Dogs
Her dogs went to the stick library every day. They and all dogs didn’t need a library card, just respect the honor system of returning the sticks back to an abandoned snack shack for the next dog’s use. At the Town Hall meeting, which approved this she had brought her dog, a sweet pit without a stick. He was named Indiana Jones, after the movie character.
“All in favor?”
She said, “Aye,” louder than anyone as Indiana Jones barked.
“All those opposed, say, ‘Nay’”
“Nay is for horses,” her neighbor whispered to her. It passed.
The naysayers protested actively. They were actually fine with dogs on the beach, but worried that with a stick library the beach would go to the dogs.
True.
Sort of.
For example, she added three dogs so now she had four. Besides Indy, there was now James Bond, Han Solo, and Vito Carleone. Different breeds for the different movie genres all requiring different sized sticks. Her neighbor manned the library, because he didn’t have dogs and wanted to see her again. He had a few cats and tried to bring them to the beach, as there has never been a sign printed within any universe which read, “NO CATS ON THE BEACH,” but there was not much for them to do, and no one he knew had any fresh ideas about her.
If it weren’t for the dogs, and the library, his waiting around for her might have been creepy. Dogs, though, make everything better. There was nothing creepy about giving her dogs borrowed sticks. It was meaningful and purposeful. It was useful and scheduled, and it was daily. Other dogs were fair weather friends but her dogs hit the beach rain or shine, through snow and winter.
Should have been peaceful, but it was not. The naysayers would protest, yell at the man, and wave homemade signs, which they made with some of the library’s sticks. “Politics in action!” they responded when he objected the re-distribution of library property, but he was only one man alone.
Then there was a motion put forth by the dog lovers. The motion was for the stick library to be manned by a person and a dog. This way the stick librarian would provide a social element to the other dogs; dogs with dogs, people with people. This motion was brought about by the local dog psychologist, Heidi Hathoway. The man volunteering at the abandoned snack shack, raised his hand and for an expansion of the motion to include all animals. Cats, for example, but also birds, pigs, rabbits and squirrels would be included. “Inclusion was very important to a liberal town which had a stick library,” he argued.
“Nay.”
So, the people had spoken, and he bought a dog, a very small dog, very cat-like one. He applied for the newly created Town Stick Liberian position and was hired. It really was politics in action. Even CNN covered the stick library story.
In the Spring, dogs and owners were anticipating the warmer weather, but he was anticipating seeing Indiana Jones, James Bond, Han Solo, Vito Carleone, and their owner daily.
The next morning when he arrived the sticks, and the refurbished snack shack had been destroyed by a fire of unknown origin. At least that’s what the Oceanic News later reported. He didn’t know what to do. The dogs arrived, he could only shrug his hands at their owners, but when she arrived, he released his emotions. It’s extremely difficult when you don’t give a stick, and today things changed. Their relationship had to be redefined. He had nothing to do.
“Do you want to go for a walk?” she said, hugging him.
“Sure,” and he took one of the leashes.
Timothy Gager is the author of 20 books of fiction and poetry, which includes his fourth novel, Shadows of the Seen, and his most recent collection of poetry, Almost Bluing for X-Tra Whiteness.
