He looked up at me with those liquid black eyes of his while I pulled out my phone from my pants pocket. Locating my friend’s phone number in my contact list, I pressed the call symbol to ring her phone.
“Hello, René. It’s Susan Edwards. I’m good. Yes, time has flown faster than I realized. I fly out of Idaho Falls this Wednesday. Yes, in two days. That’s right, I still need you to take care of Mickie if you can. I’d hate to put him in a kennel. When I do, he acquires too many bad habits from the other dogs. Great. Can you come over this afternoon or tomorrow? Thank you. I’ll show you where I keep his food and while you are here, I can give you the keys to my back door. I’ll be here this afternoon. Bye.”
I reconnected with René when I decided to enroll in a pottery class last fall held once a week on Main Street. She’s in our church but her children are much younger than mine, preventing us from socializing in the same circles. René is about my height but slimmer than I. She wears her hair short and brushed up on top. I would like to try that someday but for right now, I love my dangling blond curls. I opened my suitcase and found a few Yellowstone brochures and an old granola bar I had forgotten to remove. I tossed them into my waste can near my vanity mirror.
“Well, that’s one task down and 10,000 more to go,” I told my dog as I checked the zipped pockets.
All of a sudden, my dog looked at me, stopped to perk his ears up, and as if a silent alarm went off I couldn’t hear. He turned and ran toward the kitchen barking. By the time I scrambled after him, I could hear someone knocking at the back door. Some of my friends don’t use the doorbell.
I opened the door and my friend, Thyla, appeared with the cold February air drifting in behind her.
“Come in. Where’s Jack?” I asked, closing the door against the winter wind as she stepped past me into the kitchen.
“Oh, he stopped to talk to someone about gears and such down at the hardware store,” she said, trying to take her hooded sweatshirt off.
My dog knows what type person she is as he slinked back to his bed by the kitchen heat vent to avoid her. I’ll tell you right now, Thyla is not from Earth. She has a light patterned fur all over her arms and legs. Her nose is small with short white hairs. I call her a cat woman. I met her inside Vesda when the two scientists, Fin and Cal, sucked me out of my living room into their world. Thyla and I became friends when I gave her hope of leaving that inside-out world.
“Let me help you with that,” I said, grabbing the bottom hem to undo the garment. As I pulled her hoodie I had given her for Christmas over her head, her patterned cattail unfurled. Mickie began growling from his little bed by the kitchen table.
“Thanks, this sweater has been a lifesaver in the cold weather you have here,” Thyla said, stretching her arms toward the ceiling.
“Here, I just made some hot tea if you want,” I offered. “Let’s go into the living room. Don’t mind Mickie. He’s just protecting his turf.”
“Thanks, tea will be fine,” she replied, walking behind me.
After removing her shoes, she chose my large plump recliner by the roaring fireplace and curled her long legs into the chair. She fluffed her tail and wrapped it around her feet.
“I hear you are going to the land of warmth,” she said, adjusting her position and licking the palms of her furred hands.
“I am. I can hardly wait. This winter has been especially cold this year,” I said and set her hot cup of tea on the table near her. I sat down in one of my upholstered chairs on the other side of the flickering gas fireplace.
Thyla wiped both sides of her small nose with her moist hands. She didn’t have long whiskers, just small white strands she keeps trimmed near her pink nose.
“Well, I for one wouldn’t want to float on water all that time,” she said, shuddering at the image she imagined.
“Well, I for one wouldn’t want to float on water all that time,” she said, shuddering at the image she imagined.
“They’re pretty safe.” I said, still watching the flames. Something about the ocean came to mind.
“Susan, is something wrong? You seem far away.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I just remembered a bad dream I had this morning. What were you saying? Oh, the only danger you have on board is someone transmitting a virus,” I said, recovering from my reverie.
“Who’s going to watch Mickie?” she said, returning to stir the hot liquid with one of her long clawed fingers.
“René. I don’t know if you remembered her. She took pottery lessons with me. Mickie will stay here and will continue to go outside through his doggy door. But my friend will come over and feed him.”
“Have you heard from Hobbs lately?” She asked while I stirred my spoon in the hot tea to cool it down.
“No, has he been up to something? Wait, I don’t want to know. I want to leave on my trip with a clear mind and not get involved with his next great foolishness.”
“No, actually he’s been good. Right now he’s staying in the cottage we remodeled for him at the far eastern corner of our property for the last couple of weeks. I think living underground with his fairy and elf friends is too cold for a man his age. But we rarely ever see him during the day.”
“Good, oh, you know what I’d like to have before I leave? One of Bosloe’s famous stew,” I said.
Just before I took a sip of my hot tea, I thought I saw something
