highway. People are so barbarian.”
“Much more so than dogs are, for sure. Where shall we sample your cookies?”
“The kitchen’s the best place. There’s a table and two chairs there.”
“Right you are.” They went to the kitchen. The dog followed them.
“This poor dog needs a home, I think,” she said, reaching over to pet it. She took a chair at one side of the little table. The dog sat next to her.
Ben went to the cupboard, found a pot, and put some water in it. He lit the stove and set the pot on the flame. Then he went to his bag and dug out the tea.
“There are some mugs in the cupboard on the left side of the sink,” Emma said. “Just rinse them out, and they’ll be fine.” She was scratching the dog behind its ears. “This dog needs a place to live,” she crooned to it, “a warm place with lots of treats.”
“Will you take it in, then? Or do you know someone who needs a dog?”
“No. I can’t take in a dog. Prime Pussy wouldn’t approve. She disdains dogs, you see.”
“I take it Prime Pussy is your cat?”
“Yes, a tough orange tabby with a fierce temper. I suppose I let her get away with too much.”
“I suppose dogs need people,” Ben said. “I’ve been owned by a couple of dogs over the years.”
“You could consider letting another dog take you over.”
“Perhaps. I’d have to ask La Señora.” The water boiled. He made the tea.
“La Señora thinks pets are therapeutic. She won’t make any problems.”
Ben set a cup in front of her, and sat down with his cup opposite her. She pulled back the plastic wrap from the plate of cookies and waited for him to take one. He did, and bit into it. It was wonderful.
“Delicious!” Ben said, closing his eyes in ecstasy.
“Thank you,” she said. “How did you come to stay in the village?”
“I was walking by, saw the place for rent, looked in, and knew I needed to be here for a while. I inquired about renting the cottage, talked with La Señora, and here I am.”
“La Señora has never put a rental sign up before. Perhaps that Coastal Commissioner woman required it. The rest of us are here because La Señora invited us.”
“Invited?” Ben ignored her reference to the Coastal Commissioner woman.
“Usually on recommendation. For example, I’m her third cousin once removed. Dickon Shayne is a clergyman she rescued from the church. That kind of thing.”
“Are the other villagers kinfolk as well?”
“No, only me. The rest are here for other reasons.”
“Who all lives in the village?”
“Harry and Olive Pitts run the Inn and the gas station. They help out at the Cafe of the Four Rosas, too. Rosa Krushan does the cooking and manages the finances for both the Cafe and the Inn. The Wong brothers run the Emporium. In the village proper there’s me in the first cottage, you in the second, and the Swami in the third. Malcolm Drye has the fourth cabin. Mae Ling has the fifth cottage. She’s away in the Mediterranean right now. Dr. Field and Juan have the sixth cottage. Quite a tale to tell there.”
“Oh?” Ben made his monosyllable as inviting as possible.
She smiled, and shook her head. “Another time I’ll tell you about them. Dickon Shayne’s in the seventh one, just this side of the Chapel.”
“A chapel?”
“More of a community building, really. Of course La Señora and Elke are part of our community, but we don’t think of them as being in the village or the station.” She kept offering him cookies as she talked.
“I see. They’re mansion people.”
“One might say so.” By now, they had eaten nearly all the cookies. Emma looked at her watch. “I really must be going,” she said. “I’ve a lot to do today.”
“I appreciate the cookies, and your welcome,” Ben said as she got up. “I feel a lot less like a stranger, already.” He stood.
Emma went to the door. Ben followed her. The dog didn’t.
She looked back at him from the door. Her eyes were pools of kindness. “If you need anything, come by and ask. There’s so few of us we have to hang together to take care of one another.”
“Thank you, and thanks for the cookies. They were very good.”
She went next door to her cottage. Ben closed the door behind him and went to his car. He made several trips back and forth bringing in his bags before he remembered the dog. The dog was sleeping on the hearthrug when Ben brought in the last load. He shook his head. Did he really need a canine companion? He thought not. Ben called the dog and put it outside. The dog was reluctant to go, but obeyed.
Ben set about shelving his small library of books and CDs as the afternoon wore on. He looked up from time to time at the cove. He plugged in his CD player and put some Mozart on while he hung his clothes and stashed the sheets, towels, and underwear. The fog stood just off shore, and the sun perched on top of it like a sunflower peering over a fence. The cove’s ripples sparkled with afternoon zircons.
Ben heard whimpering. The dog was on the porch, begging entrance. Ben shrugged his shoulders and decided he did want a companion. “Oh, all right,” he said. “I guess you’re right. I need a dog to own me.” He opened the screen and let her in. He rooted around in his cupboard and got a bowl down to give her water. Another bowl he set aside while he pondered what to feed her.
He sat down to talk to the dog. She immediately bumped his hand with her head. She wanted to encourage him to stroke her. He obliged. She began to feel hopeful, after all, about training this person. It must be a matter of finding just the right stimulus to get the proper response.
“What’s your name to be? Pup Dog? No. Too generic.” Ben scratched her ears. He took his hand away to rub his itching nose. When it dropped at his side, the dog began butting it again. “Could call you something like Rover or Spot, but those dog names are over-used.”
He tried several more names before he settled on Butter. She had played him smooth as melted butter, and spread her sweetness over the dry toast of his soul. That’s what he decided, later, to tell everyone. He really named her Butter because the minute he sat down she started butting his hand with her nose, to encourage him to pet her. He turned and looked at her. She butted his hand again, because it had stopped moving. He grinned at her. She rightly interpreted the grimace as affectionate. “Butting my hand again? How about I call you Butter?” She wagged her tail. “Butter it is,” he said, and so she came by her person name, and soon learned to respond to it.
Ben shared his box dinner with Butter, and then took her out for a turn around the yard. She did what was necessary and followed Ben into the cottage. Ben sat down to read in a comfortable chair. Butter soon sat on his lap. Ben was never remembered whether she had jumped up uninvited, or he had lifted her. That night, however, they established between them that Butter sat on Ben in that chair. In coming days, she would learn to avoid sitting on other chairs, because Ben got very upset when she did. This one chair was special. She could use it when Ben was not in it and when he was.
Bedtime came. Ben took an old blanket he had brought, folded it several times, and put it on the floor next to his bed. He showed it to Butter, and told her to lie down on it. She did, but it was cold, and she felt distant from her person. She whimpered. The man ignored her. She whimpered louder. He stirred and sighed.
Sleepily he said, “You win.” He reached down and lifted her onto the bed beside him. She snuggled up next to him where she could hear his heart beating. She drifted happily off to sleep. Outside, in the cove, waves lapped against the shore. On the hill, the unicorn with the unique horn nodded her llama-disguised head in satisfaction.
Grocery Shopping
In that way dogs have, Butter soon centered Ben’s life on her. They got up in the morning, went for a walk either along the bluff or on the beach, came
back, had breakfast, and then Butter slept on his lap while he read. They had lunch when the spirit moved them, and took a short nap. In the evening, Ben read again while Butter slept at his feet. She’d ask for a nighttime turn around the yard before they went to bed. Allowing her to organize his life relieved Ben of an aimlessness that had threatened to swallow him up.
For almost a week, Ben didn’t speak to another human being. He saw no one when he went out. He hadn’t gone back to the Four Rosas. He preferred to live on his own quickie meals out of boxes and cans. Near the end of the week, however, he knew that he and Butter needed supplies. He decided to go to the local store, Wong’s Emporium, to see what it might offer. He also thought he’d take lunch at the Cafe.
Butter moaned with great grief when Ben told her to stay in the cottage. He was certain she wouldn’t be welcome in the store, and was afraid she’d be hurt or stolen if he left her on the stoop in front of it. He hadn’t got her a leash yet. It was on his shopping list. He told her all this, explaining the matter in detail. She, of course, only perceived her abandonment.
The fog had lifted, but not gone back to sea, so the morning was gray and cold. Ben was glad he took a jacket as he walked past Emma’s cottage and down to the Station. Emma’s chimney showed no smoke. Ben wondered where she might be.
Coming to the highway was a shock. The noise of occasional traffic re-connected Ben with the mental state he had cast off in his week at the cottage.