From then on, it was Herman and Thomas, Thomas and Herman. The two were as inseparable as a baseball and a glove, a handshake and a friend, cream filling and an Oreo.
Thomas didn’t earn a whole lot as a carpenter, but he loved his work. It gave him satisfaction creating things out of wood. Besides, nothing in the world had the magical smell of real wood.
After a hard day’s work, Thomas headed his sawdust-covered VW home as fast as he dared. There was Herman waiting loyally by the window, eager for whatever Thomas threw his way—except balls. Stubborn to a fault, Herman refused to waste his time chasing anything that rolled. Hidden away in Herman’s subconscious was the bouncing basketball that nearly killed him as a puppy. Nightmares haunted Herman’s dreams, the giant ball racing toward him. But he forgot all about the dreadful dreams in the cheerful morning light.
Herman listened intently when Thomas read to him—newspapers, the backs of cereal boxes—everything. Herman’s ears perked up and those keen, dark eyes glowed with interest while the words were spinning out. Herman’s favorites were the sailing books Thomas brought home from the library: Mutiny on the Bounty, Two Years Before the Mast, Moby Dick. Herman loved those stories the best because Thomas grew excited when he read about the high seas. And Thomas rarely got excited about anything.
Thomas’ dream was as strong as ever, but it had changed slightly. Now he imagined Herman as his first mate as they sailed to exotic ports aboard Sea Wind. Since the beginning of time, humans challenged all odds with their faithful dogs at their side. Thomas and Herman would continue that tradition.
The minute Thomas stopped reading, woof, woof went the feisty critter until Thomas granted his wish. “All right, just a little more, Herman.”
When he was through reading, Thomas plopped a can of tuna onto a chipped plate and offered it to his meat-loving friend. “If we’re going to live at sea, Herman, you better develop a taste for fish.” Herman took one sniff and turned up his nose.
The dusty little VW fairly flew down the road. The wind whipping through the open window plastered Herman’s wiry fur against his snout. He stretched himself up on the very tips of his rear paws. This gave Herman the perfect vantage point. His canine senses went into over-drive. The delicious aroma of hamburgers cooking on a grill penetrated his wet black nose. I’d give a whole box of doggie treats for one of those yummy burgers he thought, drool running down his chin.
And who’s that screaming, Herman wondered? Why, those big boys are teasing that little girl just because she’s so young and helpless. I’ll fix ‘em. Herman revved up the most ferocious Schnauzer bark he could muster. Yikes, he thought. I almost lost my balance. Thomas would kill me if I fell overboard. The boys looked up and laughed, seeing it was only a funny little dog trying to sound like a mountain lion.
Thomas smiled affectionately at his friend who seemed to be enjoying the ride every bit as much as he was. What could be better than the breeze ruffling your hair with your best friend at your side?
Thomas recalled words he had read somewhere that explained exactly how he felt: “…a man’s dog stands by him in prosperity and in poverty, in health and in sickness. When all other friends desert, he remains.”
Boy, thought Thomas. That sure describes how I feel about Herman, and this definitely isn’t one of my prosperous times.
Panting and happy, Herman beamed up at Thomas. I only wish my friends at the animal shelter could be as lucky as I am.
For no apparent reason Herman shivered. What was that mumbo jumbo superstition Thomas had read to me? Oh yeah, every time you shivered, someone was walking on your grave. What nonsense, he grunted.
If Herman had an inkling of the sinister plot that was brewing at this very minute, forget the shivers. He would be paralyzed with a bone-crunching fear; the kind that turns brave dogs into jellyfish.
It was late afternoon and ominous, black clouds threatened to cut off what light remained. The air crackled with electricity and thunder rumbled nearby. A black cat nervously skittered across the street, alarmed at the strange static clinging to its fur that made it stand out like the bristles on a hairbrush.
Six steps led from ground level down to a small alcove in front of Thomas’ basement apartment. Two creepy-looking guys peered into the small window of Thomas’ front door. The pair were somewhat shielded from any curious onlookers, those who might wonder what mischief they were up to.
Weed, the leader of the two, whispered, “Hey, Viper, we hit pay dirt.”
“Better be good, Weed. You really messed up that last job.” Viper surveyed the interior. “At least that dumb-looking guy has good taste in stereo equipment. What an easy setup. We’ll be in and out in no time.”
“Yeah, all we have to do is get rid of that yappy mutt.” Weed scowled. “I don’t want so much as a peep out of anyone when we rob the place. Let’s beat it. That goofball could be back any minute with this storm building up.”