I was a driver for the City Bus. My line went up and down Cambridge Avenue, one of the main east-west thoroughfares of the city. The job was a good way to meet some interesting characters. It didn’t take long to recognize the regulars; many became “friends” of sorts. One of my most favorite passengers was Louise.
When I took over the #3 bus route from Jim, he told me there was a homeless woman who traveled from one end to the other of the line but never really got off anywhere. “She’s a kook but harmless. Always make sure she sits right behind you so no one bothers her.” He went on to explain that Louise was the only person, to his knowledge, who had ever received special permission to bring a non-service animal on the bus.
The first day on my new route, Louise climbed aboard at the Market Place stop.
“Are you Louise?” I asked.
She looked at me in surprise. “Well, yes I am,” she said. “How did you know?” How did I know? Well, the first clue was the dog, except Jim had failed to describe the beast to me. He was huge. Did Jim really think anyone would bother her?
“I was told that you have a reserved spot—right here.” I pointed to the seat directly behind me, while eyeing the dog carefully. He was a massive animal with a large head and floppy ears. His color was blotchy brown and black. Although his coat was heavy, he obviously received regular brushings. He stared at me, checking me out. Someone forgot to tell him that there was a new driver on his route.
“Thank you,” she said. “Jim said you would be starting today. This is The Colonel.”
So, that was my first meeting with Louise and her ever-present companion. We got acquainted little by little, and eventually, the dog stopped giving me the evil eye every time they climbed on board. After a few weeks, Louise decided he was ready for me to pet him. Soon, I greeted them as a pair: “Hello Louise. Hello Colonel. How are we today?” So, the routine went.
“The Colonel” was a mutt, a mixture that Louise proudly called “a little of this, a little of that—but mostly good dog.” He never left Louise’s side. I began to think he was only big and completely harmless. Then one day I saw him come between Louise and a would-be mugger just as she got off my bus. No one was going to hurt his master. The thief ran off, tail between his legs, so to speak.
Louise and The Colonel rode my bus two to three times a week at first. Their presence became more frequent as we came to know each other better. I learned that she wasn’t homeless, and she certainly wasn’t a “kook” as Jim had described her. She was just a lonely old lady who loved her dog and who needed some human companionship once in a while.
One day I asked her about her cherished sidekick.
“Oh, he’s the best, isn’t he?” she said.
“That he is. Why The Colonel?” I asked her.
“My husband was in the Army during the Korean War. He wanted to make it a career and had aspirations of becoming a colonel and maybe even a general someday. We never had any kids. We were waiting until he got back from the war.”
I was impressed. “Did he? I mean did he become a colonel?”
“No.” Her voice became soft. “He made it to major and then was killed . . . ”
I glanced back at her in my mirror. I expected to see tears but there were none visible. She sighed and continued. “He was killed right before the war ended. They sent his body home, and I buried him two weeks after our fifth wedding anniversary.”
“I’m so sorry, Louise. And, I’m sorry there were no children.” I thought of my two boys and what joy and complexity they had brought to my life.
“Yeah. I would’ve liked having kids, I think.” Her face was sober, but there was no indication of bitterness in her statement.
I wanted to say more words of consolation but before I could, she straightened her shoulders and patted The Colonel on his head. “So, that’s why I named this guy The Colonel.” A smile now radiated across her face. “I was so proud of my husband—still am.”
“As you should be.”
* * * * * * * * * * *
In January two years after I started on the #3 route, Louise wasn’t on my bus for a week. I wasn’t concerned until her absence went into the second week. The weather wasn’t cold or snowy, so I was sure there must be something else keeping her from her routine. I missed seeing her and The Colonel.
I took Tuesday off that week to investigate because I was worried about Louise. I knew through our conversations that she had no family or anyone to check up on her. The last time she was on my bus, she didn’t seem like herself. I started by driving around the area near where she always got on the bus. I remembered several comments she made about how her mailman couldn’t seem to read. “I’m always getting mail for 1270 West 2nd Place.” In the winter she complained about how all the snow and ice on her front sidewalk never melted until spring.
So, even though I didn’t know her exact address, I put the clues together. It wasn’t all that difficult to find which house I thought was hers. She had given me just enough information over the past couple of years.
When I knocked on the door, The Colonel barked but no one came to the door. He peeked through the curtains at the front window. He recognized me, and his bark became a whine.
I tried the front door and, sure enough, it was unlocked. Louise was always adamant that she wasn’t too worried about safety measures. “Who cares? I’m too old. If they want to come get me—let them. Besides The Colonel is better security than any locked door.”
The Colonel shot through the door when I opened it and hurried outside. I stuck my head inside and called for Louise, but there was no answer. I started going through the house and found her in a bedroom lying on the bed. “Louise?” I touched her arm and shook her a little, trying to rouse her. Why—I don’t know, because her arm was cold and I was pretty sure she was dead. “Louise?” No response. The Colonel jumped up on the bed and laid his head across her stomach. I called 911 and went outside to wait for the emergency personnel.
The Colonel would not let the paramedics near his beloved human. I grabbed his collar and dragged him away. A low, gurgling growl came out of his throat, but he let me lead him outside. He and I sat on the step, and I stroked his giant head. I kid you not—there were tears coming out of his big brown eyes.
“It’s okay, Colonel,” I cooed. “She’s okay now.”
He moaned, and I cried.
Fortunately for me, she had only been dead about an hour. Not long enough to start smelling too badly. I was questioned by the police; after all, I was the only one there. Turned out that Louise had pneumonia. Maybe she knew how sick she was, but no one else did. We’ll never know.
The Colonel refused, if dogs can do that, to leave the house. I put a leash on his collar and started for my car, but he would have nothing do with that. I couldn’t physically pull him; he was just too strong and too stubborn. The police couldn’t get near him. He let them know with great clarity that he was not going to vacate the premises.
I agreed to come and feed and water him every day until the authorities could figure out what to do with him. They took my number to stay in touch.
From then on I visited The Colonel twice a day, before and after work. He would always be lying on Louise’s bed, looking lost and pitiful. Sometimes he would get off the bed and come to my side. He leaned against me, and I tried to comfort him by petting and talking to him. He hung his head so low that his nose nearly dragged on the ground when he walked. He didn’t eat or drink much.
After two weeks of the same routine, I arrived one Saturday morning and almost tripped over The Colonel when I walked in the front door. He was standing there waiting for me.
“Oh—Colonel. You’re up today.” His tail twitched slightly from side to side, as if he couldn’t quite bring himself to let it wag. That was the first I had seen any movement of that appendage since Louise died.
“Are you feeling better?” I asked. What was I doing—talking to him like he was human?
He walked over and nudged my hand with his big head. I knelt down and looked into eyes that pleaded with me to find Louise and bring her back to him. I let him lick my face. His tail continued to sway slightly.
The Colonel seemed to improve a little each day from then on. He was venturing out of his mourning somewhat. The defeated look never left, and it made me want to cry. I didn’t know animals could grieve, but The Colonel was very much in pain over losing his beloved master.
Since Louise had no family and no will was found, the decision of what to do with The Colonel rested in the hands of the State.
“We are going to put the dog down,” an attorney for the State told me over the phone about a month after Louise’s death.
“What?” I couldn’t believe it. “No—you can’t.”
“There are no heirs, and the dog won’t leave the house. He’s dangerous. We have no choice.”
“No—please,” I pleaded. “Dangerous? He’s not dangerous. And, he’s starting to get better, he’s healing.”
“Sir, I don’t care if he can follow you on command or not, we have to do something.”
“Not heel, heal, as in from grieving.”
The man thought I was crazy and said so in so many words. I was starting to wonder myself.
“Let me take him. I’ll adopt him,” I said while wondering what my wife, Jenny, would say.
“It’s up to the State, not you, and the decision has already been made.”
“Can’t I just come and take care of him like I’ve been doing?”
But, no matter what I said, he insisted that The Colonel would have to be euthanized the next day. I hung up the phone in despair.
With my help, and since I was the only one who could get near The Colonel, a vet would perform the procedure at Louise’s house. I decided to go and spend some time with him before the assisted-suicide squad got there.
I opened the door and there he stood, waiting for me. He might have thought I was on his side, but I felt like I had betrayed him. His tail was now wagging at maybe half the normal rate for a slightly content dog, but he still wasn’t happy. I put my arms around his big neck and let him lick my face. If there were only some way I could stop what was about to happen. I knew by now that adopting The Colonel was not the solution. Not only because they wouldn’t let me but also because he probably would die anyway if taken away from his home.
I sat down on the couch and called him over to me. He jumped up and stretched out his massive body beside me, laying his head on my lap. I stroked his big floppy ears.
“I’m so sorry Colonel. I wish I could take you home with me, but they won’t let me. I tried, though.” I continued to talk to him, explaining what was happening and telling him my regrets of not being able to change his fate.
The house was still, except for the sound of his breathing and the occasional doggie snore as he slept. How did I become so attached to this creature? I had never owned a dog, not even while growing up. Every time my boys would ask about getting one, I refused. “They’re too much trouble, cost too much, and make too much of a mess.”
The phone rang, breaking through my thoughts. Louise, being the old-fashioned lady that she was, had only one phone, a rotary, and that was in the kitchen. I wondered who it could be. I didn’t even know the phone was still hooked up. The Colonel opened his eyes from his slumber as I lifted his head off my lap.
“Hello,” I said into the receiver.
“Hi. Is this Paul Jacobson?”
“Well, yes it is. Who’s this?”
“Dr. Christie—the veterinarian.”
“Oh, hi. Yes. I—how did you get this number?” I asked him.
“I tried calling your cell, but there was no answer.”
I reached into my pocket. Nope, no phone. “Sorry. I must’ve left it in my car.”
“Well, I got you now. Louise’s number was on some of the paperwork. Anyway, I thought you would probably be there already.”
“Yeah. I wanted to spend some time with The Colonel before . . . ”
“I’m running a little late,” the vet interrupted me. “Should be there in 15 minutes or so.” This guy was no James Herriot.
“Okay. No problem.” I hung up the phone, relieved that it wasn’t quite time but also depressed at the impending procedure ahead. I shrugged my shoulders and got a drink of water. I decided I’d better retrieve my phone from my car.
When I walked back into the living room, The Colonel was still sprawled out on the couch. My spot there had disappeared, so I sat on the floor and leaned my head back. “Well, buddy, you got a reprieve. A small one, but nevertheless . . . ” I closed my eyes and rested against the edge of the cushion. After a few minutes I realized there was no hot breath on my head nor was there any doggie snores emitting from the couch.
The Colonel had died, sometime while I was in the kitchen or out at my car. I was amazed. This animal that I had come to have such great admiration for had somehow let go of his life before his so-called guardians could forcibly take it from him. I had to smile a little. Louise would’ve been proud of her Colonel.
A few minutes later, there was a knock on the door. The vet was standing there, doctoring bag in hand. A county sheriff was with him.
“Uh, you’re not going to believe this,” I said to them. “But, The Colonel—the dog—just died on his own.”
“You’re right,” the vet said. “I don’t believe you. Where is he?” The virtue of patience was not one of his character traits.
I led them to where The Colonel lay on the couch. Dr. Christie checked him out and confirmed what I had already told him. “Yep. He’s dead.”
The law officer was shocked. “You mean, that dog decided to die? Before we got here?”
“I guess so,” Dr. Christie said. “Let’s get him out of here.”
I left to let them take care of things, because I didn’t want to watch them carry him out of the house. “Good-bye Colonel ole’ pal,” I said as I shut the front door. I called Jenny on my way home and told her what had happened. She cried, even though she never knew him.
I thought I would be devastated when The Colonel died. Even though I was sad, I was more overjoyed that he was able to pass naturally and not at the hands of some stranger with a syringe. He died of a broken heart, missing his beloved master. I had been a temporary and poor substitute for the love of his life, and he simply could not go on without her.
When Jenny got home from work, I barely let her get in the door before I told her what I wanted to do.
“Get a dog? You want to own a dog?” For a minute she just stood there with a look on her face that I had seen one other time—when one of the boys flushed his brother’s pet snake down the toilet. “Really? Who are you?”
I laughed. “Yes, I want to get a dog. Come on—let’s go. And, quit looking at me like that. The kids are waiting in the car.”
“What?”
“Yeah—let’s go.” I already had my coat on.
* * * * * * * * * * *
So, that’s how we ended up with “Blake,” a German Shepherd mix from the local pound. We named him after Colonel Henry Blake, the character from M*A*S*H and in honor of Louise’s loyal companion. A month after getting him, the boys declared Blake to be the best dog in the world. Me, well I wasn’t sure of his worthiness of that title just yet. It would be difficult for me to “dethrone” The Colonel from that position. Maybe someday . . .
©2011 Tammy Maseberg All Rights Reserved