EPILOGUE

The first couple of days were touch and go for Baux. He was a hardy puppy, though, and with some medicine and home cooking, he recovered quicker than the veterinarian had thought.

At first, the Man of the house had been awfully quiet, almost stubbornly so. He showed genuine concern that Baux was sick and was glad when he rebounded, but then he became quiet and withdrawn again. It was like he’d become lost in a dark tangle of thoughts, and it was like there were many paths, but he couldn’t find the right one back. Truth is, though, they weren’t even sure if he wanted to find the right one.

They sensed he was glad they were there, but at the beginning that’s all it was – a sense. A faint sense at that.

Days turned into weeks.

He wasn’t mean or gruff or given to wide mood swings, it was just that he missed his wife, and it was she who took his thoughts and smiles the first several weeks. The brothers knew that and didn’t begrudge him that, but they were worried. Even though Coyote had told them about grief, they never expected it could run as deep or be as lasting as this. What they saw in the Man scared them in no little way because it was so unknowable.

That wasn’t the only thing that weighed on them. Although they never spoke of it, they missed their mother. And, in different ways, they missed Coyote. They felt like he would know what to do. He was the one, after all, who’d brought them here. Late at night, in the dark, they’d sometimes wonder why.

But there they were, with the Man, just the two of them, two young puppies. They didn’t know what they should or could do. But something in their heart told them to stay ready to act. So, they stayed ready.

Then little things started to happen.

Not right away, but soon after they arrived, the Man would sometimes let the brothers get on the couch with him. When they did, he’d talk to them. At first it was just a little and about nothing important, maybe just about the day’s weather. Then his mind would sometimes turn to other things, and though he was sitting right there, it was like he was miles away. They’d stay on the couch, close to him. And from time to time, and as he thought his thoughts, he’d absent-mindedly reach out and touch them. It was always a soft comforting touch. They got to where they looked forward to that.

Then, after some weeks, he let them get into the bed with him to sleep. He explained – more to himself than to the brothers – that because it was so cold outside the floors became colder, so he wanted them in the bed with him where it was warmer. They’d never felt anything as soft as a bed before.

The feel and smell of the goose down comforter … well, Baux thought that must be what heaven was made of. Throughout his young life, he’d always become jealous when he watched the geese that flew so loudly and boisterously overhead. They always seemed so carefree. And, now, he was sleeping on those crazy birds.

In his sleep, and from his dreams, the man would speak, and it’d always be to his wife. Then one night, as the man slept and dreamed, he told his wife about the two beautiful puppies from nowhere that had burst into his life. The brothers couldn’t be certain, but they thought they heard the man, in this dream, lightly laughing. The next morning, the Man said nothing, but he smiled when he looked at them. The brothers were starting to get a sense of home, of what it felt like, of what it meant.

Finally, there came a point, and it was always at night, that the Man would sit on the couch with them and tell stories, some short but some complicated with many parts and players, and some were in places that sounded mysterious and familiar all at the same time.

The brothers quickly noticed that the stories were never just about the Man. Yes, he was the narrator, but his wife was always there, in every story, front and center, taking part, making a lasting impression. She was clearly, and certainly, his equal. They saw her photos and how beautiful she was and how her red hair glowed. When the Man told his stories, he’d always smile, and it was always broadly and wonderfully, and he’d ruffle their fur, and it always caused the brothers to smile.

Other stories the Man told were about the dogs in his life, and he’d had several, including an Australian shepherd, a blue merle like their mother. But there was one dog that he talked about more than any other. And they saw the photos. It was a tall red dog, a Border collie named Ruby, a dog that had died some ten years earlier. She was scrappy and full of herself and had bright greenish-brown eyes.

The Man told the brothers that his wife had instantly picked Ruby from a litter of seven puppies because she saw in that young dog’s eyes an old soul. She knew that to some that might sound odd, but throughout her life she never doubted what she believed. The Man told the brothers that she had strong beliefs, and no one, and nothing, had ever rattled her from those beliefs.

Even though she didn’t know who the soul was that was in the red dog, she believed it’d come to help her through life. And, sure enough, when cancer came, the old soul stood diligently by her side, even though, by that point, Ruby had been dead a few years. But even with no material body the old soul refused to leave his wife’s side.

Then, finally, when she died, the Man knew that his wife’s soul would never have to wander alone because she had her own guide straight into heaven and beyond – the old soul.

The brothers could see how strongly the Man believed this, and it certainly brought him comfort. Even with that comfort, though, he was still alone. His wife was gone. The old soul was gone. His dogs were gone. And even the tall red dog was gone.

As the weeks went on, Remy got to thinking about something, and he could hear Coyote saying, “You sure like to study things.” Remy found it interesting that whenever he heard the phrase “a tall red dog” – and the Man said it a lot – it reminded him of something, but it was something he could never totally call to mind. But Remy kept tugging at it. He knew in time he’d pull it into the light. For some reason, he knew it was important.

. . . . .

Winter gave way to spring, and color rushed back into the world, fast and furious. Spring’s light pushed winter’s shadows from sight and mind. The Man was smiling more and more. The brothers had grown, and were still growing. They listened closely to him and watched his every move and were always with him, ready and willing to do whatever they could, however they could. He saw that and appreciated that.

Late one day, a particularly beautiful day, the Man threw open the back gate. They knew from his stories that there was a great expanse of undeveloped and heavily wooded land back there. They knew there was a stream running there, and that animals, of all sizes, came and went. They knew there were places for a dog to run.

The Man looked at Remy and Baux. “Go on. It’s a gorgeous day. I’ll be along in a bit.” He went back to the house.

They knew from his stories that the Man used to always do that. He’d let the dogs run free in the woods. Then he and his wife would walk back there, sometimes saying a lot, but sometimes saying nothing, and they’d walk along the trail that they’d made together through the years. And Ruby, with her eyes a-blaze, would always come barreling at them, and they’d always laugh at the nuttiness of their tall red dog. They’d find a place to sit on a rock outcropping, and there’d they stay, with dogs all around, until the sun would fade.

Remy and Baux were excited, but they weren’t sure where to run. They saw a faint trail that looked as though it hadn’t been used in a while.

“This has to be the trail,” Remy said. He thought a minute. “You know, it’s funny. This is the way Coyote brought us that night. It was dark. There was snow on the ground. It was hilly. We were all tired, including him. But he knew exactly where he was going.”

Baux gave his brother one of his many exasperated looks. “Can we go play now? The sun’s out and I see butterflies.”

They ran up the trail and found a rock outcropping. It was in the sun. Remy wondered if this is where the Man and his wife sat.

They scrambled up the tallest rock. The sun felt good. It felt warm. Color was everywhere, in the flowers and in the sky. They couldn’t remember the sky ever being so blue. They saw birds and deer. Everywhere they looked, they saw life.

They’d gone through so much and now everything seemed so perfectly in place that they sometimes wondered if they were in someone else’s life.

They played. They chased butterflies and each other. Finally, they sat and looked into the blue sky. They listened to life’s sweet sounds.

“You two are huge. I thought I was helping dogs, not horses.”

They whipped around so fast they nearly fell. “Coyote.”

The first thing they saw were his glowing, greenish-brown eyes. The second thing they saw – his smile.

Remy and Baux jumped on Coyote and pushed him to the ground; then he jumped up and pushed them to the ground. Then they ran in circles around one another.

Coyote stopped to catch his breath. “Whoa. Slow down. You have too much energy. Either that or I’m getting old. But we all know that can’t be it.”

In the last warming rays of that day’s sun, they sat and talked. They told him about the Man and the pain he’d been in. They told him all the things that had happened, and all the stories about his wife and their dogs and, especially, about the tall red dog. They said that it seemed that the Man had righted himself, but they didn’t fully understand how or why.

“Oh, I know why,” Coyote said.

At that, Remy cocked an eyebrow. He started thinking.

Coyote saw that Remy was lost in thought.

Trying to make light of things, Coyote said, “There you go studying again. If you want to ask something, just ask. No need for all that sniffing and looking.” But Coyote could tell that Remy was on to something. He saw it in the young dog’s bright eyes, in the way he was looking at him, as if looking into his soul.

Remy thought of the photos in the Man’s house, especially of his wife, but also of his dogs, but Ruby specifically. He thought about all the stories the Man had told. He thought about the red-haired woman and how she and the Man took walks, and about the red dog that ran with them and was such a part of them, and how that always seemed to be the case. He remembered what the Man had said about the red dog carrying an old soul inside her, and how that old soul, and Ruby, had helped his wife when she needed it most, even after Ruby had been dead and gone.

Then he remembered the things Coyote had said about lost loves and how certain spirits stayed connected, and how certain souls could reach through time to help the other. And he remembered a seemingly little thing, from one of the many stories Coyote told as they walked deliriously through the bitter cold. He remembered Coyote using the phrase “a tall red dog.”

Remy smiled the biggest smile he’d ever smiled.

He looked straight at Coyote. “Sometimes there’s a special, one in a million soul. It’s one that has allegiances in both this world and the next. And that soul ferries back and forth, taking care of the living and those who are no longer. And sometimes that soul does something truly unusual and totally unasked. Sometimes that soul goes to extraordinary measures to set things right because when a soul sees a friend in pain, they do whatever they can, no matter how extreme, to ease it.”

Baux looked at Remy as if he’d gone off his rocker. But then, he saw that Coyote was smiling too. He looked into Coyote’s eyes and saw something so obvious he wondered how he could have missed it. Suddenly, Baux saw the point that his brother was coming to. He winked at Remy.

Remy winked back at his baby brother. Then he continued. “I’ll never forget something you said that last night when you brought us to the house, just before you slipped away into the night. You said that you’d lived here before, and that’s a mighty odd thing for a coyote to say. Most people, as you like to constantly remind us, don’t like coyotes.”

Catching his breath, Remy went on. “So, I wonder if it was really a coyote that lived here. Maybe it was an old soul. Maybe it was an old soul that had already served its purpose but suddenly found another. Maybe that old soul saw the need to help yet another friend, someone who was fighting the headwaters of grief and was getting sucked under. Maybe that old soul thought that bringing two puppies to a man who had loved so much but had nothing left to love would be a good idea.”

He was smiling so much it nearly hurt. “But to do any of that, the old soul needed a body.”

Remy looked at Coyote, deep into his eyes, deep into his heart, deep into his many souls. “I don’t know your real name – your name from long ago – but I know who you are. You’re an old soul … and an old friend. You’re Ruby.”

END