I was daydreaming about riding my horse Niña across the fields behind my house when the putt-putt of Jack’s engine brought me back to reality. The fishing skiff rounded the curve of the river, passing the stand of palmettos and Southern pines at the far end of the small park.
Jack stood behind the wheel, and Ellie slumped on the small bench in front of him.
He beached the skiff on the gravel boat ramp and jumped out, his wet bare feet flashing in the mid-morning sun. Then he scooped Ellie up in his arms and carried her to my car.
Once the dogs were situated in the backseat and the wheelchair was in my trunk, Ellie said, “Bruce wants me to go to the post office to pick up a package while we’re in town.”
Ms. Snark popped out before I could stop her. “Hope it’s not any bigger than a matchbook.” My car’s capacity was pretty much maxed out.
She ducked her head. “He said it was important, and he had to go to Inverness today and didn’t have time to stop.” Her voice was apologetic.
“Hey, it’s not a problem. I was joking.”
After a couple of minutes, I broke the semi-awkward silence. “So, where’s the big boat?”
“Huh?”
“If Bruce took it to come ashore to go to Inverness, why wasn’t it at the park?”
“Oh, his lawyer probably met him at the other park, farther up the coast a bit. It has a better pier, for tying up the boat.”
Wonder if his lawyer is a leggy blonde, Ms. Snark commented inside my head.
The town was only about a mile up the road. I parallel parked the car on the main drag, which was basically the only drag. “Have you decided what you want to say when people ask why you have a service dog? Keep in mind that they’re not supposed to ask what your diagnosis is, but they can ask what the dog does to help you.”
“Do you think it would be horrible if I pretended I have her because of my physical disability?”
“Wouldn’t bother me, but she isn’t trained to do most of the things a service dog would normally do for someone in a wheelchair. The best I’ll be able to accomplish is completing her training to brace, if you fall and need her help to get up.” I’d been working with Nugget a couple of times a day on that command. She was getting the hang of it and was now holding still even when I put a good bit of my weight on her.
“You can honestly tell people about that,” I said, “and that she turns the lights on and off for you. That should satisfy folks.”
She nodded, and I got out to pull the wheelchair from the trunk.
When everyone was strapped into wheelchairs or service vests, respectively, we started down the sidewalk toward the post office.
A matronly woman in a tailored purple dress was coming our way.
“How are you doing, Ellie?” She stopped, blocking half the pavement and leaving us no choice but to stop as well. Both dogs immediately turned and sat, going into the cover position.
“A little better, Mrs. Warren. I have Nugget here now. She’s helping a lot.”
“A service dog. How wonderful. And she’s such a pretty thing.” The woman held out her hand for the dog to sniff. Appropriate etiquette for meeting a strange dog, but not for dealing with a service dog.
She took a step forward and leaned toward Nugget, trying to get the dog’s attention.
I moved around the wheelchair and between her and the dog. “Um, service dogs shouldn’t be treated like pets. When they’re on duty, they shouldn’t be petted.”
I thought I was being fairly diplomatic, especially since Do Not Pet was stenciled length-wise across the top of Nugget’s red vest. In big black letters, no less.
But Mrs. Warren gave me a sour look. “And who are you?”
“Marcia is Nugget’s trainer,” Ellie said, her cheerful tone sounding forced to my ears. “She’s working with me, showing me the ropes of how to utilize a service dog.”
“Mar-see-a. Wherever did you get a name like that?”
“From my mother,” Ms. Snark said. I didn’t even try all that hard to stop her. This woman was beginning to pluck my last nerve. And no, that isn’t a motherism. That one I’d picked up from my octogenarian friend and neighbor, Edna Mayfair.
The woman stepped back as if I’d slapped her. “Well, I never–”
“Sorry, Mrs. Warren,” Ellie said. “I know it might sound harsh, but a service dog…” She trailed off, apparently unsure how to end the sentence.
“Needs to stay on task,” I said.
At that moment, Buddy’s ears and tail twitched.
A second later, so did Nugget’s, but Ellie was focused on the woman.
Mrs. Warren pursed her lips. “But she’s not doing anything at the moment.”
“Actually, she is,” I said.
Both dogs thumped their tails and twitched their ears in unison, just as a man nudged around me on the sidewalk.
Ellie jumped a good inch in her wheelchair when he moved past her.
I suppressed the urge to snap at Mrs. Warren and plastered on what I hoped was a pleasant expression. “Nugget is watching for anyone approaching from behind, like that guy. When Ellie gets into the habit of noticing the dog’s signals, she won’t be surprised and startled, like she just was.”
“Oh,” the woman said. Whether truly mollified or she’d finally remembered her manners, she turned to Ellie. “Well, you take care, my dear.” Ignoring me, she walked around us and went on down the sidewalk.
“I’m sorry, Marcia. Mrs. Warren can be a bit abrasive. I hope she didn’t upset you.”
I crouched down to Ellie’s eye level. “It takes more than one old biddy to upset me, but you do need to learn to be, um, somewhat more assertive about stopping people who want to pet Nugget.”
She ducked her head and shrank into herself. “I know. I’ll try harder.”
“I’m not scolding you, Ellie. I know it’s hard. But it’s important.”
She nodded, her head still down, not making eye contact.
We made it to the post office without further issues. It was the smallest one I’d ever seen, no more than twenty feet square. Its front door was propped open, probably to catch the pleasant breeze blowing off the Gulf.
You might be a redneck, Ms. Snark quipped internally, if your post office is smaller than a garden shed.
I stifled a snort.
“Hey, you cain’t bring them dogs in here.” A woman’s voice, with a creaky Florida accent.
I stopped the wheelchair in the doorway. Unfortunately, we were blocking a customer who was trying to leave, a youngish woman in a faded tee shirt with two preschoolers clinging to her jean-clad legs and a baby balanced on her hip. She clutched some envelopes in her other hand.
I nudged the chair on over the threshold to get out of her way, Nugget beside my knee and Buddy trailing behind.
“I said, you cain’t bring them dogs in here.” The speaker was a tall, thin woman with leathery skin and frizzy hair too uniformly dark to not be dyed. She wore a blue postal service uniform and stood behind a tiny counter.
I was waiting for Ellie to speak up.
She didn’t.
The woman grunted and put her hands on her hips. “Ellie Burke, I know yer not deaf.”
I looked down at Ellie. Her shoulders were curled in as if she were trying to make herself as small as possible.
“They’re service dogs,” I said from behind her, my voice slightly sharp.
Ellie flinched.
I pushed her the half dozen feet to the counter.
The postal worker’s face morphed to confused, than neutral, then vaguely apologetic. “Sorry, the light was in my eyes. I didn’t see their vests.”
“Not a problem,” I said. “One of the reasons we’re in town is so folks can get used to seeing Ellie with her new partner, Nugget.”
Still Ellie was silent.
Oh, for crying out loud, Ms. Snark said inside my head.
“And to get a package I think you have for Bruce.”
“Uh, yeah.” The woman pivoted and pulled a large padded envelope out of a bin. “Here it is.”
I chuckled. “Well, I guess we can make room for that, huh?” I gently poked Ellie’s shoulder.
She jumped an inch.
“I need a signature.” The postal worker tore a green return-receipt postcard loose from the package and tried to hand it and a pen to Ellie.
She didn’t reach out for them.
I took them and crouched down beside Ellie. Her faced looked dazed.
“Here, lemme get somethin’ for you to write on.” The woman grabbed a magazine from a pile of unsorted mail and handed it over the counter. I took it and passed it on to Ellie.
She shook her head, as if waking up from a dream. Taking the pen, she scribbled on the card I placed on top of the magazine in her lap.
I gathered up all of it, magazine, card and pen, and exchanged the pile for the package.
“Thanks.” I sketched a wave at the postal worker and turned the chair toward the door.
Ellie said a belated, “Bye, Betty.”
“Y’all take care,” the woman called after us.
Back out on the sidewalk, Ellie shivered a little. “You can put the package in the pouch back there.”
I shoved aside my almost empty duffel bag that hung from one chair handle and noticed a cloth bag stretched across the back of the chair. It held a black sweater, Ellie’s wallet and a bottle of water.
I pulled out the sweater and put the package in the bag in its place.
“You want this?” I handed her the sweater.
She took it and slipped her arms into it.
“Is there a coffee shop or some place that has outside seating?” I wasn’t up for another encounter with a business owner just yet, but Ellie and I needed to talk.
She pointed to our right. About a block and a half away were a few lime green bistro tables and chairs. I pushed her in that direction, the dogs moving along beside us.
The shop seemed to be a mix of a coffee shop and ice cream parlor. I guess they were trying to hit all the seasons and the multiple needs of their customers as the day progressed from morning caffeine to afternoon treat. A good business plan in a small town like this.
“Let’s sit for a few minutes.” Not waiting for an answer, I wheeled the chair up to one of the tables. Nugget took up the cover position.
I looped Buddy’s leash over the arm of one of the hideous green chairs. “Stay,” I said to him, then turned to Ellie. “I’m getting a coffee. You want anything?”
She opened her mouth. A small jet flew low overhead, drowning out her words.
I realized she hadn’t actually spoken. Her eyes had gone wide and she clapped her hands over her ears. Then she squeezed her eyes shut and started rocking back and forth.
Nugget shoved her head onto Ellie’s lap. When she ignored her, the dog nudged her elbow.
One hand dropped to Nugget’s head. The other covered Ellie’s face. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“No apologies needed,” I said in a low, gentle voice. “Focus on the dog. It will help you get grounded.”
After about thirty seconds, Ellie lowered the hand from her eyes and looked around. She waved her hand in the air. “Were you going to get a drink?”
Her voice sounded much stronger.
“Yes, you want anything?”
“No. We… um, I’ll stick to water.”
I retrieved her water bottle for her and went into the shop for my coffee.
When I came out a few minutes later, cup in hand, a woman about Ellie’s age was standing next to Nugget, her hand on the dog’s head, scratching her ears.
Nugget turned worried eyes toward me. Her body was hunched up, her tail tucked under her, as if she believed she’d done something wrong.
I ground my teeth.
Patience, my inner Mom admonished.
“Did you give the dog the release signal?” I asked. I knew I was being rude, ignoring the other woman, but…
Ellie shook her head. “I forgot.”
I put the coffee on the table and gave Nugget the release signal, which would hopefully reduce the poor dog’s confusion. Then I busied myself with pouring some water into the portable dog dish, to give the two women time to finish their conversation, and me time to find some of that patience.
The woman finally left. Ellie never had introduced us.
I set the dish down on the ground where both dogs could reach it. Then I plopped down in a chair and took a big gulp of coffee.
Which was a mistake. It burned all the way down.
“You okay?” Ellie asked.
I nodded, still trying to fake a neutral expression while my esophagus was on fire.
When the pain eased some, I took a deep breath and managed to muster a calm, sympathetic voice. “Ellie, I know you want to get along with people, but you can’t keep letting them mess with her. After a while, you will have a ten-thousand dollar pet, not a service dog.”
I was tempted to threaten to take the dog away from her. I still had that option, if I felt she wasn’t well suited to having a service dog. But that would mean waiting for Mattie Jones, the director of the agency I trained for, to find another recipient for Nugget, and then training that person. It would be well after the first of the year before I got my training fee.
And as mad as I was, I couldn’t bring myself to inflict that wound on Ellie. Today’s jumpiness and the flashback were evidence that she really needed the dog, and she’d already started to bond with Nugget.
Ellie nodded, staring at her clasped hands on the table. “I’m sorry. I’ll do better.”
“Okay. That’s all I ask.” I blew on my coffee and took a tentative sip. It was just right.
“That was my friend Megan. She said the hurricane is definitely headed for Cuba. They no longer expect it to veer toward the panhandle, but it might edge northward enough to hit the Keys.”
“The poor Keys,” I said. They got hit with storms way more often than the rest of the state.
She gave me a small smile.
With some degree of equilibrium re-established between us, I asked, “Hey, what was going on earlier? You went kind of little kid on me after my confrontation with Mrs. Warren and when we first went into the post office.”
She shook her head slightly. “What do you mean?”
“When that woman, Betty. Is that her name? When she didn’t want to let the dogs in.”
“She didn’t want to let the dogs in?” she echoed.
“Yeah, she got kind of pissy about it, until I pointed out that they were service dogs.”
She shook her head again. “I remember saying goodbye to Mrs. Warren, and then I was signing for Bruce’s package.”
I stared at her.
She dropped her gaze, breaking eye contact. “I get these little blackouts sometimes.”
“Are they recent?” I was wondering if they could be related to the sarcopenia or to the PTSD.
But Ellie was shaking her head. “I’ve had them all my life.”
Huh? She’d said it so nonchalantly. Didn’t she know that wasn’t normal?