A Dog's Life: The Autobiography of a Stray

  Susan was a busy person. I kept my eye on her when I wasn’t sleeping. She fixed herself lunch, which she ate in her chair in the living room, feeding me bites from time to time. “I don’t usually eat in here,” she told me, “but today is special.”

  After lunch she sat at a desk and wrote with a pen and opened up envelopes and sealed up other envelopes and sorted through a stack of papers, saying, “Junk, junk, junk. Oh, this is important, I’d better keep it. More junk, keep, send to Betsy, junk.” And then suddenly she exclaimed, “My goodness, I forgot all about calling the vet.” She reached for the telephone. “Hello,” she said a moment later, “this is Susan McGrath. I haven’t called here in a while.” She paused, listening. “Yes, that’s right…. Yes…. Well, I seem to have found a stray dog, an old stray dog. Or she found me. Anyway, I think Dr. Thompson should look at her pretty soon. She probably just needs good food and a home, but I want to make sure she isn’t sick…. Tomorrow? That would be fine. Okay, we’ll see you then.”

  Susan hung up the phone and turned to me. “You’re going to have a big day tomorrow, Addie. I have errands to run, and you can come with me. I think we’ll go to the pet store. There’s a good new one in town. And then, well, I’m not going to lie to you — when we have finished our errands, we’ll be off to the vet. You’ll like Skip, though. That’s Dr. Thompson. My last dog did. Maxie. My old Maxie. Dr. Thompson will give you a cookie, Addie.”

  Susan tidied the papers on her desk and put her pen in a holder. Then she rose, walked through the room and into a hallway, and opened the door to a closet. “Now where is that leash?” I heard her say.

  She hauled a bag out of the closet and pawed through it, then put it back. She hauled out another bag, and said, “Ah. Here we go.”

  I raised my head and watched Susan remove several items from the bag — a collar that looked like the one I had worn when I was Daisy and lived in the Beckers’ garage, a leash, a rubber ball, and a cloth toy in the shape of a cat. Susan brought the things back to me, laid the ball and the cat on the blankets, and said, “May I fasten this collar around you, Addie? I wonder if you’ve ever worn one of these. You’ll have to get used to it.”

  I felt Susan’s hands clip the collar around my neck. Then she attached the leash to the collar. “I imagine you must have to go to the bathroom by now,” she said. “I know you don’t want to leave the fire, but we have to get you outside for a few minutes. Just a few minutes, I promise.” Susan tugged at the leash and I got to my feet. I let her lead me outdoors.

  We walked around her house until I relieved myself near the yew bush by the front door. As soon as I was finished Susan exclaimed, “Oh, good girl, Addie! Good girl.” And she gave me a biscuit. “We’re off to a great start.”

  Later that afternoon, as I rested by the fire again, and Susan sat nearby in her armchair, the phone rang.

  “Hello?” said Susan. There was a short pause before she went on. “Oh. Hello, Mrs. Oliver.” I glanced at Susan. Her face had changed. It didn’t look as soft as it had before the phone rang. “Well, I’m just fine. Thank you for asking…. Yes, I know it’s chilly today, very chilly…. No, I can’t think of a thing you can get me. I’m going to go into town tomorrow…. Safe to drive? Of course it’s safe to drive. All the roads have been plowed. I’ve been driving myself for sixty-six years now — since before you were born….” There was a very long pause during which Susan straightened the cushions on the couch, wiped some crumbs off of a table, and made a face at the phone. Then suddenly she cried, “Sell this place! Absolutely not. I can manage just fine.” A moment later, she added, “I am not snippy,” and then, “Oh! There’s the doorbell. I have to go. ’Bye.”

  The doorbell had not rung. Susan hung up the phone and walked into the kitchen, grumbling, “Who on earth does Mrs. Oliver think she is? Half my age and she calls me ‘dear.’ And since when is my business hers?”

  I could hear Susan making banging noises in the kitchen, and thought of Marcy and George. But when Susan returned to her armchair, she was carrying a cup of tea and smiling a little, and she said softly, “I’m sorry I lost my temper, Addie. That woman makes me so mad. But it doesn’t have anything to do with you.” She patted my back.

  And then we sat together in the quiet house, and I watched snow start to fall on the other side of the windows.

  That evening, Susan fixed turkey and peas for supper and we ate together by the fire again. But then Susan let the fire die out.

  “It’s not safe to leave it burning during the night,” she said to me as the flames flickered and grew smaller. “But I want you to be warm, so I’m going to move your bed into the kitchen. You can sleep in front of the radiator, all right?”

  And that is exactly what I did. After Susan clipped the leash on me and took me outside one more time, she led me into the kitchen and I lay down on my nest of blankets. The snow had stopped falling, but the outside air had been damp and cold, frosty enough to see our breath. I lay gratefully by the radiator.

  Susan turned off the light in the kitchen, then in the living room, and called to me, “Good night, Addie. Sleep well. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  And I slept warmly all that winter night.

  I slept soundly that first night at Susan’s, on my bed by the radiator. I woke up several times, uncertain where I was, but when I looked around and saw the kitchen, saw the water bowl by my bed, smelled the smells of Susan’s house, I remembered the events of the day, and I fell asleep again.

  Early the next morning, before the sun was up, I heard Susan’s voice as she made her way down the stairs. “Addie! Good morning, Addie!” she called softly. She shuffled into the kitchen wearing a long robe, scuffy slippers on her feet.

  I lifted my head. Then I sat up.

  “Ah. I see you’re feeling better. That’s fine,” said Susan. She bent to stroke me. She ran her hand down my back, then reached under my chin. “Every dog should start her day with a chin scratch,” she announced. She moved her hand to the top of my head. “May I pat you here?” she asked. “On your head? Not all dogs like that, I know.”

  I sat very still. Then I closed my eyes.

  “Squinty eyes!” exclaimed Susan. “A wonderful sign.”

  She picked up my water bowl and emptied it into the sink, then refilled it.

  “Hmm, now what should we have for breakfast today?” she said a moment later as she peered into the refrigerator. “I think perhaps I’ll have scrambled eggs, and you can have the hamburger and rice that’s left over from the other night.”

  And that is just what we did have, except that Susan also gave me some of her scrambled eggs. It was the first time I had ever eaten them warm, right out of a frying pan. Warm scrambled eggs were awfully good.

  “All right,” said Susan when we had finished our breakfast, “I hope you’re ready for your big day, Addie.”

  Our big day didn’t start right away. First Susan went upstairs for a long time. When she returned, she was wearing different clothes, and she smelled different.

  “All gussied up,” she said to me. “I’m eighty-two years old, but I can gussy up with the best of them. There’s not a thing about me that’s old, except my bones.”

  Susan clipped the leash to me then, and walked me around outside again until I relieved myself. “Good girl!” she exclaimed and handed me a cookie.

  After that it was time to get into the car. Susan carried my nest of blankets from the kitchen into the garage. “Come on, Addie,” she called, and I followed her, even though I was not clipped to the leash.

  Susan opened the front door of her car. “Now my Maxie liked to sit up in the front seat, right next to me,” she said. She turned and regarded me. “I don’t know if you’ve ever ridden in a car before. I hope you won’t be scared. Maxie loved it. You can look out the window. Sometimes you see cats or squirrels or other dogs. It really can be very entertaining. Maxie used to sit up tall and stare straight ahead. I called him my copilot.” Susan had arranged t
he blankets on the seat of the car. She looked down at me. “Are you ready, Addie? This is your big adventure.”

  I sat by the car and looked back at Susan.

  Susan patted the seat. “Jump on up here, Addie.”

  I scrambled onto the blankets.

  “Good girl,” said Susan, sounding relieved. She walked around to the other side of the car and eased herself behind the steering wheel. Soon we were driving down the lane.

  I watched the country fly by outside the window. At first it looked familiar. I smelled familiar smells, too. I saw snow, lots of snow, some trees, and here and there a house. Eventually the houses appeared closer together, and the smells became unfamiliar. Then we reached the edge of a town, a town that was bigger than Claremont, but that reminded me of it anyway, and I sat up taller.

  Susan glanced at me. “This is the nearest town, Addie,” she said as she parked the car on the street. “It’s called Hampton. This is where I do all my shopping and errands. Are you ready for our errands? I really do have quite a few. Our first stop is the dry cleaner. Now you sit here and I’ll be right back. If you get bored, you can chew on this.” Susan handed me an enormous object that looked like a bone but didn’t smell like any bone I’d ever found in the woods. I licked it, then I placed it between my front paws and set to work chewing on it.

  Susan left me alone for a few minutes. When she returned she was carrying an armload of things in flapping plastic bags, which she put in the back of the car. We set off again.

  “Next stop, the post office,” said Susan. “Goodness, it’s nice to have a companion along. How’s that bone, Addie?”

  I chomped away. I wasn’t even looking out the window anymore.

  Susan drove to the post office next, where she went inside with a small package and came out with a stack of envelopes. Then she took us to a place called a bank, to a place called a pharmacy, and finally to a bakery.

  After the bakery, when we were sitting in the car that now smelled of butter and sugar and bread, Susan said, “Well, Addie, the next stop is going to be your big treat today. I suppose I should really give you the treat after we go to the vet, as a reward, but I’d have to drive us way out of the way in order to do that. So you’ll get the treat first.

  “Listen to me, talking a blue streak! I haven’t spoken so much in months. But this is silly — I’m going on and on as if you could understand every word I’m saying.” Susan rested her arms on the steering wheel and looked thoughtful. “Well, maybe you can,” she went on. “Who knows? Anyway … off to Pet Town.”

  Susan pulled out of the bakery parking lot and drove us back through Hampton. A few minutes later she said, “Here we are! This is Pet Town, Addie. It’s brand-new. You can buy anything you need for your pet here. And people are allowed to bring their pets inside. So come on in with me, and we’ll find what you need.”

  Susan clipped the leash to my collar, and we walked inside a huge building. When we stepped through the doors, my nose was met with so many smells that I raised my head, sniffing, and then stood on my hind legs to get the best smells possible.

  Susan laughed. “There’s a lot of good stuff in here, isn’t there?”

  I had never experienced anything like it. I had sniffed around the Wagging Tail in Claremont, and other pet stores, but I had never been inside one. Now I saw shelf after shelf of things, many of which were unfamiliar to me, but that smelled very, very interesting. Later, after I had been to Pet Town several more times, I learned what these things were: supplies for cats and other animals (which Susan and I ignored), dog food (in cans and in bags), dog toys, dog beds, dog chews, and dog clothes. The clothes looked like the outfits I had seen children wearing at Halloween, and I was relieved when Susan said she thought dog clothes were silly and we could walk right by them.

  “Now, let’s see,” said Susan, “you’ll need a proper bed, not those old blankets. They’ll be all right for the car, but not for your bed. And we have to get some food. I know eggs and hamburger and scraps are tasty, but you need a balanced diet. Here’s the food Maxie used to eat. Oh, I must remember to ask Skip about vitamins.” Susan turned a corner and we walked down another aisle. “My! Look at all these toys, Addie….”

  Susan had found a shopping cart and she pushed it along, filling it with things she took from the shelves. She consulted a list that she pulled out of her purse. “Hmm. Bed, check. Food, check. Stuffed toy, check. Chewies, check. Throw toys — I don’t know if you’ll be up for chasing toys, maybe I’ll just buy one.”

  When Susan was finished shopping she had bought so many things that someone had to help her carry them to the car.

  “And now,” she said as we drove away, “it’s off to the vet.” She looked at her watch. “We’ll be right on time.”

  The moment Susan led me inside Dr. Thompson’s office I recalled the smells from my stay at Dr. Roth’s. And I remembered my visit there. I remembered Moon lying so still beside me, but I also remembered Dr. Roth’s gentle hands, and Rachael, and I didn’t feel nervous as we settled ourselves in the waiting room. I sat at Susan’s feet and from time to time I glanced over my shoulder at her. When I did, she would smile and pat my back and tell me I was a good girl.

  The waiting room was warm and I was tired, so I was beginning to fall asleep when a young woman stepped into the room and said, “Mrs. McGrath?”

  “Yes,” said Susan, and she stood up. “Sorry to wake you, Addie, but it’s our turn.”

  In the little examining room I was lifted onto a metal table, where I sat until a man came in carrying a clipboard, and said, “Susan. It’s wonderful to see you again. Who do we have here?”

  “Hi, Skip,” said Susan. “This dog has been hanging around my house for a long time, and yesterday I finally persuaded her to come inside. She’s lovely, but I don’t know anything about her. I thought I’d better have her checked out.”

  Dr. Thompson began examining me. He was very gentle, like Dr. Roth. He looked in my mouth, he ran his hands down my back and over my belly, he listened to my heart, and he looked carefully at my paws. “Well,” he said, after a long time, “this dog isn’t in bad shape, considering she’s a stray. Are you sure she’s a stray?”

  “Positive,” replied Susan.

  “Because she’s been spayed. I can see the old scar on her belly. She must have been someone’s dog once.”

  “I’ll bet she has a lot of stories to tell,” said Susan.

  Dr. Thompson looked down at me. “She seems a bit weak and dehydrated, and she’s on the thin side. I see evidence of ear mites and fleas — not out of control, though — and I notice that her feet have been bleeding. I think she has some cracks in her pads. I should probably check for worms and parasites. Her vital signs are good.” Dr. Thompson paused. “I’d say this dog is nine or ten years old.”

  “Nine or ten,” repeated Susan. “In dog years that’s almost sixty.”

  “She’ll need shots, too, of course,” Dr. Thompson went on. “And she could stand a good bath. Do you want us to go ahead and do everything? Give her injections and get the medicine for the mites and so forth?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “It won’t be cheap.”

  “I know.”

  “Does that mean you want to keep her?”

  “Want to keep her? Why, she’s mine already,” said Susan.

  That night I fell asleep by the radiator in my new bed, a teddy bear at my side.

  The winter days at Susan’s passed slowly and gently, like leaves falling from trees. Every morning I awoke in the kitchen in my bed by the radiator. I always woke before Susan came downstairs, and I would roll over and lie on my teddy until I heard Susan’s footsteps. When Susan entered the kitchen she would greet me with pats and kisses and chin scratches, and then she would make our breakfast — dog food for me, and toast and eggs and fruit for her. She always gave me a bite of warm eggs, though.

  In the mornings I kept Susan company while she was busy at her desk or with her sewi
ng or puttering around the house. Sometimes she talked on the telephone. Sometimes one of her friends would drop by and Susan would fix tea. Susan made sure to walk me around outside the house every so often, and each time I relieved myself outdoors she gave me a cookie. During the first few days I was at Susan’s I relieved myself indoors a couple of times, and Susan would show me those spots and say, “No cookie, Addie.” Then she would clean the spots with something in a white bottle, and eventually I understood that I was not to relieve myself indoors. I also understood that Susan would make sure I went outdoors often enough so that I wasn’t uncomfortable.

  At lunchtime, Susan ate a small meal in the kitchen. I did not get a meal at lunch anymore, although Susan usually gave me a bite of hers. In the afternoon, Susan and I would climb in the car and run errands together. My favorite places to visit were Pet Town and the bakery. Susan always brought me into Pet Town with her, and sometimes someone in there would give me a treat.

  In the evening, Susan and I ate dinner in the kitchen. Afterward, Susan usually worked at her sewing or read a book. We would sit together on the couch. If possible, I would rest my head in Susan’s lap.

  I had been living at Susan’s for a while — I wasn’t sure exactly how long, because I was less aware of the shape of the moon than I had been when I lived outside — when the doorbell rang one morning, and Susan exclaimed, “Goodness, now who could that be? I’m not expecting anybody.”

  Susan had been sorting through some cartons that she had brought into the living room from another part of the house. She left them on the floor, and called, “Who is it?” as she hurried to the front door.

  “It’s Mrs. Oliver,” I heard someone reply.

  I watched Susan. She stopped walking, stood very still in the hallway, closed her eyes for a few seconds, and muttered, “Oh, drat.” Then she opened the door. “Hello, Mrs. Oliver,” said Susan.