Pepper

This short story is something I came up with for fellow blogger Kevin’s No Theme Thursday prompt post for this past week. Kevin, thanks for so many creative ideas…it makes picking one difficult! 🙂

I looked with pity at the emaciated figure sitting in filth on the concrete floor. A chain went around her neck that was fastened to the wall. A bowl of scummy water lay nearby.

A concerned neighbor, an elderly man, had called me about the howling. I lived two streets over and he knew I was a dog lover. 

I barely recognized the breed, a German Shepherd. Her coat was dull, matted and covered with bald patches. Pressure sores on her legs oozed pus.

Remarkably, she appeared unperturbed; some undefinable strength of character had prevailed, and she appeared to have accepted her lot in life with a quiet dignity. Most dogs would have turned into snarling, slavering brutes after months of such treatment, but not her. She sat in the darkness and filth, ignored and unloved, only occasionally uttering a mournful howl as she wondered what it was all about.

She looked at me, held up a paw and quietly whined. My throat tightened as I grasped her paw. We looked at each other. I saw only gentleness.

I loosened her collar, which was much too tight. It had a tarnished silver nameplate: Pepper.

Three SPCA people arrived to sort things out. As I sat with Pepper, they interviewed the owner. 

She was an elderly woman with Alzheimer’s and only fed Pepper when she remembered. And even then it was garbage; dinner scraps from a day or two earlier that had sat out, unrefrigerated. I was amazed that Pepper had not gotten sick. 

They came back into the garage and unhooked the chain. They started to put her into a cage.

“Where… what’s going on?” I asked.

The senior SPCA guy spoke. “We’re taking her to the shelter, where she’ll be euthanized. It’s really the kindest thing we can do.”

I looked at Pepper with something akin to panic. “Can’t I take her?” I pleaded. “She’s only a young dog… she has her whole life ahead of her. I’m sure I can nurse her back to health… can’t I adopt her?”

The SPCA people turned and had a hushed conference. The senior guy seemed determined but the other two, with occasional hand gestures and hoarse whispers, appeared to wear him down. They finally turned.

“OK,” he said. “We have some forms to fill out, and of course there’ll be a weekly visit. If we don’t see improvement, we’ll have to take her.” I nodded. Pepper laid back down, exhausted, and closed her eyes.

As winter gave way to spring, I worked to bring Pepper back into the land of the living. I showered her with care and love. My girlfriend Jenny helped and the transformation was slow but steady. Daily brushing, antibiotics, a good diet and tons of affection were just what she needed. She slept at the side of my bed on a dog mattress I got at PetsMart. Her wounds granulated, and her bald spots began to fill in. She put on 40 lbs and her coat gradually regained its sheen.

The SPCA people were happy to see the change. “You’ve done great job,” the senior guy said on one visit. He knelt and stroked her head. “I had my doubts… I didn’t want to see her suffer any more… but I can see I was wrong.” He stood, shook my hand and smiled.

There was a dog park not far away. On my days off, Jenny and I would walk hand in hand with Pepper leading the way. We sat and watched as she exchanged hellos with the other dogs, sniffed the interesting parts, her tail swishing as her gleaming fur shone in the afternoon sun. Even though she towered over most of the other dogs, she was always treated them with a gentle benevolence.

Pepper and I grew closer as spring rolled into summer. Sometimes it was cathartic to discuss with her all with which I wrestled: my medical problems; my deeply personal issues; the recent loss of my best friend in a car accident. She listened attentively, cocking her head this way and that. Sometimes I could almost imagine she understood what I was saying because at the most odd moments, she’d lean forward and lick my cheek, her brown eyes radiating intelligence and affection.

The best times were that autumn. Jenny and I watched the NC State Wolfpack on Saturday afternoons and when we rose and whooped after a TD, Pepper joined in with excited barking. I took her massive head in my hands and gently shook her. After the game, after dinner, after everything was done, the three of us sat in front of the big stone fireplace quietly talking until the last embers faded. She liked to lay with her head in Jenny’s lap while sprawled across me.

One night I had a small box in my pocket.  I was nervous, but the timing was perfect. Jenny had her head on my shoulder and the fireplace crackled and popped.

I can’t remember what I said, but I remember what happened next. Her eyes shone as she laughed and cried, put on the ring and said yes. She hugged me so tightly I could hardly breathe. Pepper came over and gave a few interested sniffs, licked us, then laid her head in my lap.

The three of us stood around the veterinarian’s exam table in excitement. On the X-ray screen, a glorious mixture of four puppies could be seen inside Pepper as Dr. Hicks listened intently with his stethoscope, checking here, then there. Finally, he straightened.

“Well, everything looks and sounds great,” he smiled. “We’re still looking at the last week of March.”

Jenny and I had decided to breed her. We found an AKC contact through the doggie park and had her mated in late January. Our own wedding date had been set for that fall, but since I couldn’t have kids, Pepper and her pups would be our family. She grew decidedly round as Jenny and I walked her on fields frosted with snow.

She seemed to understand on some unfathomable level her role in our family. She like nothing better than to lay in front of the fire as the frigid  storms of February threw ice against the windows. Occasionally, she’d get up, take a leisurely stretch, then stand at the back door to be let out.

Jenny loved the theater and even though we lived in a small town, we had a local theater company. They were putting on a production of Macbeth and Jenny bugged me into going. The theater was pet-friendly and Pepper…and almost me…dozed as the three witches led Macbeth to his doom. 

We were walking home, arms linked, Pepper leading the way, when it happened. 

Right past the theater was a blind alley. As we approached, a shadowy figure slipped out from behind a dumpster and blocked our path. It was dark, and I couldn’t see much except for a 12” butcher knife that gleamed in the light of a streetlight. I froze, blood pounding in my ears. This sort of thing happened to OTHER people…not me. Or Jenny. 

Pepper stiffened and from her massive chest, a rumbling growl began. The guy with the knife stepped back a little. I could see him now a bit; a young guy, late teens, early 20s, expressionless, dark eyes.

“Gimme your wallets,” he said. “Hurry!” His voice was cold, emotionless. He looked around; nobody could see us from the street. We were on our own. 

As I reached for my wallet and Jenny fumbled through her purse, Pepper continued to growl. The hair on her back stood up and she strained against the leash. 

“And you better get that f—ing animal under control or—“ 

At that moment, Pepper broke my grip on the leash and lunged. She leaped toward the kid and then uttered a sickening yelp as 12” of cruel steel slid into into her chest. He stabbed her several more times before turning and fleeing into the night.

As in a dream, I knelt. I put my hand on Pepper’s flank and felt it wet and slick with blood. Jenny screamed as Pepper’s breathing became labored.

“Quick!” I shouted. “Call Dr. Hicks! Tell him where we are and it’s an emergency!” Jenny fumbled with her phone and spoke, sobbing, as I stroked Pepper. She stared straight ahead, panting, as she struggled to breathe.

The next few minutes were a blur. I vaguely remember headlights, shouting, police lights, Dr. Hicks kneeling next to Pepper. Someone held a flashlight as he reached into his surgical bag and bent over her belly, doing something. Jenny sobbed. 

I knelt down to see what I could do to help Dr. Hicks. Pepper turned her head and looked at me, holding my gaze. Her panting slowed. The light in her eyes slowly dimmed, cooling, as her life ebbed away. It’s OK, she seemed to say. I gotta go.

The light finally winked out like a candle at a great distance being extinguished. 

Just like that, she was gone.

Dr. Hicks held up one squalling, crying pup. It was wet and bedraggled, unceremoniously taken two weeks early from Pepper’s belly. Dr. Hicks faced me. “I’m sorry, he said. “The blood loss was just too severe. The other pups didn’t make it….this one was all I could save.” 

He suggested he take it back to the clinic to give it treatment and I numbly nodded as my hand stroked Pepper’s lifeless body.

Jenny and I exchanged vows that October out near Boone. We were on the banks of a rushing stream and the leaves were at the height of their color. Brilliant reds, oranges, and yellows surrounded us, leaves fluttering down, as we exchanged rings and gave ourselves to each other. 

Behind us was my best man, Keith, a guy I’d known all my life. And he not only held the ring that he gave me at the right moment… he held the leash of Baron, the seven-month old German Shepherd pup of Pepper.

Baron sat silently though the ceremony, ears cocked, listening intently. It was almost as though he understood what was going on.

And though I couldn’t see her, I knew she was there, too. 

Miss you, Pepper.