Companions

They say that old dogs can’t learn new tricks. They also say that small dogs have half the brains, courage, and attention span as big dogs. This actually is true most of the time. However, this was not the case with Kirby. At least not when it mattered most.
Kirby was a mutt of sorts, but he was a loyal mutt. He was half dachshund and half rat terrier. The majority of his coat was as dark as midnight, with a golden brown on his snout and legs, and white on his breast and feet. He was loved by all who met him; though he craved attention all of the time.
Kirby was owned by a man named Rod, who worked his summers on the road. So during these months he was watched by his loving grandfather Bud. Bud was a retired police officer and now worked nights as a security guard at various hotels. He was a tall man of stature with aging, yet strong muscles. He wore glasses and had just the faintest sign of thinning, golden hair. In his own words, he “still had it,” as far as the ladies was concerned. He walked with a slight stoop and carried a walking stick whenever he went out of the house.
Bud and Kirby had become much attached after Bud’s wife of fifty years, Meg, passed away two years prior. His daily routine consisted of breakfast while reading the paper, feeding Kirby, going to work, and then coming home to take Kirby to the dog park. It was at this dog park that their bond became relevant to a degree that only witnesses of the event will ever understand.
Bud:
It was a seasonably hot summer morning towards the end of July. Bud had just stepped out of his car and was approaching his house. He could see Kirby poking his head between the blinds, waiting for his loving grandpa to come home. While fidgeting with the keys an impatient Kirby could be heard jumping against the other side of the door.
“Hold on old boy. Give an old man a minute to find the right key,” said Bud as he inserted the key and unlocked the door. As he swung the door open, an excited Kirby jumped up into Bud’s arms and began licking his face. “There you are big guy. Did you miss me, huh,” said Bud lovingly while pretending to move his face to avoid the wet doggy kisses.
As Bud climbed the short set of stairs to get changed, Kirby disappeared into the closet. Bud walked into his room, switched on the light, and searched his own closet for his trusty, yet outdated, sweatpants, and one of his many Twins shirts. A loud noise was heard coming from the kitchen as Bud yelled, “Kirby, it’s not in there anymore, remember? I hung it up by the back door.” A shuffling of long nails on hardwood and a scamper of feet was heard as Kirby came running into Bud’s
room with his leash in mouth. “That’s a good boy. Ready to go already eh? Well thanks for waiting for me,” said Bud has he reached down to pat Kirby’s head.
Bud slowly straightened back up and again turned his attention to the shirt rack. “So who’s gonna have the big game today old boy? Think Morneau will pound out a big home run? Is Mauer gonna knock a few hits,” asks Bud as he slides his collection of his favorite Twins players over one at a time. “Think they’ll need Nathan to close out the game?” At this Kirby just stared dumbfounded at his loving grandpa, while wagging his tail. “Morneau it is then.”
Bud threw the shirt on and began making his way to the front door. As he reached the bottom step, the phone rang. Cursing under his breath at having to trudge up the stairs again, Bud slowly approached the phone and picked it up. It was his daughter Grace, who was Rod’s mother.
“Hello?”
“Hey dad, I’m glad I caught you before you took the little monster to the park. Are we still up for brunch?”
“Brunch… today? It is Tuesday already isn’t it? Well you would probably never forgive me if I skipped out on that.”
“You’re right on that one,” says Grace laughing on the other end. “How late will you two be frolicking today?”
“Same time as always. Ten o’clock sharp. I was thinking Grandma’s Kitchen today. Sound good to your picky taste?”
“Oh dad. I’d eat at Stalin’s Kitchen. You know this is all just an excuse for us to catch up,” said Grace in that voice that daughters reserve for their fathers.
“Alright then Gracie. Ten minutes after ten o’clock at Grandma’s Kitchen. Though I hear Lenin was a better cook.”
Grace gave an audible groan on the other end of the line.
“Try not to be late this time. You know I worry whenever you’re not there on time,” said Bud in a sad attempt at an authoritarian voice.
“Ten after ten dad. See you then,” replied Grace.
Bud hung up the phone and made his way back down the stairs. Without looking, he reached over to the corner to grab his walking stick. “What the,” he questioned as he grabbed nothing but air. He looked down to see Kirby lying down with the walking stick between his paws. “Adding to your tooth mark collection are we,” asked Bud as he knelt down and collected the old chewed up stick. He gave Kirby a couple pats on the head, used his cane to help right himself, and they were out the door.
On the drive to the park, Bud checked his watch to see that the time was 9:15. With a smile on his face he reached for his can of Copenhagen pouches. Bud had quit smoking at Meg’s request, shortly after meeting her. He had never taken another puff after that. However, after Meg’s death, Bud got into the habit of enjoying one pouch of chewing tobacco every morning at 9:15 precisely. He liked to have something to look forward to everyday. Nobody knew about this dirty habit except Kirby, who seemed not to mind, as he put his paws up on the passenger window. Bud popped the pouch into his mouth and moved it into his lower lip. Opening the middle compartment, he hid the can under a stack of old cassettes, right next to his losing scratch off tickets.
Grace:
“Ten after ten dad, see you then,” replied Grace.
Grace had always worried about her father, but lately more so. She knew that Bud was a healthy older man for the most part, yet she also knew that he had taken up chewing those gross little tobacco pouches after her mom died. She decided to keep it to herself, allowing the old man one of his few pleasures in late life. She also knew about the five scratch off tickets that he bought every week. Before Meg died he had to hide them, as she did not approve of the habit. It was always Grace and his little secret. Since Meg passed, however, he still hid them in the middle compartment of his car. Grace found this to be endearing.
It was her idea to have him watch Kirby over the summer months as Rod was away on his job. She had seen on the Today show how therapeutic pets can be to widowers. Plus, they seemed to get along great.
She couldn’t help but to smile at Bud’s insistence on her to be on time. Earlier in life it was Bud who was always late for everything, and Meg was the one scolding him to be punctual. Now he was borderline compulsive about being timely. “The old man definitely has a lot of spunk left in him,” she thought as she returned to her classroom.
Grace was a middle school social studies teacher. She cared for her old man like she cared for her students. She liked to believe that Bud needed her to teach him to be independent again. She loved the old man more than life itself. It was her idea for them to meet for brunch once a week, on her early lunch breaks. She wanted to spend as much time as possible with him before the inevitable Father Time took him away from her.
“Ten after ten,” she repeated to herself smiling as the class settled into their seats.
Bud:
“There it is old boy,” said Bud as he slipped the car into park. “Looks like we’re the only ones here this morning. All the better, right,” asked Bud as he reached over for his walking stick and Kirby’s favorite ball. He opened the door and Kirby dashed out into the hot July morning, leash in mouth. Bud slowly raised himself up out of the car, and closed the door behind him.
Bud noticed he was already sweating through his shirt. The day seemed hot, but he hadn’t even been moving around, he thought to himself as he grabbed the end of Kirby’s leash. They made their way to the main gate, and passed through. Bud looked down at Kirby, wishing he didn’t have to bend down to take the leash off of him. To his surprise Kirby jumped up into his arms and waited patiently for the old man to free him.
“Well now! There’s a good boy,” said Bud as he released the clasp from the dog’s collar. Kirby gently jumped out of Bud’s arms and began to mark his territory. Bud always found it amusing how territorial dogs were. It was as if they thought of this to be the most important facet in life. Bud realized that he had been thinking of the “simple things” far too much lately, and quickly changed his mind to the night’s baseball game.
When Kirby finished doing his business he was back to the real business at hand. This was of course, the ball. As he stared up at his master, Bud pretended to have no clue what the dog could possibly want. Kirby let out a small bark and laid down, tail wagging. Bud always held out on the ball until Kirby did this. He liked the way that Kirby waited, albeit impatiently, until the old man was ready. “All right boy, go get it,” said Bud as he threw the ball as far as his ailing arm could throw it. “Still got it,” he thought aloud as the ball landed about a hundred feet ahead of them. Kirby sprinted after the ball, back legs circling like egg beaters set on high.
As he walked towards his favorite bench, Bud felt that tingly, slightly painful feeling in his arm that you feel after throwing a ball without warming the arm up. “Damn old age. I’d give anything to throw that ball all day,” thought Bud, daydreaming of his baseball playing days.
As Bud approached the bench, he spotted Kirby darting off towards something. “Go get him boy,” thought Bud, smiling, as he slowly followed Kirby towards the end of the park. Kirby followed the rascal into the sparse woods that surrounded the near end of the doggy haven. Bud walked gingerly, placing more emphasis on his walking stick than normal. Without realizing it, he dropped his walking stick just before entering the woods. He took a few steps in and saw the dog pointing towards the fence. Bud was about to say something as the pain in his arm suddenly became excruciating. He suddenly fell over clutching his chest.

Grace:
As Grace pulled up to Grandma’s Kitchen she glanced at the clock. “Great, twelve after ten. Now I’m gonna hear it,” she thought as she quickly put the car into gear. She turned the ignition off while getting out of the car. She walked quickly down the short path to the quaint old restaurant that was attached to a drug store.
She peered around the restaurant but did not see her father. “Excuse me, has Bud been in here at all this morning,” she asked the lady tending to the coffee.
“Nope, not yet,” she stated, glancing at her watch. “He should be soon though. He’s usually here right around ten.”
“I know. We were supposed to meet for brunch at ten after,” said Grace, to no one in particular now. She was beginning to worry. “He’s very adamant about being on time.” She asks the waitress for a note pad on which to write her cell phone number. “If he shows up will you give him this number and have him call my cell from your phone?”
“Of course dear,” said the waitress with a half worried look herself.
Grace hurried out of the restaurant without even saying thank you. Something just did not seem right to her about this. To ease her mind she tried to blame paranoia for her feelings as she started the car and backed it up. But somewhere in the back of her mind she knew something had gone wrong.
Bud:
Bud was breathing deep shallow breaths now. The world, along with his thoughts, seemed to come and go with his weak, irregular heart beat. He spotted Kirby staring at him, whining. “Well, there’s no denying it now,” he thought, half to himself, and half to Kirby. The dog whined louder and barked louder and louder. “Take good care of Gracie and Rod for me, will you boy,” said Bud as he struggled to form the words.
Kirby stared at his loving, dying grandpa, whining, and barking louder and louder still.
Grace:
As she pulled into the parking lot of the dog park she saw the one, lone car. She pulled the keys out of the ignition and half fell out the door. “Dad? Dad! Kirby,” she yelled louder and louder still. She glanced inside hoping for dear life to find what she was looking for. Upon seeing nothing she began to sprint for the gate. Suddenly she tripped up on the entrance and fell hard on the unforgiving concrete. Looking up, half dazed, she saw Kirby running full speed at her with something in his mouth. Kirby had Bud’s walking stick and was practically smacking her in the head with it. “Oh my God,” thought Grace as she picked herself up.
She scanned the park again as quickly as she could. Nothing. She began running around the outskirts of the small confine. Nothing. She called 911 to report what was happening, and was told that emergency services were on their way. Suddenly she heard a loud barking that startled her enough to drop her phone.
Kirby was standing ten feet away from her with the stick on the ground. He quickly picked up the old man’s cane and began running thirty feet at a time, looking back at intervals. Not even thinking, she followed him to the end of the park, towards the woods. As she entered the shadowy corner of the park, she lost him. Suddenly she heard Kirby’s barking and whining, and she followed the noise.
There he was. He was lying on his back, breathing shallow, with his eyes open, gazing at the trees. “Oh my God, dad!” screamed Grace as she ran up to him.
“He found you eh,” asked Bud with a smirk on his face. “God I love that damn dog,” stated an exasperated Bud, just as Kirby disappeared again.
“Shh. Just relax now. Help will be here shortly,” she told her old man, half crying. “Just save your energy.”
Ten minutes later Kirby came back into the woods, stick in mouth. He was followed by three EMT’s and a stretcher. The paramedics tended to Bud as Kirby sat still, patiently watching the proceedings. As they lifted him onto the stretcher one paramedic said, “You are one lucky man you know. We had no idea where you two were. This little one here led us straight to you.”
“I knew he would,” replied Bud, giving Kirby a thumbs up and a wink.
Side by side, Grace and Kirby followed the gurney back to the ambulance. As the paramedics loaded him into the ambulance, Kirby jumped up between bud’s legs. “Whoa fella! You better keep this nice lady here some company instead,” stated one of the paramedics.
Kirby looked at Bud, as Bud looked at Gracie. Then Bud sad, “Gracie dear, I’m gonna be okay. You know I am. But just in case, will you take Kirby to the park every morning over the summer?”
Grace was looking down at the ground in a dazed state. When she looked up she replied, “Of course dad. Every morning at ten a.m. sharp.”