Blueberry Hill: a Sister's Story(20)

“Good,” he answers.

“But she doesn’t know about the dog.”

He turns and looks at me. “You spent six hundred-and-fifty dollars, and you don’t even know if she wants a dog?”

“Why would she not want it?”

“It’s a lot of responsibility.”

“It’s also a lot of company,” I rationalize. “She loves Brandi, so why would she not love this dog?”

“Six hundred-and-fifty dollars,” Dick repeats and shakes his head.

“That’s how much Bichons cost.”

“If you’re not sure she wants a dog, you should’ve gotten a rescue.”

He may have a point here, but I simply say, “What’s done is done.”

Not ready to concede, Dick asks, “What if the cat comes back?”

“He won’t. He’s been gone too long.” I don’t bother to say the missing Lucifer was what prompted me to buy the dog. And the chain.

For the remainder of the trip it is mostly small talk. Dick listens to a basketball game on the radio until it turns to static and fades away. I wrestle with the dogs, trying to get Brandi and Pink-eye to settle down.



When we pull into the parking space in front of her apartment, the living room blind is halfway up and I can see Donna sitting in the chair beside the window. She leans forward and rubs a patch of frost from the windowpane. I know she is watching for us, and as soon as I step to the entranceway the buzzer sounds. I open the door and the two dogs dash in. I have a leash for the pup but I don’t use it, because Brandi follows me and the pup follows Brandi.

I see Donna standing in the open door as soon as we turn down her corridor. The dogs run ahead of us. Brandi knows where we are going because she’s been here countless times before; the pup just goes wherever Brandi goes.

By the time we get to the door Donna is laughing at the dogs. In a sign language of our own making, she points to me then holds up two fingers and mouths the words, You have two dogs now?

“Not me,” I say and shake my head.

She points to the dogs, spreads her hands, and shrugs.

I understand the question, and I’m trying to hold back a grin. “Brandi’s my dog. The other one is yours.”

Donna’s eyes go wide. She points to her own chest and mouths a single word. Mine?

I nod.

In less than a heartbeat my sister, still hooked to her oxygen tank, is on the floor playing with the dog. He scrambles onto her lap and kisses her face. Donna laughs like I have not seen her laugh in many months. It’s not the kind of laugh you can hear. It’s a muted chuffing sound. But I see the motion of laughter in her bony shoulders. When she finally looks up and silently thanks me, there is a river of tears running down her face and I know it was the best six hundred-and-fifty dollars I will ever spend.



Later that afternoon I call Mama and ask her to come over.

“I’m doing the laundry,” she says. “Floyd’s out of underwear.”

“So come when you finish. Donna’s got something to show you.”

“I don’t know…”

“Come on, Mama, this is exciting.”

She hesitates again.

“Bring Floyd,” I say. “Dick can get take out from Nino’s, and we’ll have dinner together.”

“Too much garlic in that stuff. It gives Floyd heartburn.”

“Okay, we’ll get Chinese.”

“I don’t think so,” Mama says. “Floyd doesn’t like being in a crowd. Everybody talking at one time throws his hearing aid off.”

“There’s no crowd,” I say. “It’s just Dick and me.” Before she has time to come up with another excuse, I remember their weakness and suggest, “We could get black pepper crabs. How’s that?”

She finally agrees but adds, “We can’t stay all evening. Floyd likes to be home in time to see Wheel of Fortune.”

Two hours later the doorbell rings, and Mama is standing there alone. “Floyd decided not to come. He asked me to bring him back a couple of crabs. The noise of everybody talking—”

“Bothers his hearing aid,” I say. I don’t argue because there is nothing to be gained by it. Floyd is older than Mama, and living with him has caused her to be older than her years.

When Mama steps inside, Pink-eye comes running over and starts barking.

He has not only settled in but now this is his house, his property to safeguard. He is no longer just a dog, he is the watchdog and this is a stranger.

“What’s wrong with Brandi?” Mama asks as I push the five-pound terror from her pathway.

“That’s not Brandi.” I smile. “It’s Donna’s new dog.”

“Donna’s dog?” Mama looks at the dog and frowns. “Good Lord.”

“What’s the problem?”

“Your sister can barely take care of herself. How in the name of God is she supposed to walk a dog?”

“She doesn’t have to.” I take Mama to the sliding glass door and show her the stake. “See? All Donna has to do is clip the chain to the dog’s harness. Then he can be outside as much as he wants. She won’t have to walk him or worry about him running away.”

“We’ll see,” Mama replies skeptically and lowers herself onto the sofa. She looks at Donna sitting in the recliner, the dog curled in her lap. “Are you sure you want that? Taking care of a dog is a lot of work.”