Devoted(33)

He was a friendly fellow, however, and he took no offense. His short tail was always wagging.

The motel room proved to be simple and clean.

Next to a small coffee brewer were complimentary packets of coffee, creamer, and sugar.

Ben put his sandwiches and two cans of beer in the under-the-counter refrigerator.

Like ghosts, the smells of people who had stayed here in the past haunted Kipp’s nose.

The ugliest thing he found was a little dead pill bug in one corner of the bedroom, which wasn’t terribly offensive.

Unexpectedly, Kipp was given an informal grooming.

Ben produced a box of moist pet wipes in foil packets. He also had two different grooming combs.

He hadn’t bought those items at the market. For some reason, he’d already had them in the Range Rover.



“This will do till we can find a place to get you a real bath.”

Living with Dorothy, Kipp had been bathed every Thursday and regularly trimmed. Everyone said he looked like a show dog.

During the long day of overland travel, which had brought him to the campground, he’d gotten a bit dirty and bedraggled.

Ben didn’t take off Kipp’s collar, but otherwise gave him a thorough wipe down.

Of course he had to endure a brief session with a hair dryer. Every life had its ups and down.

Once Kipp was dry, Ben produced a water bowl and a food bowl.

Both were white ceramic and made for dogs. The green-lettered name on each was Clover.

These, too, had come from the Range Rover, not from the market in Tahoe City.

Ben filled one bowl with water and emptied an entire can of the gourmet food into the other.

Although he’d had the burger and frankfurter earlier, Kipp ate this offering with pleasure, though not with canine haste.

One of the first things that Dorothy had found peculiar about him, as a puppy, was that he savored his food rather than gobbling it in typical doggy fashion.

With his sandwiches, beer, and a book, Ben settled in a chair at a small table by the window.



After he had licked the bowl clean, Kipp considered the mystery of it. He was exhausted after a busy day without naps, but curiosity wouldn’t let him sleep.

With one paw, he tipped the empty bowl on its side. With his nose, he rolled it across the carpet to Ben Hawkins.

The writer looked up from his book and watched this performance without comment.

Kipp stopped the bowl next to Ben’s chair, with the name Clover clearly visible. He sat and cocked his head and regarded the man.

“You want more food?”

Kipp thumped his tail once, which meant no. But that was code he’d developed with Dorothy. This man couldn’t know what it meant.

Kipp shook his head from side to side.

Ben inserted a bookmark in the novel and set it aside. His expression was unreadable. As a former Navy SEAL, he was a man of reason who was cautious about making assumptions.

After a silence, Ben said, “Did you just shake your head no?”

Without hesitation, Kipp moved his head up and down.

They stared at each other. Kipp had learned that a direct stare could convey considerable information, depending on the intensity and duration of it.

Now he lowered his eyes to the name Clover on the dish, then looked again at Ben Hawkins.

The writer picked up his can of beer, hesitated, and put it down without taking a drink.



“You know you’re a little spooky?”

Patiently, Kipp watched him, waited.

“Clover was my dog for eight years. A rescue. I got her a few weeks after I was out of the navy, the day before they would have put her down. She was a golden, like you.”

Kipp issued a whimper of sympathy.

“Clover was a fine girl. Fearless but with the sweetest heart. Cancer was eating her alive. Five months ago, I held her in my arms while the vet put her to sleep. It was the hardest damn thing I’ve ever done. Me, a big, tough Navy SEAL. The hardest thing.”

Kipp thought of Dorothy. He was very tired. He had never been so tired before.

He padded to the farther end of the room and stared at the writer across the bed.

“You want to sleep up there? It’s all right with me.”

Marshaling what energy he had left, Kipp sprang onto the mattress. He circled and laid down and closed his eyes.

He heard the writer getting up from the chair, moving around.

The seal on the refrigerator made a soft sucking sound as the door opened.

The click-tear of the pull tab on a can. The smell of fresh cold beer.

A moment later, the chair creaked as the writer settled in it once more.

“Spooky,” Ben said again.

Dorothy smiled at Kipp in the dream and put a hand on his head and smoothed his fur and said, My special boy.





29



Megan found Woody lying on his bed, atop the spread, fully clothed, in the fetal position, eyes open, which meant that he was distressed about something. He remained as silent as the versions of himself that appeared in some of her paintings, including the one of him in the moonlight with deer, which was currently on her easel.

When she spoke to him and he wouldn’t even look at her, she could do nothing for him other than climb on the bed, spoon against his back, and put her arms around him. He had no objection to being held, though he never returned a hug.