Going Home by Gregory Smith

Going Home

Edgar was having a rough weekend. Stuck in bed with a respiratory infection, his niece did not visit, and, worst of all, his neighbor, Mrs. Spratt, failed to show up as planned with his beloved dog, Sparky.

Depressed and lonely, the old man refused his lunch tray and curled up in a ball. That’s when his niece abruptly flew into the room without knocking on the door.

“Uncle Edgar,” she began, “I just signed the papers. They will be transferring you to Heavenly Acres Nursing Facility as soon as your infection is under control.”

“Dang, Irene!” he replied, rolling over to face her. “What about the house? And what about Sparky?”

“We’ve been through this before, Uncle Edgar,” she said. “You cannot take care of yourself anymore, let alone that old dog. The house is a mess. I can’t keep on coming over when you need something fixed or run out of food. I live too far away for that.”

“I don’t much care about the house. It’s only four walls and a roof. But Sparky…what’s going to happen to Sparky?” he asked.

“I can’t take him. You know my situation at home,” Irene replied. “I work. The kids are in school all day. Then there’s…”

“Your dang cat!” Edgar scoffed.

“Yes, Fluffy wouldn’t like it. I’m going to see if Mrs. Spratt won’t keep the dog for good,” she said.

“She will never bring Sparky to see me,” the old man claimed, shaking his head. “Like today…where is she? And she doesn’t feed him like I do at home.”

“You’re right,” the niece agreed. “She gives him healthy dog food…not junk all day, like pizza crust.”

“What about those visiting nurses?” he asked. “Why don’t we try them again? This time I promise not to chase them out of the house with a broom.”

“No, it’s settled, Uncle Edgar. I don’t want to hear anything else about it. You made me your Power of Attorney, and I think this is what is best for you. Now, I have a two-hour drive home before the storms set in. I’ll be back to visit you once they send you to the retirement home. I understand Heavenly Acres even has a therapy dog.”

”I don’t want some shared dog!” he moaned. “I want my own dog. And you won’t be seeing me at no nursing home! Me and Sparky will do just fine together. We are going home.”

 Edgar started coughing, removing his nasal cannula and spitting wads of green mucus into a handful of tissue. That was Irene’s cue to leave.

“Dang it! Where are those nurses?” he asked, repeatedly ringing his call button. “They’re never around when you need them!”

“Uncle Edgar, it’s close to three. They are probably giving report to the night shift,” explained the niece. “Be patient.”

“Dang it!” he said again, tossing aside the call button.

“I’ll send the nurse in when I pass the desk,” Irene said. “I’ve got to go. Love you, Uncle Edgar. Get some rest.”

She whisked out of the room, leaving the old man alone to ponder his misfortune.

“Heavenly Acres, my butt!” he grumbled to himself. “I want to go home!”

All worked up from the confrontation, the old man felt a sudden chill and started to violently shake. Where was that nurse? He furiously pushed the call button once more and waited in silence.

He heard scratching at the door of his hospital room. Peeking in was a familiar gray and white curly-haired pooch.                            

“Sparky, my old friend!” the old man crowed, peering through his bed-rails. “I knew they couldn’t keep you away! Come say hi to your old Pappy!”

Sparky jumped up on the bed, smothering Edgar with sloppy, wet kisses, the nasal cannula slipping out of the man’s nose. The dog circled three times before finally nestling next to his master.

“How did you get here without that mean, old neighbor? How did you get on the elevator, let alone push the button to the fourth floor?” Edgar asked, rubbing the dog’s silky coat. “Well, whatever…I’m just glad you came to see your Pappy! Let me look at you. Why, you’re nothing but skin and bones! Things aren’t like when I was home with you, huh? Well, don’t you worry. When I get out of here, we’ll be eating pizza again.”

Sparky looked up, cocking his head sideways and began to speak.

Yes, speak!

“I came to take you home, Pappy,” the dog said. “I’m heartbroken without you and hungry! It’s too bad your lunch tray isn’t here. Even hospital food would taste mighty good right about now.”

“What in tarnation?” the old man mumbled. “Sparky, it must be the drugs they got me on because I swear you just talked to me.”

“I did!” the dog growled. “Touch my collar and let’s get you out of here!”

“Touch your collar?” repeated the old man. “What in tarnation? You got yourself a magic collar?”

Edgar touched the blue collar and instantly found himself sitting in his favorite rocking chair. They were home- only “home” wasn’t in his senior living apartment. Somehow Edgar Buchanon had traveled back in time to his boyhood home on Catherine Street.

Startled, the old man looked around, not sure if this was reality or some sort of wonderful dream. Antique furniture and end tables with lacy doilies decorated the cozy living room. A warm fire crackled and snapped in the fireplace. The pleasant aroma of chicken noodle soup filled his senses. His mother had to be cooking soup in the kitchen.

“Ma!” he called out. “Ma, are you in the kitchen? The soup sure smells good!”

“Put it on the table!” barked Sparky. “I’m ready to eat!”

“Edgar!” yelled a female voice from the kitchen. “Time to eat!”

“Ma, can I bring Sparky too? Is Sparky welcome?”

“The more the merrier! I made plenty,” the voice answered. “Bring Timber along too!”

Timber? In the blink of an eye, his childhood dog, Timber, appeared before him.  

“Timber, old pal!” Edgar said. The small, light brown cocker spaniel stood on its hind legs, bouncing up and down, its pink tongue flickering at the old man, greeting him as Sparky sniffed the stranger.

“Sparky, meet Timber!” the old man said. “Timber and I used to go fishing together when I was a little boy. Do you remember how we would walk down to the creek and fish for hours, not a care in the world, just me and you? Remember how you used to splash in the water, and I would holler at you? ‘Timber, you’re scaring the fish away!’”

“I sure do, Pappy,” Timber replied in a high-pitched, squeaky tone. “You cussed me out like a drunken sailor. But I took no offense.”

“You can talk too?” Edgar said, scratching his head. “What in tarnation?”

While Edgar was petting his old dog, he was instantly transported to his youth. Suddenly, it was a steamy day in July. Edgar was sitting on a lush bed of green grass under a shady tree. He was eight years old again and looked like Huckleberry Finn. The boy felt a tug on his fishing pole, and he reeled in a sparkling rainbow trout as Timber barked his approval.

“Nice catch!” the dog said, “We’ll be eating good tonight!”

Just like that, there they were – Pa, Ma, young Edgar and his little sister Jenny at the kitchen table, eating dinner. Timber milled under the table, waiting for scraps to fall. In between hiding his peas underneath his mashed potatoes, Edgar began handing pieces of trout to his dog, who scarfed up the fish with glee.

“Hey,” Pa said between bites, pointing his fork at the boy, “I see what you are doing! Feeding that mangy dog your supper!”

It was good to see his father and mother again. It was almost like Edgar was watching his life all over again, like he was at the movies. Instantly, they dissolved from the kitchen to the boy’s childhood home street. It was summertime, the daylight lasting late into the evening.

“Those were the best of times,” the old man reminisced. “We played stickball from early in the morning until the street lights turned on.”

There they were, back on Catherine Street, playing stickball. One of his friends, Ritchie Riggatoni, hit a rubber ball up the block, clearing the black Oldsmobile that was parked near the corner. Timber raced for the ball, grabbing it before Johnny Bradford, the center fielder, could reach it.

“Hey! Get the ball! It’s your dog, Buchanon. Get our ball back!” Ritchie yelled.

The dog sprinted down the street, leaping over the Buchanons’ backyard fence with the ball in his mouth, heading toward the shed. Edgar sprawled out in the grass, reaching under the shed, trying to snatch the slobbery ball from Timber’s mouth.

“I finally got the wet ball. I took it back to my friends with the cover ripped and torn. They told me what I could do with that damn ball,” Edgar said, laughing.

Edgar had a good laugh thinking of those fond childhood memories.

“And every night you would sleep in my bed,” recalled Edgar, back in his rocking chair. “In the winter you kept me warm. I remember how you would steal the covers!”

Nestled in the boy’s toasty bed, boy and dog snoring softly, the sound of a distant grandfather clock chiming three, so peaceful and happy.

“We walked to school together every day,” the old man reminisced. “You were always there to walk me home. We grew up together, you and me. When I read in Ma’s letter that you got hit by a dang Chevy right in front of our house, I bawled like a baby, right there in the Army barracks.

“But I was wrong about you dying, because here you are right now,” Edgar said, tears in his weary eyes. “You were such a loyal pal.”

“I’m here to tell you not to be scared,” Timber said. “Transitioning is as soft as a whisper. We are all here to escort you, Pappy.”

They sat quietly together until the old man fell asleep in his rocker.

                                          ********

Both Sparky and Timber were gone when the old man awoke out of his slumber. The grandfather clock was chiming three in the afternoon. He got to his feet and looked out the bay window past Ma’s lacy curtains. “A large black dog was sitting on the porch, howling.”

“Well, I’ll be dang! It’s Duke!” he cried.

Edgar scrambled to open the front door, finding his old hunting dog, Duke, sitting on the front stoop.

“Hello, there, Pap! May I come in? Awfully cold out here. Mighty cold, indeed,” mused the dog in a distinct Southern drawl.

Duke walked in, shook his wet coat, and lay down in front of the fire.

“It was snowing the first time I found you, just like now,” Edgar said, plopping himself in his rocking chair. “Clarabelle was always bossing me around. ‘Do this’ and ‘Do that.’ Worst of all, she was a cat lover.”

Duke frowned when he heard the word “cat,” letting out a low growl.

“Now, don’t get me wrong. I had nothing against felines, but I was always partial to dogs,” Edgar explained. “For a long time, Clarabelle forbade me to have a dog in the house. Then you showed up. You were just a pup when I found you at the back door one morning. I figured nobody wanted you, seeing how you had no collar. So, I decided to adopt you. The only problem was my wife. She ruled the roost, and I admit to being scared of her frying pan.

“I sneaked you into the basement,” the old man continued, “and I started saving part of my dinner every night and taking it down the basement for you. Clarabelle started getting suspicious. ‘Why are you spending so much time in the cellar all of a sudden?” she asked me.

“Then one day one of her dang cats got really curious. You started scratching at the cellar door, and the old lady heard it.”

“We got rats in the cellar!” I warned her. “Whatever you do, don’t open that door!”

“Well, I reckon she didn’t trust me because she opened the dang door and you came running out of the cellar, chasing her cat. That’s when I got a whack on my head, courtesy of Clarabelle’s frying pan.”

“You brought a dog in this house without asking me?” she roared.

“In the end, it came down to you or Clarabelle. Well, the answer was simple. You’re still here, and she isn’t,” he declared.

That’s when Duke slowly started fading away until he was barely visible.

“What’s happening?” the old man cried. “Duke, don’t leave me all alone! Duke! Duke!”

The dog disappeared like wispy smoke from an extinguished candle, leaving Edgar alone in darkness.

“Where am I?” cried Edgar. “Where are my dogs? Sparky, Timber, Duke! Don’t leave me!”

                                                                   ********

Like a bright sunrise lights up the fading night sky, the darkness slowly melted away. Edgar found himself on an old country dirt road. It was spring, and he heard the chirping crickets in the fields all around him. He took an unimpeded deep breath of fresh air, noticing how his lungs were clear, the respiratory infection gone. He looked down at his once weather-beaten hands and found them soft and youthful once again.

From across a meadow full of wildflowers, he saw three dark specks running toward him. The closer they came, the better he could make them out…three dogs, all of different sizes, shapes, and colors.

Sparky, Timber, and Duke!

They greeted him with licks and kisses as Edgar took a knee to pet them.

“I’m so happy to see you!” he said, the tears rolling down his cheeks. “When I’m with my furry friends, it’s like I’m in Heaven.“

 “Pappy, it’s beautiful here!” Timber commented. “Do you think there’s a creek nearby to go fishing?”

“I don’t know, boy,” Edgar responded. “Let’s find out! Let’s go down this road a piece and see what we can find.”

They walked a while before coming to a fork in the road. The skies to the left were smoky and dark, while the skies to the right were blue and bright. The wooden signpost read Heavenly Acres to the Right and Hades to the Left.

“I’m thinking we should go right,” the old man decided.

And as they took the road to the left, a faraway church bell chimed three times in the distance, the pretty sound filling the entire countryside.

                                    ********

At the end of the road stood an older gentleman.

“Welcome, everyone!” greeted the man. “We’ve been expecting you!”

“The sign says ‘Heavenly Acres’?” Edgar asked. “Is that where we are?”

“Welcome home!” the man replied.

“It sure is different than what I imagined it would be,” Edgar mumbled. “I’m not so scared anymore. Are dogs allowed in here? I’m not going anywhere without my dogs.”

“All creatures, big and small, are welcome here,” the man said.

“Cats, too?” Sparky asked.

“All creatures,” he repeated.

As they walked through the pearly gates, they found a peaceful meadow where they could frolic. An abundance of colorful, fragrant flowers played there, in the greenest of lush valleys, with cool ponds and splashing waterfalls and blossoming fruit trees all around.

There stood the source of the musical chimes: a lovely white church with a tall steeple began to toll three times.

 “I reckon we should stay here,” Edgar said. “This place feels like HOME.”

                                                                 ********

 Irene was only a few miles from the hospital when she got the call. She turned the car around and headed back to the hospital. When she reached the fourth floor she found several nurses emerging from her uncle’s room.

 “We were just going to call you,” one nurse said. “Your uncle passed away at  three o’clock. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

 Irene gasped. “I came back to tell my uncle that his dog was just found. He died, quite unexpectedly, only a few moments ago.”

 “Oh, I’m sorry,” remarked the young nursing assistant. “His dog was all he ever talked about.”

 Funny, Irene thought. It was exactly three when she got the news of Sparky’s death.

 It was the end of a long journey for Edgar and his furry friends. They finally made it.