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Shepherd Boy

Kiernan O’Connor

    Hal held his breath as he zippered his windbreaker. He felt it constrict as he breathed out and bent down to put the leash on Tiki. “Come on, girl. Time for a walk. You want to go to the park?” She was poking her nose at the door, dancing on her tiny paws.
    She darted back and forth as Hal plodded out of his cookie-cutter brick and vinyl neighborhood. A breeze flitted the thin wafts of hair atop his head. They turned right onto Mitchell Boulevard for two blocks and crossed the intersection past the imposing brick facade of Olmsted Library. It was almost six, ahead of schedule.
    They would climb the oak-lined slope along Ives Park, loop around, and cut through on the way back. For the last decade with Bud, and the one before that with Belle, Hal had taken the same route, twice a day. In the evening, they returned home at precisely 6:18. Dinner was half-past.
    Tiki continued her tireless darting up the hill. A lab approached, tugging a young couple and looking for a little friendly sniffy-sniff. Hal, as usual, removed his thick glasses and wiped them with a cloth to appear occupied. The trio passed on.
    “I’d really like one that’s not too much trouble,” he’d tried to explain to the gum-chewing, hoody-wearing girl at the shelter.
    “Oh, this one’s an angel.” She was eyeing a Terrier mix, a straggly female, with shocks of wheat over roots the color of dirty snow. Feisty.
    “You see, I’ve had two dogs the last twenty years. They were both bigger dogs than this. Pretty lazy, if you know what I mean.”
    “You wanna look at some other ones?”
    “I was just hoping you had one like I’m used to.”
    “Yeah. I know what you mean. Well, we do have some bigger dogs, but I wouldn’t say they’re lazy.” She gazed back at the Terrier. “Her name is Tiki. I mean, you can call her what you want. I call her Tiki.”
    “As long as she’s not too much trouble. You see, my wife - she doesn’t really care too much for dogs. But, I’ve gotten really used to -”
    “Tiki’s no trouble at all.”
    Cresting the slope, where Mitchell curved to the right around the back of the park, Hal paused, winded. Across to the left was the entrance to The Preserve, a newer neighborhood of stucco and stone “Estates.”
    “No, Tiki. Not that way.” Tiki did not listen. She wanted to see The Preserve. Insisted. “Tiki, please.”
    Tiki accelerated. They were well into the thick of The Preserve. As they rounded a curve in the street, Hal spotted a woman in front of a house on the opposite side, about three doors away. They were approaching too fast to turn around. The only hope was Tiki would keep moving past.
    Purple, pink and red azalea bushes lined the sidewalk in front of the house across the street from the figure. Tiki found them to her liking, and chose the spot to pause and do some important business.
    Hal darted glances up and down the street, but no one else was about. He peeked at the woman. She had wavy, ginger hair. She was on her knees, tidying lantana that sprawled like a thick comforter after a restless night in bed.
    She sat back on her haunches and surveyed her work. Her work was jasmine, sage and salvia stretching and softening the harsh edges of sterile suburban landscaping. Cranberry geraniums and lemon daffodils danced and dazzled for attention. All awaited knockout roses not yet in bloom. Her work was an oasis.
    She brushed her hair away from her face with the back of her gloved hand, then wiped the partially rolled sleeve of her unbuttoned denim blouse across her brow. She glanced up with a round, pleasant face, and spotting Hal staring at her, smiled.
    He bent down to pick up after Tiki, and scurried up the street, eyes straight ahead, a valiant and vain attempt at being nonchalant. Rounding the next corner, he saw an awful site. The street was a cul-de-sac.
    He wavered, hoping the redhead would be finished when he came back. But if she was still outside, she might notice how long it had taken him to return. Beads of sweat glistened on his forehead.
    Tiki rounded the cul-de-sac and was clipping along on the same side of the street, Hal suddenly realized, as that woman. Apologizing, he pulled Tiki to the other side.
    Approaching the house again, Hal breathed a sigh of relief. The woman stretched on a step stool, her back to the street, nurturing an elegant Japanese maple. A black cotton skirt draped hips rounded firmly. Muscular calves flexed under the hemline. Her skin was pale and smooth and freckled, her frame ample and strong, not flabby.
    “Hal, do something with that dog, please,” his wife said, when he returned. “I’m trying to clean the Shepherd Boy.” Barbara was squat and taciturn, meticulously attired in cheap polyester, hunched over at the kitchen table, absorbed in the Hummel figurine before her.
     On the wall behind her, shelves brimmed with shepherds, school children, fairies, cats and dogs, policemen. Above the cabinets they crammed into every spare inch. In the living room, milk maids, hobos and farmers hovered above the television cabinet, clung to windowsills and squatted on side tables. In the bedroom closet there were more, and the bathrooms.
     “I found a new route for walking Tiki,” he said.
    “That’s nice, dear. Move over a little. You’re blocking my light.”

***

    Hal found his gardener outside every evening that week. He did his best to avoid eye contact. He imagined her joining him on his walks, “Just for a change of pace,” she’d say. He’d help her garden while Tiki frolicked. “Aren’t you a good girl, Tiki!” she laughed. He gave her a name, “Ginger,” for her hair. Ginger always had a treat for Tiki.
    Ginger was not out the first time Hal forgot to clean up after Tiki, who maintained an unwavering loyalty to the azalea bushes. He was halfway home, when he felt the bag still in his pocket, and wondered if he should go back. He shuddered at the image of Ginger witnessing such an egregious faux pas.
    “Where have you been?” Barbara said. “Susan keeps calling. She’s trying to heat up her dinner, and she can’t make the microwave work. Put that dog away already, and get over there right now. You don’t want her to have a panic attack, do you?”
    “I’ll take Tiki. Susan wants to meet her.”
    What he wanted was for his daughter to meet Ginger.
    Tiki sniffed at Susan’s ankles, bare as usual. He showed her the right way to heat up the frozen dinner in the microwave. She was squat like her mother, but there was nothing taciturn about her.
    Her eyes glimmered. “Thank you, Dad! I’m sorry about the microwave.”
    “That’s okay, Susan.”
    “I like Tiki. I think she likes me. Do you think she likes me, Dad?”
    When he left, he paused at the door to his Corolla, and gazed up at Susan’s apartment. He hated her living apart, but he knew she was proud of herself. It had been Barbara’s idea. “She can’t live with us forever, Hal.”
    Driving home in the dark, he passed The Preserve. Suddenly, he swung into the neighborhood. He drove past Ginger’s house and turned around at the cul-de-sac. He parked where he could see into her house. There were lights on.
    He imagined spotting an intruder breaking into the house, and just as he was about to attack Ginger, Hal would storm in, with Tiki, to rescue her.
    But what about Barbara? She’d still be at home, fiddling with her Hummels, buying and selling online, changing the ones she displayed to match the season, attending collector shows. “I suppose you were parked there, because you needed a rest for that fifteen minute drive from Susan’s?”
    Better to have the intruder at his house, while Barbara was alone and defenseless. “My wife sent me out to help our daughter, who’s mentally retarded. So, I wasn’t home when the attack occurred. I called 911 as soon as I came in and saw what happened.”
    Headlights flashed in his rearview mirror, snapping him out of his reverie. He sped home, horrified at the image of police cars swarming his house, but there were none.
    Ginger was outside the second time Hal forgot to pick up after Tiki, and all the way back from the cul-de-sac he fretted whether to pick it up or not. He resolved that he would. When he neared the spot of the crime, he spotted her in the garage, sorting through flowering pots.
    There was a perspiration stain on the armpit of her blouse. Dark strands of hair dampened the back of her neck. He forgot about the business under the azalea bush.
    “I think I’m ready to sell Shepherd Boy. I could get triple what I paid for him. Can you imagine that? With the condition he’s in - he’s flawless. Flawless. What’s the matter with you?”
    “Matter?”
    “Haven’t you heard a word I said? There’s buyers online looking for Shepherd Boy for three times what I paid for him.”
    “Who?”
    “Who? Honest to goodness, sometimes I wonder about you. I really do.” But she went back to her online buyers and forgot he was there.
    Normally Ginger was not out in the morning, but one day she was, and Tiki yelped hello, to which she looked up and laughed and waved. When he’d passed out of her earshot, he whispered, “Good dog.”
    The third time he forgot to pick up after Tiki, Ginger was not out, but the owner of the azalea bush was, and as Hal strolled past on the way back, happily observing the progress of Ginger’s garden, Mrs. Azalea Bush jumped out of nowhere and accosted him.
    “Excuse me! Do you have any consideration at all? Do you think it’s okay to have your dog poop anywhere he wants and not clean up after it? I mean, the least you can do is get him to poop somewhere else, but he only seems to poop on my azaleas.” She was rail thin and elderly, with a raspy edge to her voice that made Hal blink and stutter. “I see you here all the time, you know that? I don’t even think you live here.”
    He tried to answer, but she disappeared before he got the chance.
    Later, Hal wanted to go back and tell her that Tiki was a girl, and that azaleas should be planted around the front of your house, not along the sidewalk. He didn’t know if that was true or not, but it sounded like something Ginger would say in his defense, as she calmed Tiki down with a treat.

***

    That Saturday, Barbara announced that she’d found a buyer for Shepherd Boy. “She lives right down the street. Can you believe it? She’s coming over here tonight to look at it. I know she’ll love it.”
    “Uh huh.” Hal looked at the clock. That morning Ginger had smiled at him again, and the sun behind her had caught her hair and set it ablaze over her round, strong shoulders and pale, glistening neck.
    He went to the nursery where Ginger shopped. He walked up and down the aisles of soil, spotting the familiar bags that she used. “Can I help you?” someone asked, but Hal shook his head without looking.
    A woman with a large hat and what appeared to be red hair came down one of the aisles of soil. Hal spun his back to her. Ginger might be just on the other side of two pallets worth of dirt, ten feet at the most.
    He took a deep breath and looked back, but whoever it was had left. He imagined himself hearing a noise behind him. He would turn around, and there she’d be, about to walk right by him. His turn caught her attention, and recognizing him, she slowed to a near-stop, and half-turning, said, “Oh, hello there.”
    He’d never heard her voice before. It sounded soft and rich, like butter with bits of crispy bacon. “I almost didn’t recognize you without that cute, little dog of yours.” She glanced down at the space where Tiki should have been.
    “My constant companion,” he said, startling himself.
    “Well, you could do a lot worse. Take care.” She gave him a little wave, and strode off.
    Then there really was a noise behind him, and Hal jumped, but it was only one of the nursery employees.
    “Hal, I do not want that dog around when my buyer comes. Hal, did you hear what I said? If you see a car out front when you come back from your walk, do not come in.”
    That evening, the air was soft and clean. Smoke from a grill wafted over a fence. The sky was brilliant and open. It was an evening for romance - the sort of evening in which Ginger would invite Susan over, and let Tiki play out front while Hal fired up the grill.
    Ginger would be outside, expecting him.
    Tiki seemed to understand her task. She dutifully went about her business at the azalea bushes, and Ginger looked up to wave and smile. Tonight, on the way back from the cul-de-sac, Hal would stick to Ginger’s side of the street, and say hello to her. They would introduce themselves.
    He felt the tug of Tiki’s leash, that let him know she was finished and ready to move on. “Hold on, let me clean up after you. We don’t want anyone getting upset with us, now do we?”
    He reached into his pocket and felt...nothing. He’d forgotten to bring a bag! He looked up at Mrs. Azalea Bush’s house, to see if anyone was home, but he couldn’t tell.
    His legs froze, but Tiki knew what to do. She headed for Ginger. Hal followed, as if caught in an undertow.
    “I’m sorry to bother you,” he said. “You wouldn’t happen to have a plastic bag I could use.” His heart raced and his lips felt numb. “My dog...I forgot...” he looked at the azalea bushes, by way of explanation.
    Ginger uncoiled and stood, following his gaze. “Ah!” she said. “Oh, certainly. That’s very thoughtful of you. Sure, just give me a moment.”
    She smelled like soft dirt and cool sweat and faded cotton. “Good dog,” Hal said, as Ginger ducked into her garden shed garage.
    “Will this work?”
    “That’s perfect. Thank you.”
    “Sure, no problem. You don’t want to leave a mess in that woman’s yard,” she added, nodding her head toward Mrs. Azalea Bush. She leaned in to Hal and scrunched her face. “She can be a bit neurotic, if you know what I mean.”
    “Yes, I think I know what you mean.” Then for a brief moment Hal was looking right into Ginger’s eyes, bright and blue like the sky. He felt dizzy.
    “Well, lucky for me, I’m allergic to dogs, so I don’t have to worry about that. But hey, anytime you forget your bag, there’s plenty in my garage, just help yourself.”
    Hal staggered home. Allergic to dogs! How could this be? “What are we going to do?” he kept repeating to Tiki.
    He strode past the car parked in the driveway. Allergic to dogs - it just can’t be. He took his shoes off in the hallway and hung up the leash.
    He picked up Tiki. “It’s got to be a joke.” He heard voices coming from the kitchen. “It’s just her sense of humor, that’s all.”
    “How pathetic,” Barbara’s voice said. “Just so he can ogle your neighbor?”
    “A big whale if you ask me,” a raspy edged voice replied. “Always out front gardening. He just stares at her, and leaves his little dog’s mess on my azalea bushes.”
    “Hal! I didn’t expect you back here so soon. This is my - ”
    Mrs. Azalea Bush shot out of her chair, confusion upsetting her taut face. “This is your husband? That’s your dog?”
    Barbara glared back and forth with clenched jaw at the woman and Hal. She put Shepherd Boy on the kitchen table between them and pointed at Tiki. “That’s not my dog,” she corrected. “Hal, is this true, what she says?”
    “I really didn’t mean to. It wasn’t on purpose. What do you take me for?”
    “Not the damn dog, you idiot! The woman!”
    “Look, I’m very sorry for all this, but I think it’s best if I just leave now.” Mrs. Azalea Bush tilted her chin up as if her dignity were balanced on her head, and fled.
    “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t believe what that woman said.”
    Hal set Tiki down. “Her name is Ginger, and she’s allergic to dogs.”
    The pitch of Barbara’s voice set Tiki on edge. “How in the world would you know that? I swear, you are every bit as retarded as your daughter. Get away from me, you damn dog!” She flung her limbs as Tiki snapped at her ankles.
    When Shepherd Boy shattered on the floor, Tiki shot like a flash into Hal’s arms. He turned and walked away. “She told me herself,” he said, but his wife couldn’t hear him.

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