buzzes you, I'm afraid, and the biggest buzz they sell."

He seemed to listen carefully to all that I told him about how his borders were now more secure than ever. He didn't take his eyes off me, at least. I told him I was sorry, but I knew there would be at least one correction coming his way.

It was the middle of the afternoon when we drove up to our little welcome home party. Diana and John Luke and Dylan were standing in the driveway with Lou and Pierre and Drew. I thought Cormac was going to jump through the open window of the Jeep before Diana got the door open. He bounded out onto the concrete and became such a twisting, turning, moaning blur of red fur that it was hard to distinguish his head from his tail.

The boys sat on the driveway and Cormac knocked them both over trying to crawl into their laps. We were all laughing. All the guys traded high fives with me. Diana gave me a big hug. When Cormac finally took his leave to answer nature's call, I told the story of hiding out inside the restaurant until I knew it was Cormac who'd hopped out of the van.

"It's him, Dad!" Dylan said.

"It's our d.o.g.g.i.ns," John Luke added.

"He sure is," I said. You could not have crow-barred the grin off my face. I saw in my head the missing dog flyer Diana and the boys had made on the computer with the help of our neighbor, Janet, and her Golden, Bailey. Above three pictures of Cormac, they had written MISSING; beneath the photos they'd put REWARD!! CORMAC THE WONDER PUPPY.

I'd not ever told any of them about Rex the Wonder Dog.

But someday I would.

Right now the wonder was named Cormac. With a stick in his mouth, he told me just how good it is when some circles are redrawn unbroken. And the reward was being richly paid out to us all.

TWENTY-EIGHT.

IT WAS THAT very same day when it happened. Cormac rocked back and forth on his haunches, building his courage to charge the fence line with Dylan and me watching. We sat in chairs on the front porch talking. "Would you look at that?" I said. "Cormac's going to try to cross!"

Before either of us could move, Cormac made a dash forward. The shock hit him hard and it surprised him that it didn't work as it had in the past. He yelped and squealed and barked and ran to our feet, still whining. Then Dylan got angry with me, and asked why didn't I just put up a real fence.

"I'm afraid he'd dig out, son. I don't want to lose him again. Besides," I said to Dylan, "I've got an idea he won't try it again."

John Luke had come around the corner of the house to see what the fuss was about. He patted Cormac on the head and sat down with him on the gra.s.s. He, too, took it up with Dylan. "It doesn't hurt that much. It mostly scares him," John Luke said as though he knew this for certain. Dylan challenged John Luke to shock himself with it.

"You're a scaredy cat," Dylan teased.

"Should I, Dad?"

"I don't think that's a good idea, John Luke," I said. But when Dylan taunted him, John Luke insisted. So I told them I'd slapped an electric fence when I was a boy, just to prove to my cousins I could do it. "My grandfather watched from the back porch," I told them. "I walked past three or four cows in the pasture straight to the electric fence. Just walked right up and with my open palm I patted the wire."

"What happened?" the boys asked in unison. I took off my hat and rubbed the bald spot on top of my head, remembering how my grandfather laughed about it for days. "I squealed like a little girl," I said. "It knocked all the hair off the top of my head, and now I have to wear a hat on cold days to keep my head warm." Naturally, they both wanted to know if Cormac was going to have a bald ring around his neck, and I told them that it was a consequence only for humans.

"The main thing is, I never touched the electric fence again. And I don't think Cormac will try to cross his again either."

John Luke decided not to risk going bald then, though on another day, he'd come in with a pleased look on his face and claimed to have taken a zap from the collar. Dylan confirmed that he had, his eyes big with awe and respect. Dylan wanted to know how quickly his brother's hair would start to fall out. I confessed to my tall tale, but told them to do no further testing with the collar, and that was, indeed, the end of their experimenting.

Also, in all the days from then until now, Cormac has refused to experiment and continues to demonstrate his superior intelligence by keeping well away from the edge of our yard.

TWENTY-NINE.

"I'VE BEEN WANTING to call you, sir. But I was nervous. I've got your dog's collar. I wasn't trying to steal it," the young lady said, her words tumbling as if any hesitation would suspend her voice. Tiffany Hale handed me the collar as though she were handing off a snake. Cormac practically stood on his hind legs to sniff it. I gave it to him. He took it and put it down on the floor. He stood over the collar studying it.

"It was just there in the office and your dog was gone and I heard them say it cost two hundred dollars and I thought maybe I could get some money for it and-"

"Wait. Hold on, Tiffany," I tried to settle my thoughts. "So, did it have an ID tag on it?"

"No, sir. But I found it out in the parking lot. That's how I got your number."

"The ID tag was in the parking lot?"

"Yes, sir. That woman who brought him there to the pound, I saw her kind of flick something, but I didn't think anything of it, like maybe it was a cigarette or something."

I said excuse me to Tiffany. "I need to sit down," I said, and walked past the bookstore counter to an overstuffed and ugly chair near the historical novels section. I was glad Pierre had offered to step outside for this meeting. He said he'd walk to the bank and to the post office. I sat down. Cormac followed and lay down at my feet. I listened closely to what the young woman said.

"Then," Tiffany continued, "when that big man came down here asking about your dog and the collar, I got scared about having it. Also, when he left was when I went looking and found the tag."

"Tiffany. Listen, if you were just then seeing the tag, how did people know Cormac's name?" I didn't want to get into the Cognac misnomer at this moment.

"Well, I head that woman say this one will answer to, ah...something. What did you say?"

"Cormac." Cormac raised his head.

"Or something like that," Tiffany said.

"Cognac?" I asked, saying it clearly. Cormac sat up. So, this new name had served as a familiar word to him on his adventure.

"Maybe that," she said. "I really don't remember exactly. But something like one of those names, I think."

"Was she handing off the dog to Tara when she called its name?"

"No. Miss Mitch.e.l.l was at lunch. George took him from the lady."

"Who is George?"

"He's just this guy who works down here sometimes. Not full time. But he's been here longer than Miss Mitch.e.l.l. At least that's what George says."

"Back to the woman. Have you seen her before at the shelter, bringing other dogs?" An unpleasant image of the woman in the red truck coalesced from the smoke swirling in my head: maybe she had appointed herself some kind of civilian dogcatcher.

"No, sir," Tiffany said. "I've never seen her before. But, I've only been working there about six months. I could ask George."

"If you would, I'd appreciate it. And, too, if she shows up again, would you write down her tag number and call me?"

Tiffany said she would do that, and asked if she was in trouble about the collar. "Will you tell Miss Mitch.e.l.l?"

"No," I said. "I think she'd give you some trouble if I did." I told her I respected her for having the courage to bring the collar to the bookstore. "That's a mighty big deal, Tiffany. And enough. I don't think anything more needs to be said about it. I really appreciate that you came here in person to give me back the collar."

The girl was relieved. She looked like she thought she should shake my hand, or something. "I'm really sorry," she said. Only now did she acknowledge Cormac, now that her part in the little drama had completed its arc. She knelt down and called him. "C'mere, boy," she said. Cormac went to her and nuzzled her hand, begging for more petting.

"Please don't think about it any more," I said. "Under the circ.u.mstances, all is well, as they say, that ends well."

"Yep," said Tiffany, "I guess he's satisfied with the way it turned out." She tugged on his ear and he rolled his eyes in pleasure.

"I think he is pleased, yes," I said. The girl headed for the door. I followed, with Cormac right behind me. "You sit and stay," I said. I didn't have his leash, and I didn't want him loose on the sidewalk. We stepped outside and I pulled the door closed behind me. I said goodbye to Tiffany and thanked her again. She turned and started up the street. I looked at Cormac, who stuck his nose to the windowpane of the French door. His breath blew little fog images on the gla.s.s, and I drifted into a Rorschach thing.

Suddenly, OhmiG.o.d! ricocheted down the sidewalk. The voice was high-pitched and it startled me from my brown study. I jerked around and Tiffany Hale pointed toward a red truck pa.s.sing on the street. "That's her," she yelled.

I looked into the cab of the truck as it drew even with me where I stood on the sidewalk. It was Ruth Baxter! The truck was a seventies' Nissan in pristine condition, shining like a new one. Mrs. Baxter leaned too far forward, both hands gripping the steering wheel. I called her name loudly, but her window was up and she kept going. I wanted to give chase, but Cormac and I had walked to the store that morning. Pierre was still out. I stood there, transfixed by the knowledge that it was Ruth Baxter who had taken Cormac to the pound, that she had removed his tag, that she had lied to me straight in the face. All that about going inside to phone me.

And as it turned out, when I stood at her front door within the hour, her story was simply she did not like my dog. Cormac had been to her house not twice, but half a dozen times.

"I'll tell you young man," she said, "all these dogs running loose. They are just a nuisance. People like you ought to take better precautions to keep the creatures in your own yard." Ruth Baxter actually shook her finger in my face.

"Why didn't you just phone me?" I asked.

"Why don't you have a fence?" she asked.

"I do," I said. "It's an electronic fence. And-"

"Well, it doesn't work. I'm trying to check my mail and here he comes. I holler and he follows closer. So I go to the shed and crank up Ned's truck, which hasn't been run since he died, and I called your dog in the back of it and I took him to the pound."

"Did you know they might've killed him?"

"Did you know a car would've hit him sooner or later? What kind of a way to go is that? At least it's humane how they do it down there."

"And you took off his ID tag?"

"I twisted it right off his collar."

"Mrs. Baxter, I cannot-"

"If you are going to have a dog, Mr. Brewer, you are the one who is supposed to tend to that dog. Not me. As far as I know, you don't even have to go off to a regular job every day. You should have plenty of time to keep your dog at home. If he comes down here again, I'll haul him off again. Now, I'll ask you to leave me alone."

THIRTY.

I WAS SHAKY in the knees when I stepped off Ruth Baxter's porch. Cormac sat waiting for me in the Jeep. It's odd to me how he detects my mood and reflects it back to me. He could not have looked a sadder pooch. He would not take his eyes off me.

I looked back toward Ruth Baxter's house and saw the curtain pulled back in the front room, watched it fall back into place. I started the engine and drove in the direction of my house, slowing at the driveway-which brought Cormac up on the seat, standing at the ready to jump out and take over his ranch security post. It was just before noon. I thought about calling Diana's office to ask her to join me for lunch, but instead drove past the house, heading for the bay-front park near the munic.i.p.al pier.

Coming down the hill, the big American flag that flew over the fountain at the center of the rose garden fluttered in a freshening southern breeze. A few cars were parked randomly around the cul-de-sac encircling the fountain. Several people strolled the big pier's quarter-mile extension over the waters of Mobile Bay. I turned right and followed the road into the park area, where a big sign reminded: NO DOGS ON THE BEACH and DOGS IN THE PARK MUST BE ON A LEASH.

"Ah, you dogs," I said to Cormac and sighed deeply. "You're just a lot of trouble. Somebody's got to watch you all the time." I had the windows down on the Jeep, and Cormac nosed the wind, not listening to a word I said. A flock of Canada geese waddled across the road in front of us and I stopped to let them pa.s.s. Cormac began freaking out, whining and yelping to get at the big birds. They paid him no attention, heading for the pond in the middle of the park.

"Now see," I said to the Mickins, "if I didn't mind your doings, you'd be raising goose feathers all over the place. And some mean old woman would come and tempt you into her red truck and you'd be gone again." Cormac tried hard to keep his tongue in his mouth. He snapped his muzzle closed, but his eyes were wild for the geese, and his tongue fell out, and then he panted and looked at me as if to say, "Why not? They're just stupid birds."

"Oh Cormac, if you weren't so good looking, so ever-loving cute, I'd trade you for a kayak and paddle aimlessly in the moonlight."

He didn't believe me.

He needed somebody to take care of him.

He knew I was the one.

And that's why he came home.

EPILOGUE

I WATCHED HIM work the room. Being the only dog at a family Christmas gathering gave Cormac a leg up, so to speak, on the territory. In his affable way, he could claim every spot, curl up beside every chair, stretch out on every rug, take all the handed-down turkey sc.r.a.ps, and, more importantly, steal every heart for himself. It was, for the d.o.g.g.i.ns, a gold mine. His dark eyebrows went up and down, flagging his delight.I had married a good Catholic girl, and Diana's fruitful family had multiplied and there were about sixty people now on hand at the Brewer house to celebrate the season. But the only one of G.o.d's four-legged creatures in sight was that big, reddish-brown handsome hunk of a dog. I could see that Cormac would rule this yuletide afternoon, the same way he had taken over our house since his soldier's homecoming. He slept on the bed every night with John Luke. He curled up on the floor with Dylan to watch ESPN.He still got yelled at for stretching out right in front of the stove in the kitchen during mealtime, and he was not awarded sofa privileges, at least not often. I watched him move happily from hand to ear-rubbing hand, pat to pat. Somewhere on the floor, Cormac found a toy football and carried it in his mouth, making it easy for him to articulate his approval of these two-leggeds. Cormac smiled and yawned, and I thought he offered all of us a lesson in how to answer the season's hustle-and-bustle: easy does it.Cormac's way was infectious, and I kicked back on the sofa. I was content to let the room buzz all around, without catching much of the buzz myself. And the more I relaxed, the more I fantasized about the hammock strung tight on my back deck. Christmas in coastal Dixie doesn't have very many chestnut roasting days, and the hearth and mantel usually stay cool, lit only by candles, if hopefully festooned with stockings. Cormac ambled over to where I sat and presented his head for stroking.Then, from the overstuffed chair to my right, Tim, boyfriend of cousin Sarah, asked, "So, Sonny, what's the life expectancy of a Golden?"There it was.I did not answer right away because there in that benign query I was confronted with the thought of the end of days for my friend Cormac. Truly, I had never given it more than a pa.s.sing nod, thinking Cormac would certainly live into his dog eighties or, like myself in my own wishful thinking, into his nineties. That would be, what, twelve or thirteen years?"Oh I don't know, maybe fourteen years.""I don't think so," was all Tim said, and crossed his leg. He pulled up his sock and fidgeted with the hem of his jeans. I sat for a few minutes, caught between watching Cormac wander through the people lazing around in the family room and examining this bone that had been dug up, its exposed nub nagging me with melancholic curiosity: what is the life expectancy of Cormac, the Golden Retriever?Whatever further excavation I might have undertaken was delayed as I watched Cormac, like a playful child, walk straight over and plop down in the lap of Joy, mother of baby Maddie. Joy sat cross-legged on the floor, and the crook of her legs must have put Cormac in the mind of Christmases past when his was a puppy's behind and a good fit for such an inviting Indian pose. It was a comical moment, and Joy's new-mother heart provoked her to do what came naturally: wrap the big lug in her arms. I laughed aloud."Toss my digital camera," I called to Diana, standing near the dining room table.She did just that and my new camera came winging over the heads of cousins Lanny and Graham. I made a good catch, pressed the power b.u.t.ton, aimed and snapped a photo of the scene. I'd use the photo as my screensaver image. Cormac left Jay's lap and went to the kitchen to make sure the floor was clear of ham and turkey morsels. I closed the lens cover and slipped from the sofa and went to my study. I spun my black polycarbonate chair around and sat down in front of the computer.I quickly found a webpage with information about Golden Retrievers. I scanned the topical index until I found life expectancy. There was a paragraph of copy that I did not read, because my eye immediately found the phrase, "...about 10-12 years."The whole screen immediately blurred in front of my eyes.Cormac in the next room was already six. At the inside, I'd be losing my Mickins before my fifth-grade Dylan entered his soph.o.m.ore year of high school, and at the outside before Dylan graduated. It did not help matters that one of the two brother Goldens at the top of the webpage looked a lot like Cormac.And it all really went down hill when Cormac walked into my office. I saw, for the very first time, the whitening of the fur around his muzzle close to his lips. For me, that little thin line of gray there might as well have been a writ from the hand of the Almighty, telling me to bring my dog and a knife and come to the mountain."Come here, buddy."Cormac sat down near my chair, put his muzzle on my thigh and rolled his eyes upward. I thought about a friend who'd gone to a tattoo parlor in New York and had his dog's name, Sadie, written on his thigh just where she'd rested her chin. It had cost him forty dollars. I had forty dollars on me at the moment. But it was Sunday and this was Fairhope. Another time, maybe.I got out of my chair and sat on the floor beside the d.o.g.g.i.ns. Cormac lay down and turned over on his back and looked at me, rolling his eyes to see better from that position. The whites of his eyes were exposed and it made him look kind of goofy, like he was clowning for a silly picture."Mick, d.a.m.n ye, you're not allowed to die!" His tail thumped the floor, and he seemed to grin at my foolishness. "You're no help," I told him. I got up and went to the hammock on the deck, Cormac trailing me. I took a pillow from John Luke's bedroom, where Cormac sleeps on the bed with him every night now, and a thin lap blanket. At night in the family room, when John Luke is ready for bed, I say to Cormac, "Go with John Luke." Cormac gets up and heads to my son's bedroom, sometimes leading the way. I say to Cormac, "Go find Dylan." Cormac will go find Dylan, and if in his bedroom, then jump onto my boy's bed.I rolled into the hammock and waited for Cormac to bring his face near. I didn't have to wait for long. "It's not fair, is it, Mick?" Cormac wasn't buying into my funk, seemed more than content to live this one day that was his for the living. He heard a door open, and dashed off to inspect.I fluffed my pillow and closed my eyes. I just lay there and studied the rope holding me up. I thought about people loving dogs and dogs loving people, which, proved-to me, at least-there was more than science in the universal scheme of things. If dogs just scratched, and people just went to work, maybe I'd doubt G.o.d. But with love floating around, senseless love abounding, then I don't doubt divine Providence.The next day I met Drew for lunch. In the jolly ambience of the noisy cafe, just a week short of Christmas, around hot and spicy spoonfuls of crawfish bisque, I told Drew I'd just learned Cormac's life expectancy was shorter than I had thought."It's like learning Santa Claus is a fake," I said. "The world looks different after you get that little piece of news.""Didn't you tell me Cormac lost his gonads in his big adventure up to Connecticut?" Drew asked."I did.""If you knew how a male Golden's libido runs him down," Drew said, "you'd know Cormac's got the actuaries on his side for a longer life. Since he came back only mostly, missing key baggage," he said, with a locker room wink, "he's also less likely to get smacked by a car while he's chasing girls.""You're rationalizing this thing, Drew.""No, I've got this cousin, Smokey Davis, whose dog once left for a week on a romantic romp. The dog got so lost in l.u.s.t and emaciated he didn't make it all the way back. Smokey found him in the ditch a quarter mile down the road with his tongue out, his coat matted and muddy, nearly dead."Drew reminded me that Cormac, minus his "wobble sack" stood a better chance of being spared certain cancers and other ailments.I looked at Drew. "I told my mother I'd present her with a scion of Cormac if anything ever happened to Puggy Bates, her Boston Terrier. Puggy Bates died of liver cancer a month ago, and now I can't make good on my promise.""You're kind of whining there, pal," Drew said. "You got him back and that's a miracle. You've been put on notice. I got a dollar that says you and Cormac won't miss much with each other. However much time either of you has.""I might even stop yelling at Cormac," I said, "when he shreds the boys' socks. Or, look the other way when he digs a big hole in the yard." I leaned back in my chair."I doubt that," Drew said. "Zebbie started chasing my goats again, and he got a good cussing. But I swear he looks like he's laughing when I get mad. And he's got bigger smiles than I've got expletives." Drew drained the rest of his gla.s.s of tea."You know," I said, "when I was in San Francisco, and got the call from you that Cormac was missing, it occurred to me that while I sashayed around being the writer guy I always wanted to be, I was also busy losing something I love." I told Drew I was one of the lucky ones, getting against big odds another shot to take better care of Cormac. I told Drew about my German Shepherd, Rex, and how he had become paralyzed with hip dysplasia coincidental to the weekend I was away from home. "My father had to put him down in the way country people put down dogs forty-five years ago. It took me a long time to get over being absent when my dog needed me most.""Well that's bullpucky. Rex is one dog, Cormac is another," Drew said. "You found Cormac because he's important to you. And losing Rex that way does not mean you didn't love the dog. If Zebbie ever flies the coop, I mean seriously gone like Cormac, I can't swear on my mother's head I'd hunt him down the way you did Cormac." Drew added that, compared to what could have happened, this was sort of a fairy-tale ending."I was thinking of something a little different," I said, after a moment."How so?" Drew asked."Do you remember the myth of Parcival and the search for the Holy Grail?" I asked Drew."No, but I bet you're about to refresh my memory," Drew said."Well," I said, "at King Arthur's Round Table, the Siege Perilous was a chair strictly reserved for only the n.o.blest, most deserving knight. To sit there short of full qualifications meant instant death." I took a sip of tea."I remember some of this," Drew said."So Parcival sat there, and was obviously the Man for the Chair. He'd just found the Holy Grail. Then, into the hall comes an old hag on a donkey, interrupting the party. She told Parcival while he was out grandstanding his mother died. 'And you didn't even attend her funeral,' she said."Drew said. "Now I bet you're going to tell me the moral of the story.""Maybe I'm reaching here," I said, "but all this with Cormac helps me know my life is not just this writing thing. Writing is certainly a privilege and a blessing, but that's only part of it."Drew pushed his plate away. "No kidding," he said. "Jumping ahead, if you're going to relate the Parcival story to the Cormac story, well, even a carpenter can see the mother in the myth is a symbol for love. So, the knight gave up love for a good seat at the party.""Right," I said. "And next to a mother's love, I'd hold up a dog's love. A dog left tied to a parking meter has nothing but smiles for the knuckle-dragging cretin who tied him up.""That's the way of dogs," Drew said. "It's also the way of us men to slay the beasts.""Right," I agreed. "And while we're out there knifing down dragons, it's a challenge to keep our list in its right order, keep the love stuff at the top."Drew nodded. "We've also got to milk every moment of all it's got, like it's the last one you'll ever get," he said. "Like this," and for emphasis he tapped the table with his index finger, "this is truly the best day yet. How can it be anything else since it's the only one you've got?""Maybe if we can keep all that in mind, we'll still get good seats at the ball. And n.o.body, and nothing, will be missing.""Not a soul," Drew said, and winked. "Not a doggone thing."

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

FIRST, thank you David Poindexter for telling me to stop everything I was doing and write the story of Cormac. If your name is among these, then I am deeply indebted to you for the help you gave me with this book: Owen Bailey, Rick Bragg, Diana Brewer, Frank Turner Hollon, Amy Johnson, Skip Jones, Martin Lanaux, Amy Rennert, Shari Smith, Jay Wiley, and J. Wes Yoder. Finally, my grat.i.tude to the incredible people in the MacAdam/Cage offices: Julie Burton, Melissa Little, Melanie Mitch.e.l.l, Dorothy Carico Smith, and Avril Sande. And to Kate Nitze, my editor, and Tom Franklin, my friend, for saving me from myself on every page.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR.