Princess Comes Home — Part II

So I’m carrying on a conversation with a dog.

Big deal.

Don’t tell me you animal lovers out there don’t talk to your fur babies or fur grand babies. It’s perfectly natural for animals to have running dialogues with their Humans. How else are we going to communicate with them, use semaphore?

Right.

The dog followed me to my car and as I opened the door it jumped in, waited just long enough for me to gather all my road food, then curled up in the seat and laid its head on it’s paws. I transferred the food to the dash, then took a hard look at the dog’s deep chocolate eyes.

“So what now?”

The dog chuffed again and continued it’s soulful looking stare at me.

Well, I had questions, plenty of questions so I guessed I needed to stay a couple of days and start poking around. I found a motel on the edge of town and booked a room for a couple of nights.

No, I didn’t tell them I had a dog. Technically I didn’t.

After coaxing the dog into the bathroom I gave her a bath — yes during all this I discovered he was a she — then fluffed her dry with one of the towels. I turned on the sink faucet, let her get her fill of water, produced three of my five remaining Slim Jims for her, let her have some more water from the sink and then we left.

I decided to go back to where I’d discovered her, and stopped at the convenience store again. Dog followed me into the store and we both stopped at the counter to have a chat with the clerk behind the counter.

“So you got you a new friend?” the young man said.

I nodded at Dog and grinned.

“Not sure. I was hoping you might know something about her. Have you ever seen this dog before?”

“Sure, plenty of times,” the man said as he pointed across the street at the bus station. “She shows up every day at the bus station and watches all the buses till the end of the day then she leaves.”

“Don’t you think that’s kind of strange?”

The young man chuckled, “Mister, I think our current political situation is strange. A dog sitting in front of a bus station watching people? Not so much.”

“You said you’ve seen her plenty of times. How long is plenty of times?”

“Well, I’ve been working here for a couple of years, and most times when I caught the day shift I saw her over there.”

“Two years? She’s been coming to that bus station for two years?”

The clerk nodded.

“Yeah, don’t believe she’s missed a day. Didn’t matter what the weather was like.”

“Okay this is probably a stupid question, but you don’t by any chance know who owns her?”

The clerk shook his head and then squinted when a thought came to him.

“Hey, the boss might. He’s the owner. Been running this place forever. He’s here today. You want to talk to him?”

I nodded, “yeah if you don’t mind.”

The young man pushed through a doorway at the end of the counter and disappeared.

I gazed down at Dog and she returned my stare then turned her head when a grizzled elderly man with glasses perched on top of his bald head pushed through a door, followed by the young clerk.

“Richard says you want to talk to me about some dog?”

I reached across the counter and extended my hand with a smile. The man shook my hand but he didn’t seem all that interested to give me much of his time.

I guessed it was time for a little Henry James razzle-dazzle.

“Yes sir. My name is Henry James and I write business columns for the Times. Thought it’d make a nice piece to do something on the local businesses around here. Maybe even put in a strong mention of your place.”

“The Times? As in New York Times?”

“Great paper isn’t it?”

“Sure as hell is. So Richard said something about a dog.”

“Right, well as I was getting the lay of the land I stopped here for some gas and stuff. That’s when I noticed this dog sitting at the bus station.”

The elderly man leaned over the counter and stared at Dog.

“Oh yeah, I’ve seen it over there.”

“So do you know who owns her?”

“Nope, but I seen it walking on Elm toward the city limits when I come in every day. I’m guessing it’s been coming to the bus terminal for almost eight years. Yeah, that’s about right, eight years. I think it comes from one of those homes out there just on the edge of town.”

“You sure?”

The elderly man nodded and grinned.

“I’m sure about Elm and I’m sure what direction it was heading. After that mister, your guess is as good as mine.”

Okay, thanks. Where’s Elm?

The young clerk pointed to the street just past the bus terminal. The very street I’d seen Dog turn down.

I thanked the man and Dog and I left. I knew it was going to take a hell of a lot of door knuckling, and even then I may end up right where I am now. No answers, my junk food supply rapidly dwindling and my furry sidekick shedding all over my cloth bound car seats.

Again, I did a U turn at the intersection and turned on Elm. As I picked up a little speed I rolled down the passenger window. For you animal owners you know what this means.

Yeah, you guessed it.

Ears flapping in the wind, excessive amounts of drool sliding down the exterior door panel, and constant motions from Dog as she sat, then pawed the edge of the window, then sat, then hit the opened window again.

She was loving the ride.

We had just reached a little community of houses when Dog began to bark. This wasn’t a — I’m so thrilled to be here — kind of bark. This was more like a stop-the-damn-car series of barking that continued until I brought the car to a full stop on the side of the road.

The very minute I braked to a stop, Dog jumped out of the window and took off running toward the housing community.

READ MORE IN PRINCESS COMES HOME PART III

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