“Downright pitiful,” Lillian said. “He don’t have no get-up-an’-go, neither, not like he used to have when he prance around all over the place, knockin’ over things with that tail goin’ ninety miles an hour.”
“Hey, Ronnie,” I crooned. “Come over and see us, Ronnie. Come on, boy.”
With what seemed a mighty effort, Ronnie unfolded himself and stood. Then he shook the straw from his body and walked somewhat unsteadily toward us, his tail barely making an effort.
“Law, Miss Julia,” Lillian said, reaching a hand through the fence to pet him. “He don’t look too good. He look lean to me, like he’s not gettin’ enough to eat.”
“To me, too, Lillian,” I said, noting the easily counted ribs of his chest and his doleful eyes as he looked at us. I scanned his new home—plenty of room if all he wanted to do was lie down and sleep, but not enough for a romping dog like a Great Dane. “I wonder if that doghouse is heated. It’ll get plenty cold around here with all the trees.”
“I don’t see no ’lectric cord,” Lillian said, “but maybe they got a quilt or something in there for him.”
“Well, he’s a short-haired dog, so he doesn’t have much natural protection.” I sighed, knowing how poorly I would sleep throughout the winter with a cold dog on my mind. “I’m going to have to speak to Helen about this.”
“Yes’m, I wish you would. That pore ole dog look half sick to me. He look like a grievin’ dog, an,’ you know, Miss Julia, that dogs miss humans more’n humans miss dogs.”
“No, I didn’t know that.”
“Yes, ma’am, they do. Why, when they owner dies, lotsa times a dog mourns more’n a widder woman do. They set around, jus’ waitin’ for the one they miss to come back. An’ if a dog gets out, he might go to the grave an’ set there till somebody come get him.”
“My goodness,” I said, my heart going out to Ronnie, who, I could plainly see, was mourning the loss of Thurlow’s companionship, as well as his former home in front of a dead fireplace and next to his master’s smelly feet.
—
“Helen?” I said when she answered the phone. “I meant to ask yesterday when I was there, but since Thurlow’s been out of action, how is Ronnie getting along?”
“Who?”
“Ronnie. You know, Thurlow’s dog, the one he’s had for years.”
“Oh, Ronnie. Well, much like Thurlow himself, Ronnie’s not rebounding as I’d like him to, I’m sorry to say.”
“Has he been sick?”
“Oh, no, he’s just not adjusting very well to having a few boundaries. But, you know, Julia, that Thurlow let that animal have the run of the house, and, believe me, the house looked it.”
“I know. Thurlow spoiled him rotten.”
“Yes, he did, but I had to put my foot down and ban him from the house. Of course, I’ve made sure that he has a comfortable place to live out behind the garage. And on pretty days, we push Thurlow’s wheelchair inside the fence so he has a little time with his dog.”
“That’s thoughtful of you, Helen. I’m sure they both appreciate it.”
“Well, of course, that animal is just one more thing to take care of, and I have my hands full already. Mr. Harris—that’s the groundskeeper—told me just this morning that Ronnie’s looking peaked, whatever that means.”
“Maybe a trip to the veterinarian is in order.”
“Oh, probably, when I have time to do it. Right now, I have painters upstairs and down, and a kitchen designer is due any minute. Why, Julia, did you know that the kitchen stove is circa 1975 and three of the four eyes are burned out? Now, how can we cook on something like that? Thurlow just doesn’t appreciate what a mess this house is in—it’s like building a new one on the ruins of the old. Ronnie’s just going to have to wait his turn.”
I thought for a minute, then, for fear of offending her, asked carefully, “Does Thurlow miss having him around?”
“Oh, my, yes. For the first several weeks all I heard was him moaning and groaning about Ronnie, until I told him it was either me or Ronnie, he could take his choice.”
“Well, obviously he made the better choice, Helen. I don’t know what Thurlow would’ve done without you. You have made such a difference in his well-being.”
“I’ve tried,” Helen said without sounding too self-satisfied. “But I couldn’t bear the thought of Thurlow stuck in some group home in a room with several other old men in the same condition he was in. And, as I reminded him, Ronnie would’ve been in a kennel with fifty other dogs that nobody could care for. They’re both better off here.”
“Oh, absolutely, Helen. Group homes are fit for neither man nor beast. You have rescued them both from such a destiny, and I hope Thurlow appreciates what you’re doing. But, Helen,” I said, then bit my lip before gathering my courage and making the offer, “I would like to help if I can. Would you like me to take Ronnie to the vet just to be sure he’s all right? I can have Lloyd go with me, and it’s something I think Thurlow would appreciate more than my bringing a fruit basket.”
“Why, Julia, that is so thoughtful of you, but it’s too much to ask. The dog is huge and very hard to handle.”
“Well, Ronnie knows me. I kept him overnight at my house once when—well, we won’t go into that. But if you’re concerned that he might be ill, we really should see about him. I’d hate for something to happen and Thurlow to have a relapse because of it.”
“Oh, goodness, don’t even think that,” Helen said with what sounded like authentic alarm. “Well, if you really wouldn’t mind taking him to the vet, it would relieve me tremendously. I try to do it all, Julia, but I just can’t.”
“Nobody can,
