21

The dog sits alert and entertained in the front seat of the Cutlass, as if he were Miss Daisy and Ed the Morgan Freeman driver, the dog’s pointy snout acting like a directional aid: Go this way, now that. Suddenly, the dog gets excited, standing in the front seat and staring out the passenger window as Ed drives by the cemetery gates where Alice found him. The dog’s tail wags in a broad sweep, brushing Ed’s arm. Ed doesn’t slow down, doesn’t look in the same direction as the dog, ignoring the dog’s evident desire to stop. Ed won’t stop. Not there.

First to Potter’s to hang a poster. Tim Potter, fourth generation of the general store–owning Potters, is busy stocking shelves. Back when Tim’s dad ran the place, it was filled with useful things like sewing notions and fishhooks. Ed doesn’t fish anymore, so it doesn’t matter so much that young Tim has gentrified the place and no longer carries six varieties of fishing line or bait. Now Potter’s offers specialty foods like mangoes and guava paste, herbed vinegars and extra-extra-virgin olive oils, kalamata olives in fancy jars, costing what he used to spend on a tank of gas in the old days. Bushel baskets are filled with cute replicas of nineteenth-century objects like handmade candles and tin cookie cutters, and old-fashioned and essentially inedible candies like horehound drops. Frankly, Ed thinks, Tim would be better served, in this fairly touristless town, if he provided cell phone chargers and poster board so that people like him wouldn’t have to trek to Wal-Mart. If the leaf peepers ever ventured off the Mohawk Trail this far, then maybe ciabatta bread would sell.

“Can I hang this somewhere?” Ed holds up his homemade poster for Tim to see.

With his hands busy restocking a display of Tom’s of Maine toothpaste, Tim gestures with his chin toward a small bulletin board matted with colored sheets of paper advertising a myriad of activities, yard sales, horses for lease, fund-raising events for the local elementary school and the library. “You’ll have to take something down.”

Ed studies the array before he removes a vintage sheet advertising a concert that took place last year. Commandeering the pushpin, Ed pokes it through the card stock of his sign. His poster is bigger than any of the others and shoves its shoulders across the one for the library bake sale and the one announcing a lecture on recycling coming up at the town hall. Maybe his poster is too big for the few words on it. He never did get a photo to add to the poster. Seemed like too much effort.

Ed takes down his sign and folds it so it’s smaller, then presses the pushpin, which has a broken top and is painful against his thumb. He sucks at the offended digit. Now no one will see his sign, obscured as it is by the clutter of other, more colorful messages. Ed takes his sign down again, scans the board for a better spot, and finally pins his found poster to the very edge, where it sticks out like a dull afterthought. He should have used colored markers.

Ed picks up a package of beef jerky. He doesn’t really want it, and will have to hide the evidence from Alice, but he thinks he really should buy something at Potter’s, given that he’s using the message board. Not that Tim looks like he’s concerned, but it’s the right thing to do and it’s right there, close at hand, and, face it, it’s a guilty pleasure.

As Ed gets back in the Cutlass, the dog is instantly alert and curious about the dried meat. “Oh, you want some, eh?” Ed shoves a piece in his mouth, relishing the salty taste. “It can’t be good for you. It’s not good for me.”

The dog sits in the passenger seat, ears forward, eyes fixed on Ed’s hand as it holds the greasy plastic sleeve, his little pink tongue licking at his lips in anticipation.

“How bad you want this?”

The dog is eloquent in his request. He gracefully sits up, dainty forepaws dangling in the air, his back neat against the seat, as if to say, How much more do I have to do to get you to give me a piece of that?

“Okay. Guess you earned this.” Ed breaks a piece off and holds it out to the dog. The dog takes the offering with a delicate gesture, no snapping up a treat for him.

“Now say thank you.”

And to Ed’s complete surprise, the dog does. A quick sharp bark and one paw held out to be shaken.

“You’re not making this any easier. But if you’ve got so many tricks, there must be somebody out there who really misses you. It wouldn’t be right not to try.” Driving away from Potter’s, Ed tries to remember where else he wants to hang a poster. There are two left in the backseat. But it’s getting late, and he still wants to get the grass cut, hopefully the last mow of the season. Plus, there’s all that hedge trimming he’s been putting off. How bad would it be to put off hanging another poster until tomorrow?

The dog is back to sitting like Miss Daisy, eyes fixed on their direction, except that every few minutes, he tilts his head to look at Ed, eyes full of hope that another piece of jerky will appear. When none is forthcoming, he settles down.

“You want to head home?” When Ed says the word home, the dog cocks his head. “Guess that means yes.”

Ed drives past the cemetery gates where they had first seen the dog. As he does every time they go by, the dog begins to whine. And every time he drives past it, Ed does not stop. He won’t.

*   *   *

Alice and Ed sit at the little kitchen table, their plates pushed aside, waiting for the tea water to boil. Alice keeps her finger in the book she’s reading while she waits. Ed stares off into space.

Squeak! The dog comes bounding into the kitchen, the soft orange hydrant clutched between his jaws, and he’s making it sound like it’s talking. Squeak, squeakee, squawk.

Ed makes a grab for the toy and the dog dashes madly around the room, his tail in the air, his eyes glinting with enjoyment. He drops the toy in front of Ed and stands with front legs spread wide in anticipation of the chase. Ed pitches the toy through the archway and into the living room. In a bound, the dog retrieves the toy and pushes it into Alice’s hand. She joins in the game, and in a moment, all three are playing a game of the dog’s invention.