Princess Comes Home Part I

My name is Henry James and I’m a writer.

I’ve seen some really wonderful things. Like that old steam locomotive 82 at Twin Bridges and Bob Chaplain, the man who saved the town.

I’ve also been witness to some pretty creepy things. If you don’t believe me read the story about Agnes Tillman and how she and her friends became Blood Relatives.

That one scared the bejezzus out of me.

This morning I pulled into a sleepy little country town and stopped at a convenience store to fill and grab some road food. You all know what road food is right? The stuff you eat with one hand while you’re tooling down the road?

Peanuts, Twinkies, Slim Jims, an adequate supple of Ho-Hos and plenty of orange juice.

That kind of road food.

Anyway, I tossed my less than nutritious fare into the front seat and was about to get in when something caught my eye. I suppose over the years I’ve learned to spot things which stand out, picked up a few habits which seem to hone in on things that just don’t seem to fit.

This morning what I saw sat at the bus station across the street. There wasn’t a ton of hustle and bustle going on, but for a few moments I watched as transients either lined up to get on a bus or stepped down from one to go inside the terminal.

To the casual onlooker I suppose everything probably looked pretty normal.

Except none of the travelers seemed to be paying much attention to the dog.

It was a shaggy black and white mix, a Heinz fifty seven mutt, and it looked as if it had missed far too many meals. The fur on it’s body was matted and unruly. Clumps of mud and grime clung to the dog’s legs.

I watched folks pass the dog without offering a casual glance in it’s direction. But the dog continued to sit, it’s tongue lapping over a lower jaw, seemingly intent on inspecting each passenger who got on or off the buses.

Eventually, all the buses loaded and departed the station and yet the dog never moved. It continued to gaze at the buses as they rolled their way to the street and out of town.

For a minute or two the shaggy black and white dog sat there and then it stood up, dropped it’s head and began to walk along the sidewalk, finally turning a corner and disappearing from sight.

Something kept telling me there had to be a reason the dog was sitting at that bus station. Was this the first time or had there been several times before I rolled up? Why was it sitting at this bus terminal, watching as people boarded or got off the buses?

What or more important who, was the dog hoping to find?

It’s like I’ve told you before folks, sometime I find the stories, sometimes they find me.

I must confess, I’m an animal lover, especially dogs, and as such I’ve had my share of furry companions. Still, I can’t recall any of them entertaining themselves by sitting at a bus terminal watching people.

In fact, I don’t remember any of my animals ever being that much interested in smelly gas or diesel burning vehicles.

I take that back.

There was old Buzbee. Buzbee loved to chase cars and to this day I never figured out why. Hell, it wasn’t as if he could drive the damned things if he caught ’em.

At his age, all he had energy for was hiking a leg and pissing on the tires.

Which pretty much describes my sex life these days.

I guided my car to the intersection, did a U turn when I got the green light, then turned right on the street the dog had turned. Didn’t take long to catch up with it.

I passed it, found a parking spot, opened the door and started to get out. Before I did. I stared at my collection of road food, remembering the dog seemed a little malnourished.

So, I unwrapped a double set of Twinkies, then got out and started walking along the sidewalk toward the dog.

I was about ten to fifteen feet away when it lifted it’s head and stared at me. It didn’t turn away. It didn’t growl and bare its teeth. The hackles on the back of its neck didn’t raise. I could tell it wasn’t scared.

It seemed to me the dog was, well, curious.

I was somebody it wasn’t used to seeing and it was sizing me up. Trying to decide if I was a friend or somebody it needed to sink it’s incisors in.

I knelt on the sidewalk and dropped my head a little and at the same time extended my hand holding the Twinkies.

“Here ya go boy,” I murmured.

I held the Twinkies in place and after what seemed a forever amount of time, the dog got close enough to sniff my hand and the sweetened payload.

Finally, it took one of the Twinkies from my hand. Although my head was still down I watched the dog ravage the confectionery delight with a single gulp. Then it snatched the other one and swallowed it down.

What dog doesn’t like Twinkies every now and then?

I continued to hold my position and it licked my hand. I guess it was trying to make sure it got the last crumbs of the sweetened sponge cake. I slowly reached out and began to gently massage the dog’s chest. It didn’t seem to mind much, continuing to concentrate on my other hand. When it moved closer I brushed its back and then patted its rump and stood.

I’d been hoping to find a collar and maybe even a tag, but no such luck.

The dog sat down and continued to stare at me as it licked its jaws.

“So you still hungry?”

It chuffed in response and continued to stare at me.

At this point I guessed we’d established some pretty solid communication lines, so I figured I’d take it back to my car then figure out my next steps.

“Okay come on,” I said and waved my hand in the direction of my car. “I’ve got Slim Jims.”

READ MORE IN PRINCESS COMES HOME PART II

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