An original short story: Lost and Found

This is a story I wrote last year. I hope you enjoy it.

Lost: the best dog in the world. Goes by Otto. 

Reward offered. If found, please call 880-9292.

I jogged in place while waiting for the stoplight to change and idly wondered what the reward was as I looked at the picture of a rather elderly-looking German Shepherd. As I took a closer look, I realized I’d actually seen this dog – or one that looked just like him –  during my run. It was a few streets over. The light turned green, but I stayed rooted, trying to recall exactly where it was I’d seen the dog. Was it on Markham? No…maybe it was on Chestnut. Yes! On Chestnut, near the white brick townhouse.

Snapping a picture of the poster, I turned to retrace my steps. So I wouldn’t get the rest of my run in today…I’d make up for it tomorrow. It would feel great to reunite a concerned owner with their dog, right? Endorphins from a different source, but endorphins just the same. The doctor says endorphins are an important part of my healing process.

Once I reached the location where I remembered seeing the dog, I slowed to an amble and began peering behind fences and into yards. Nothing. Damn. I walked a little farther, craning my neck to see both sides of the street. The dog could be anywhere by now. He could’ve ventured into someone’s back yard and be blocks away at this point. Feeling defeated, I turned and decided to head for home.

Wait a minute…what was the dog’s name? I looked at my phone. Otto.

“Otto,” I called. “Otto! Here, boy!”

I began retracing my steps, calling out every few feet.

“Otto!”

I sensed, rather than saw, movement to my right. Hidden behind a hedge was a dog. A large German Shepherd. His tail wagged once, twice, as I approached.

“Hey, Otto. Your family is looking for you. Want me to take you home?”

It was only then I saw the unusual angle to Otto’s back leg. It was badly broken. He’d obviously been hit by a car and somehow managed to drag himself here. But he wasn’t going anywhere else on his own. Sitting down next to him, I began stroking his head. He laid his head on my leg and let out a big sigh and I felt him relax next to me.

Fumbling for my phone, what was the number? I made the call.

“Hi, my name is James and I found your dog… Yes, I’m with Otto. Look – he’s been hit by a car and needs medical attention and I have no way of moving him. Can you come get him?”

Turns out, the owner – Sam – lived only one street over. I gave him the address and he said he would be there in five minutes.

“Y’hear that, buddy? Help is on the way.”

One, two thumps of the tail.

 In no time, a white SUV pulled up and a man jumped out and approached us.

“Otto! Oh, thank God you found him and thank you for calling me. Now let’s see the leg…oh no, he’s not able to walk at all with that. I need to put him in the car but I hate to jostle that leg…”

“He needs a tourniquet. I was a medic and I’m an old hand with those. Let’s see… If we can find a small straight stick…” I stood and began looking around.

“Here’s one that’ll work.” I broke it to the right length and took one of my shoe laces and fashioned a tourniquet to stabilize Otto’s leg. We were then able to lift Otto and put him in the back of Sam’s car.

“I can’t thank you enough.” Reaching for his wallet, Sam pulled out a few twenties.

“Oh no…I don’t want anything.”

“Oh but it’s only right—”

“No. Really. I – would it be okay for me to call you in a day or two…just to see how Otto’s doing?”

“Absolutely. Thank you again.”

And off he went with Otto. My heart did this weird twist when the car pulled away. Man, I hope he pulls through. Through the rest of the day and days following, I found myself thinking about Otto and hoping he was all right. It felt good to be concerned about someone else for a change…even if it was a dog. Finally, I made the call.

“Sam? Hi, it’s James. I was calling to check on Otto. I hope he’s doing okay.”

“He’s doing really well. He had to have surgery on his leg, but the vet is hopeful he’ll get full use back.”

“Man, that’s great. I’m glad.”

“James…I wanted to ask you – you mentioned you were a medic. Where was that, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Army. 25^th Infantry Division. Most recently stationed in Kandahar. I – I got injured and was medically discharged a couple years back.”

“Oh wow. That’s amazing. I guess you have no idea who Otto was in his former life.”

“Former life?"

Sam laughed. “Well, not in a reincarnation sense of the word, but – well…” He took a deep breath. “Otto was a bomb-sniffing dog in Iraq.”

I listened, incredulous.

“He’s credited with saving countless lives over his ten year career. He was my brother’s war buddy. Otto came home, but–" Sam's voice faltered. "–unfortunately my brother did not. I was able to adopt Otto.”

I felt tears sting my eyes. “Man. I’m sorry about your brother. I lost a lot of friends over there too.”

“Thanks. I’m just glad you were in the right place at the right time to find Otto…to save him. Thank you.”

Hanging up, for the first time in a long time I felt a…what was it? A lightness, maybe. A lessening of the guilt over the fact that I came back while so many others didn’t. A feeling that maybe—just maybe, things were going to be all right.

Lacing up my shoes for a run I had an idea. Maybe I’d run by the local animal shelter. Maybe find my own Otto. Or Daisy. As I locked the door behind me, I found myself whistling.

Happy Valentine's Day --

Wouldn't you know it? I posted last week about the fact that snow in Memphis is very very rare, and BAM! we got snow last night. A nice little dusting of snow. And the forecast is for more snow. A LOT more snow, like five to eight inches. Curiouser and curiouser. As I sit here writing and sipping iced coffee (I know, but I could drink iced coffee in a blizzard), I can see from my dining room window the snow coming down. It's extraordinary for Memphis.  This is the view from my front door.

Today is Valentine's Day. My sweet hubby, as always, way overdid the gifts for me. He had flowers delivered on Friday morning -- beautiful pink/purple tulips, along with a "flower card" (which is what I told him I wanted when he asked). The flower cards are sold by a local florist, Holliday's Flowers, and they allow the bearer to go in once a month for a free small bouquet. They punch your card each month and it's good for one year. It's such a great idea. I love fresh flowers so much.

Then (back to Valentine's Day), Friday afternoon I got a box from Nothing Bundt Cakes with an assortment of  "bundlets" (cupcakes). THEN, this morning I get a beautiful pop up card, Home Body -- a decorating book by Joanna Gaines, a DVD collection of Rosemary & Thyme, a British detective show, and another home decor book called Home Made Lovely. An embarrassment of riches. He had asked me a couple weeks ago what I wanted for Valentine's Day and I told him a flower card would be lovely. He's such a generous soul. 

As for what I gave him? I made him a delicious meal last night -- ribeye steaks, baked potatoes, and green beans, topped off with a homemade chocolate cake. He is a true chocoholic, so that's one of his love languages. 😜 This morning I gave him a card, along with a couple packages of trail mix-type stuff, and a small leather notebook to keep at his workbench or wherever he chooses. 

I hope wherever you are that you have a lovely, peaceful Sunday. And a very Happy Valentine's Day to you.

An original short story: Freedom

I recently wrote this 1200-word story entitled Freedom. Hope you enjoy!

1862 -- near present day Richmond, Kentucky

“I’m afraid, Ben. I’m so afraid.” Tears ran down Maisie’s face and dripped off her chin. “What if we get caught? Maybe we should wait; we’re not ready.”

“Maisie, get hold of yourself. We’ve got to try. And with the baby coming, we can’t wait much longer. It’s got to be tonight.” Ben held Maisie close and kissed her forehead. “With the good Lord’s help, we can do this. We have to do this.” When she nodded, he released a heavy sigh. “You know what to do.”

Just after midnight, they met under the tree at the north property line, with only a sliver of moon to light their way. They carried a change of clothes, some salt pork, corn pone, greens, and cheese, along with $300 taken from the Master’s desk in the Big House. They knew being caught could mean their very lives, but they were determined to try.

Ben and Maisie had heard stories of an Underground Railroad Safe House on the banks of the Ohio River, more than 120 miles away -- so that’s where they headed. They walked and ran as much as they were able each night, getting as far from the plantation as they could. When daylight came, the exhausted couple hid in haylofts, barns, and even ditches. 

***

“Ben?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m not as scared anymore, Ben. I think we’re going to make it.”

“I know we are, Maisie. Our child is gonna be born Free.” They held each other until they fell into an exhausted sleep, thankful for the covering of pine boughs and straw.

***

After two weeks on the run, exhausted and starving, Ben and Maisie made it to the Safe House. Thanks to kind people who risked it all to help them in their journey to freedom, they were able to rest for a few days before heading to the next location. From that point on they had help, and though the journey was tremendous, they knew they weren’t alone. 

***

“Now that we’ve bought our “Free” papers and new clothes, I think we look as good and respectable as anyone ever did.” Maisie straightened her hat and smiled at Ben, dressed in a new suit and shoes. “I think we’re going to like Baltimore.”

***

“It’s a boy. Maisie, you’ve delivered a big, healthy boy!”

As soon as he could, Ben rushed in to kiss his wife and hold his boy. He was so proud, it felt like his buttons could pop right off his shirt. His boy -- their boy, Joshua, had been born into freedom. Ben couldn’t help the tears that filled his eyes as he looked at Maisie holding their son. 

2021 -- Inner City Baltimore, Maryland

“All right, class. Our final spelling word for this week is ‘freedom.’” Miss Hartman pointed to the board where she had written the word in big letters. “It’s important to know not just how to spell this word, but also what it means, which leads me to introduce our guest for today, Ms. Angela Webb.” A very old woman stood at the back of the class and made her way to the front. 

“Hello, children.” A few kids said, “Hello,” but most of them were still, watching Ms. Webb intently. She had a quiet, sort of whispery voice that they had to listen closely to, or else they’d miss what she was saying. 

“I’m here to tell my freedom story…the story of what my people lived through to become free. My great grandparents, Maisie and Ben, were slaves on a plantation in Kentucky owned by Mr. Bartholomew McGregor, and his wife, Louella. As a young girl, Maisie went to work in Mrs. McGregor’s house. Although it was very grand and beautiful on the outside, the inside of that house held a lot of pain.

“Louella McGregor was a hard, demanding woman. Maisie spent long hours washing and ironing the family’s clothes, scrubbing the walls, the cabinets, the floors. She stood over a hot stove cooking many meals. She polished silver and dusted all the fine items Mrs. McGregor displayed.

“While dusting one day, Maisie accidentally let slip a small porcelain figurine. Before she could catch it, it hit the floor and shattered into pieces.” There were gasps from some of the children.

“Maisie was so afraid, she was shaking. She had to go to Mrs. McGregor and tell her what she’d done. That mistake cost her dearly, and she got the worst beating of her life. For weeks afterwards, Maisie had trouble sleeping because of the wounds left by the whip. She carried those scars on her back until she died. My mother told me about them. She saw them. She touched them.”

A flash of pain crossed Ms. Webb’s face as she paused for a moment.

“Maisie was in love with another slave, named Ben. They wanted to be married, but the master refused and told Ben to stay away from Maisie. They were heartbroken. Maisie had discovered she was pregnant, so they decided they had to run away -- to try to make it to freedom.” The class sat, almost as if they were holding their breath, until Ms. Webb began speaking again. 

“They endured the most brutal of conditions during their long journey -- searing heat, violent thunderstorms, and constant fear of being caught -- but they also were the recipients of the best of human kindness and goodness. People -- both black and white -- risked their own lives to help Ben and Maisie make it to freedom.” Ms. Webb paused, looking at each child in the classroom.  

“Because of the bravery of Ben and Maisie, my grandfather Joshua was born here in Baltimore, in freedom.  His daughter Iris -- my mother -- was born here as well. And I stand here today, able to tell you this freedom story. 

“We all have a freedom story. I’m just fortunate enough to know mine. It isn’t found in any history book, but it is true and it is important. And even though it seems like the 1860s are far away from us in this classroom today, they are but a breath of air.” Ms. Webb gazed at the children fondly. 

“My great grandmother’s hands held my mother, and my mother’s hands held me. So the way I look at it is I’m just two people away from slavery in these United States. Before I go, it would be my honor to shake each of your hands, so that we all realize we’re not that far from slavery...and so that we all remember how important freedom is to every living person.”

1873 -- Baltimore, Maryland

“Children, hush up! Your father is ready to say Grace.” Maisie smiled at Ben.

“Lord, we thank you for the food that is set before us and for the hands that prepared it, but most of all, we thank you for freedom. Amen.”

As everyone tucked into their beans and cornbread, ten year old Joshua asked his father, “Daddy, why do you thank God for freedom EVERY time you pray?” Ben and Maisie’s eyes met, and she gave him a tiny nod.

“Well son, there’s a very important reason, and I suppose you’re just about old enough to know what it is…” 

No snow...but plenty of ice --

I miss snow. I grew up in northern Indiana, and there was no shortage of it. But here in Memphis, snow is as rare as hens teeth. We might see it once a year, always with little to no accumulation. What we do get, on occasion, is ice. All last night and through this morning, freezing rain has fallen. This was the view from my kitchen window. 

Ice has covered the trees, the power lines (gulp), the shrubs, and even the bird feeder. Poor wee babies!

I keep reminding Hobbes and Audrey how lucky they are to have a nice warm home. I keep reminding myself the same thing. Today, I am happy to be retired and my hubby is happy to be working from home. Neither one of us wants to brave icy streets, especially with Memphis drivers who crazy-drive even on dry pavement. 😏

  

 

Thinking warm thoughts and sipping hot coffee --

Welcome to my little corner of the world --

I'm joining the ranks of the blogging world again and excited to be doing so. I've been wanting to create a place where I can share pieces of my life -- short stories I've written, recipes I love, books I've read, fun pictures, and lots of other minutia that comprise my life these days. 

I'm retired, a wife, and "Mom" to one cat (Hobbes) and one dog (Audrey). We live in Memphis, TN. Life is quieter than usual these days, due to the Covid pandemic.

I hope you'll pull up a chair, pour a cup of coffee, and join me from time to time. When you do, I'd love it if you'll leave me a comment to let me know what you think or just to say hello.