John Lawson walked through the sliding doors of the grocery store and into the late spring sunlight. The weather was warm but not quite hot. He straightened his jacket, his favorite jacket, and felt a slight pang at the thought that soon he’d have to put it in the closet until Fall came around again. He looked at the flowers in his arms. He couldn’t name most of them, but there were a few carnations in the bouquet, and he knew for sure that Lynn loved those.
“I hope she likes them,” he said aloud to no one.
“I’m sure she will.” said a soft voice. John glanced to his right, and a few paces away an elderly woman had stopped on her way into the store. She gave him a warm smile.
“Thanks,” he said, “Have a great day.” John favored her with a smile of his own. He’d been taught as a boy that smiles should always be returned. Not every one he returned was sincere, some were just a habit, but this one was. The woman’s smile was genuine so John’s was as well.
He glanced across the parking lot at his old truck. The windows were down and there was no sign of the Cattle Dog he knew was in his seat. Dingo Boy always stole John’s spot when he was in the store and never jumped out of the window when left in the truck. He liked the windows rolled down when the weather permitted, so John obliged. Anyone trying to take advantage of the unsecured truck would find it well guarded. The Heeler wasn’t a mean dog but he was very loyal and territorial like most of his breed.
A warm breeze washed over John’s face as he neared the truck. He smelled the kid’s cologne before he stepped around the back of the truck. He wasn’t really a kid, actually a young man, likely in his early twenties, but John thought of him as a kid when he saw him. He was wearing a baggy coat that was too warm for the weather, an oversized t-shirt, and baggy pants that pooled over his white trainers. It startled John when he noticed the nickel-plated Glock 18 in his hand. He held it in a nervous grip, shaking slightly.
“I’ll take your phone, your wallet, and your keys,” he said and pointed the pistol at John’s face for emphasis.
John raised his hands and said, “My wallet’s in my pocket.” He slowly reached into the left side of his jacket with his right hand. He hesitated slightly as he passed over the grip of the .357 Magnum in its holster sewn into his jacket. A memory flashed through his mind. Lynn had told him not to put his eye out when she gave him the Chiappa Rhino 50DS. He passed it by and fished for his wallet in the inside pocket above the gun. The kid was robbing him, and he was scared, but he wasn’t going to kill the young man over the few bucks in his wallet and a couple of credit cards he’d cancel as soon as this was over.
Dingo Boy was having a fantastic nap. One of his favorite kinds of naps. A nap in John’s spot in the truck. He loved the truck with its long bench seat. It took them on all of the adventures they shared. This nap was at the edge of a pool of sunlight that bathed the cosy bench behind him and warmed his tail and booty. Perhaps there would be a ‘snacky’ when his human companion returned.
He dreamed he could hear his friend’s deep voice in the direction of the grocery store. It had a sad note in it but then a woman spoke and John’s response was warm and pleasant. Maybe the sadness would finally leave his friend’s voice. It’d been there since the days started to get cold last year, on the day that the man had come home and told the dingo mix that they were ‘on their own’. He’d cried that day and, seeing it, so had the Heeler. Then John had been sad for a long while. It had lessened a little bit as winter gave way to spring and a little bit more as spring moved toward summer. Maybe he was getting better. Maybe it was because Lynn was finally coming home. Would they see her today? John had really missed her and so had Dingo Boy.
He stirred as feet scuffed near the back of the truck. His eyes opened and he glanced at the open window above his head. He’d never put so much as a paw out that window. It was important that he stayed in the truck when John left him to guard it. It was part of the ‘Good Boy Contract’. He needed to bark and growl at anyone who was getting too close to the truck. It was a very important duty and he took it seriously. One ear rotated toward the pacing footsteps behind the truck while the other rotated toward the familiar clopping of John’s work boots as they came closer from across the parking lot.
As John approached the truck, the person with the scuffing shoes spoke to him. Dingo Boy didn’t understand all the words, but he knew what phone and give meant. The phone was a hated distraction that cost Dingo Boy many scratches, pets, and general attention and he hoped whoever John was giving it to would keep it. He contemplated sitting up in the seat to watch the exchange. Instead he stretched his back feet into the pool of sunlight behind him and spread his toes luxuriantly. Sometimes humans talked about nothing for a long time. There was no reason for his delicious nap to end.
Dingo Boy felt fear roll off of John and over him. He sat up in an instant and saw John looking at someone, a stranger, who was pointing something shiny at him. He must have caught John’s attention when he sat up in the seat because John looked at him. Dingo Boy saw the fear in his buddy’s eyes. The stranger, the object of John’s fear, started to turn toward the truck. The ‘Good Boy Contract’ had smallprint that demanded action in moments like this. With a snarl, he shot through the open window and smashed into the stranger. He tried to bite the young man’s neck but missed.
When John saw the pointed ears appear, as if by magic, in the driver’s side window of the truck he knew things had just gotten worse. When his buddy leapt through that window and onto the gunman his heart sank. When the dog and the young man hit the ground and the dog whirled to fight John shouted, “No!” When the enraged Heeler grabbed the robber by the arm and the pistol was pointed at him, John grabbed the grip of his revolver. When the three shots rang out John’s blood ran cold and he pulled his weapon from his jacket. When the kid looked up from the still form of the dog who lay in a spreading pool of blood, he found John aiming a big gun at him. When the robber, the killer, brought his gun to bear on John, action replaced decision. When they both fired it was so synchronized that witnesses would later report one gunshot instead of two.
A bright light flared in John’s head. The parking lot was gone. Flash. Lynn smelled of wildflowers and soap. She snuggled into his chest as the little Cattle Dog puppy romped around the bed and yipped and growled at their feet under the blankets. Flash. Sunlight streamed through the trees as he drove down a country road in his truck. Flash. He ate a sandwich on the jobsite and regretted how much mustard he’d put on it. Flash. Lynn’s hand was in his, her grip weak, her hand slipped from his grasp. Flash. Flash. Darkness. Then he was on a narrow dirt road in a forest. A thick fog obscured most of the land around him. Dingo Boy was on the wide path ahead of him. There was a leash, a tether, of light and love leading from him to the merle Heeler. The dog turned toward the man with the same laughing smile he often wore when they first hit the trail for a hike. An arch of bright white light swirled into existence beyond the dingo mix. John’s buddy turned toward it and started to pull him along. The man stumbled behind his beloved companion as they both moved into the light.