The Dog That Saved Stewart Coolidge (12 page)

Stewart had a few possible responses and did not use any of them.

“Well, Stewart, you should start going to church. I know you haven't been. Edna says she has not seen you at church in over a year.”

He stayed silent. Hubert looked up at him with that same plaintive, understanding look.

“All I'm saying, Stewart, is that if you want to get ahead in this world, you better start going to church.”

“Okay Grams. Listen, it's late and I have to be at work early tomorrow. I'll call you this weekend.”

She didn't speak for a moment.

“Have you heard from your father?”

Stewart made a quick decision.

“No.”

“Well, if you have to hang up on me, go right ahead. I'll be here all weekend. Like always. Where am I going to go, anyhow?”

“Okay. I'll talk to you soon.”

Stewart hung his head and let all the air out of his lungs.

“Hubert. Never get married, okay? It doesn't seem worth it. Or even have a family. Or a relative, either.”

The next morning, when Stewart woke up, it was still dark and the streets empty. He knew that Hubert would need to go outside, and when he opened the front door he saw a small envelope on the welcome mat. It bore just a single word: “Stewart,” done in a most feminine handwriting.

He carried it outside and waited until they reached the second lamppost on the second block away from the house.

Stewart looked back toward the house. He could still see it in the shadows. Other than the single light coming from his apartment, the rest of the house remained dark.

And this is the first time a girl asked me out on a date.

Curious life is…as Yoda would say.

H
UBERT SAT
on the floor in the small bedroom as Stewart began to obsess over what he might wear to church. If he had asked his grandmother, she would have said a three-piece suit with a sedate tie and wingtips would be the only truly theologically appropriate attire. His father would have just snorted and claimed that going to church was for suckers and that all churches wanted was your money.

He was on his own today.

And Hubert was no help.

He held up his only sport coat, a blue jacket he'd bought expressly for job interviews. He'd worn it twice so far—and not for the interview with Tops Market.

“I could wear this with a button-down shirt, Hubert. What do you think?”

Hubert leaned forward and sniffed at the coat as Stewart proffered it to him. Then he looked up at his human with a puzzled expression, as if to say he really had no idea what he was being asked to decide.

“I could wear it with jeans, Hubert. Makes it both casual and dressy.”

Hubert happily nodded, smiling.

They had been out early and Stewart and Hubert had both had breakfast. Hubert had been given a few bites of toast, which he certainly seemed to enjoy.

“Okay, the sport coat, a blue shirt, and jeans. The good jeans and not the ripped ones. That sound good to you, Hubert?”

Hubert appeared to be satisfied—and happy that the questions had stopped.

And in that moment of dialogue it became clear to Stewart that he was getting acclimated to having a dog in his life. Not just acclimated, but he was enjoying having a dog in his life.

He reached into the closet and found his good blue shirt. It was more wrinkled than not. He returned to the closet and slid hangers back and forth. His other blue shirt, the not-as-good one, was much less wrinkled. That was the one he selected.

I'm not too good at ironing. And I don't have an ironing board.

It did not take long to put on the outfit. He pulled out his leather loafers. They had not been worn since his last job interview and were only a little dusty, which Stewart took care of with a single sheet of Tops brand paper towels.

He checked his phone.

Nine o'clock.

“Well, Hubert, I said I would get her at nine. And it's nine. It's off to church, I guess.”

At this Hubert stood, and danced about, just for a moment, as if he were celebrating this event, as if he knew what the word “church” meant, as if he knew what going to church might lead to.

The dog appeared to be genuinely and sincerely and totally happy.

“Okay, buddy. See you in an hour or so.”

The two of them, Lisa and Stewart, were a good match—fashion-wise. Lisa had jeans on as well, but much nicer jeans that probably cost more than Stewart's entire outfit. But then, girls had to buy clothes like that.

“You look so nice, Stewart,” Lisa said as she put her arm into his as they walked toward town.

“You do, too,” he replied.

“I sort of forgot to tell you that you didn't have to wear a suit and tie to church or anything. A sport coat would be fine. More than fine, really. But you look very nice. Handsome.”

This is the first time a girl has called me handsome—and appeared to actually mean it.

“The church is casual, sort of. Some of the older people still dress up. But you see shorts and T-shirts as well. No one minds.”

They walked along.

“Well, maybe some of the older folks do mind. But no one says anything. At least not to anyone's face, I guess. Maybe over lunch afterwards.”

“I know. When my grandmother was still living up here, that's what she did afterwards. I wanted to tell her to bring a clipboard with her with an evaluation sheet for everyone. But I never did. She wouldn't get the humor in it.”

They walked to the end of the block, then turned right. Lisa reached down and took his hand in hers and they walked, without talking anymore, until they reached the church on Pearl Street.

“Saint Paul's?” Stewart said as they stopped. “I thought all the saint churches were Catholic.”

Lisa giggled.

“You're funny, Stewart. I really like that about you.”

I wasn't being funny. That's what I thought. But if she thinks it's funny…well, I like that more.

Despite the fact that Stewart was not a regular, every-Sunday churchgoing person, the service at St. Paul's was both familiar and not familiar. He actually recognized a couple of the hymns from his sporadic church attendance as a child, but today he was never quite certain when to stand and when to sit.

He simply followed Lisa's lead, and managed to keep up with only a second of delay or so.

Lisa had chosen to sit on the left side, about halfway back.

“This is my usual spot. Funny how we are all such creatures of habit,” she said before the service began.

“I know. I see people at the market wait in huge lines just so they can get ‘their' checkout person.”

“Really?”

“Sure. And after a while, I can almost guess what certain people will buy on certain days. Some people buy milk only on Wednesday and bread only on Friday. I guess they think it gets delivered that day so it's fresher.”

“Does it? I mean, get delivered then?”

“No. Maybe it used to be—like in the old days. But now everything comes in all the time—no set schedules that I can see. But that's what they believe. So who am I to tell them the truth and burst their food bubble?”

The service started and Stewart followed Lisa's lead.

I didn't mind the preliminaries at this church at all. And a couple of the songs sounded almost modern.

The pastor walked up to the pulpit. He wore a dark suit, a white shirt, and a red tie.

He dresses up.

And then he began.

Afterwards, if he had been asked, Stewart would not recall all the details of the message, but some of it. The verses and chapters and numbers and the Greek words and translations—
well, all that was all Greek to me,
he thought—but the rest of his story made sense.

The pastor spoke about the story of the lost sheep.

Stewart wanted to remember that it was in Luke.

I'm pretty sure he said Luke. Because I might want to read it again. And Lisa may ask me about it afterwards. I want her to think that I know something about this religion stuff.

“I know you have all heard the story of the lost sheep and how the shepherd will leave all those in the fold, or flock, in order to search for the one he has lost. And how he will rejoice on finding that one sheep. And his neighbors will rejoice with him. As all the angels in heaven will rejoice when one sinner returns, rather than rejoicing over those who are already righteous.”

I think I have heard this story before. At my gram's church, maybe.

“Today, instead of focusing just on the shepherd and how he will seek the lost out, I want to spend a moment talking about that one lost sheep.”

So far I'm following him. Not too many
thee
s and
thou
s and no one is hollering or shaking or falling over.

“Think about it. If every sheep stayed with the shepherd, he would have no reason to worry. He would have no reason to search for any of the sheep. He would know that they are all safe and sound and protected.”

“But that one sheep, maybe it's bull-headed—although a bull-headed sheep might be a mixed metaphor; my apologies to all of our English teachers.”

Everyone laughed. Maybe there are English teachers here. I don't see any of my old English teachers.

Lisa laughed as well and looked over to Stewart.

“He can be funny sometimes,” she whispered.

The pastor continued.

“Now it's the lost sheep that makes the shepherd search. It's the lost sheep that makes the shepherd prove that he truly loves each and every sheep in the flock. If it wasn't for the lost, we might never know that he cares.”

I guess I follow that…sort of.

“And you know what? We are all that lost sheep. The reason Jesus has come is to find us. Each and every one of us. We are all lost and alone and scared and in need of protection and safety.”

That's just like Hubert. He was lost, and now he is found. He's talking about Hubert…sort of.

“That poor sheep, alone in the wilderness. There were wolves and lions ready to eat him. There were brambles and thorns to get tangled in. But all of that worry stopped when that sheep saw the shepherd coming. He was on a mission to find the lost. He sees it in your eyes—that you are alone and scared and lost and, maybe, just a little bit desperate.”

That's Hubert.

“And that is each and every one of us. We're lost. Let yourself be found. Let Jesus find you. Let Him find you. Look for Him. He's coming for you. Let Him find you.”

Stewart looked over at Lisa.

She looked back at Stewart, then reached for his hand again and squeezed it.

“No one is outside of His care. No one. Let Him find you. Stop running away. Let Him find you.”

The pastor talked a lot more that morning—well, not a lot, but more, and Stewart sort of stopped listening at that point, so taken by the imagery of being lost, like Hubert was lost.

And that sort of makes me like a shepherd, doesn't it. Hubert came to me and I found him. That's kind of cool.

Afterwards, they walked back home. Lisa had to work later that day.

“That's the one thing I really don't like about working at the Rooster—having to work on Sundays sometimes.”

“I know. I have to sometimes as well,” Stewart replied.

“How's Hubert getting along?”

“He seems real good,” Stewart said. “I think he likes having a safe place to sleep, and regular food.”

“I wonder how long he was out there, by himself?”

“I don't know. But I sort of feel like the shepherd guy your pastor was talking about. Finding the lost, and all that.”

Lisa looked up at him, a hopeful look on her face, as if Stewart was about to admit something intimate to her.

“Well, we are all lost, just like he said,” she replied, waiting for Stewart's confirmation.

“For sure Hubert was. I know dogs don't matter…you know…to God. Well, I'm sure they matter and all that, but not in the same way people matter. Right?”

“Probably,” she said. “But He does search for the lost.”

“I bet,” Stewart replied, which left an odd half smile on Lisa's face, as if she had been hoping for something more expansive and did not hear it.

“Thanks for coming to church with me, Stewart. It was nice.”

Stewart quickly nodded.

“It was. Maybe we could do it again next week?”

Lisa brightened.

“Sure. I would like that.”

“Swell. I would, too.”