Long Way Home(116)
“Thank God for them. And for you and all of your Army buddies, too, who went to war to defeat evil.”
I noticed that he was holding the cross a little tighter in his hands, running his thumb over the smooth wood. “When did you become so wise, Peggety?” he asked.
“Don’t you know?” I said, laughing. “I learned everything from you.” He looked at me and smiled faintly.
On the way home, Buster meandered and sniffed and explored in all the bushes as usual. We were walking along the other side of the road this time, and at one point he seemed to find one scent more interesting than the others. He strained and pulled on his leash, refusing to obey me. My arms got tired of tugging, so I handed the leash to Jimmy. “Can you control him? I can’t imagine what he’s after.”
“I’ll go see.” Jimmy jumped across the ditch and followed Buster into the underbrush. A moment later he halted and crouched down. “Peggety!” he called. “Come here!”
The bundle of bones and matted fur lying in the weeds was a dog. I thought it must be dead but I saw it move when Buster licked its muzzle. He tried to lick one of the deep cuts on the dog’s belly but Jimmy held him back. He ran his gentle fingers over the dog’s body. “Her injuries aren’t new. The blood has clotted.”
“Do you suppose she got hit by a car?”
“Looks like it. But either she’s been here for a while, or she was abused and neglected beforehand. Look how thin she is.” The dog had longish fur and floppy ears, like she might be part cocker spaniel. Jimmy felt her neck for a collar but there was none. Only a noose of rope that had chafed her neck raw before it had broken, leaving a short piece attached. Her eyes were infected and caked nearly shut. “We need to help her,” Jimmy said. He slid his hands beneath the dog and lifted her into his arms. The dog gave a soft whine. “She’s as light as a feather.”
We hurried home and went straight into the clinic. Jimmy laid the dog on the examining table and studied her wounds more carefully while I hustled around, turning on lights and preparing a tray with antiseptic and sutures and bandages and all the other things he would need. “Do you know where my dad went?” he asked.
“He had animals to see on three different farms. He said not to expect him before lunch.”
“We’ll have to take care of her ourselves.”
We gave her an anesthetic so Jimmy could cleanse her cuts and abrasions and stitch them closed. He carefully disinfected the deep wound on her belly, worried about peritonitis. One of her front legs was broken, but it was a clean break and could be splinted. As he continued to examine and tend her, he suddenly looked up at me in surprise. “She’s pregnant, Peggety! It’s a wonder she didn’t miscarry after being this badly injured.” He held a stethoscope to her chest. “Her heart sounds pretty weak, but her puppies’ hearts are still beating. I hear at least two of them.” For some reason that news made me smile and tear up at the same time.
I lost all track of time while we worked, with Jimmy suturing and me handing him all the things he needed. When we finally finished and I stepped back, I saw Buster sitting in the doorway as if guarding it. His leash was still attached. I went over to pet him. “Good boy, Buster. You saved this dog’s life.” I heard a chuckle and turned, amazed to see Jimmy smiling. “What?” I asked.
“I used to tell stories to the injured men in the field hospitals about Buster the three-legged dog. I made him into a hero, like Lassie, in the movie, you know? Today he lived up to his legend.”
I laughed and gave Jimmy a hug. He was talking! And smiling! And working as a veterinarian again. He had once saved Buster’s life, and now Buster and this little dog might help save his.
*
The little stray was still alive and even eating a bit of food two days later. “I couldn’t have stitched her up any better myself,” Mr. Barnett had said when he’d seen Jimmy’s work. Gisela, Jimmy, and I all took care of the little animal, which we’d named Lucky. I had just finished helping Jimmy change Lucky’s dressings one afternoon when we heard a car pull up. I looked out the window to see if we had another patient and was happy to see Chaplain Bill getting out of his car.
We all went into Mrs. Barnett’s kitchen, and after drinking coffee and chatting for a while, Mr. Barnett pulled me aside and whispered, “Take Bill and Jimmy away somewhere so they can talk. I’ll handle office hours by myself.”
It took a bit of convincing, but at last, Jimmy and I climbed into Bill’s car and drove toward the mountains. I directed Bill up the winding road past the hairpin turn to the lookout on top. “You really get a broader view of things from up here, don’t you?” Bill said after we’d stepped from the car.
“It’s one of my favorite places,” I said. I brushed my hair from my eyes, tangled by the glorious mountain breezes. We enjoyed the view in silence for a few moments before Bill turned to Jimmy.
“I have to be honest and admit it, Jim—my faith was badly shaken by what we went through. In fact, I wrote a letter of resignation to my church board. I felt I had to give up the pastorate because of all my doubts and uncertainties. Your friend Peggy here helped me find my way back.” Bill and Jimmy both turned to me. I didn’t know what to say. I felt surprised and embarrassed more than anything else by his kind words. Bill continued: “I would like to explain to you what I finally figured out—and feel free to interrupt and argue and add your own two cents, Jim, the way you used to do. I always enjoyed discussing theology with you.”