When a Dog Steals Your Heart
In my first couple of years in this town, I spent a lot of time sampling the embarrassment of riches that are the half dozen different parks. Every few weeks, the dogs and I would check out a new one. I suspect each was more or less the same to the dogs but I enjoyed the different features each had to offer. The trailhead for the park on this particular day felt like stepping into a different world. There was no parking area so you had to pull up onto a small patch of grass and dirt off the road. A simple kiosk was the only indicator that a trail or park of some kind existed beyond the overgrown brush shielding it from the road. As bright and sunny as the road was, as soon as you started on the trail, a slight gloom from the tree canopy above created an otherworldly feel. And on this crisp November morning, despite how bare the trees were, I still felt like I needed a moment to let my eyes adjust.
My dogs, Tank, a Rottweiler, and Scout, a Pitbull who was more terrier than bulldog, had no qualms about diving straight into the woods as soon as I let them out of the car. Smells and critters awaited them! I hurried to catch up. Although we had only been here a couple of times before, it was evident by the condition of the trail itself that it wasn’t frequented very often or by many people. And, as mine was the only car when we arrived, I was comfortable letting them have a little freedom to be dogs first, pets second.
The woods before us were a riot for the senses, for canine and human alike. I clipped their leashes to a belt loop, stuffing the loose ends in my back pocket. My arms swung freely as I headed down the trail, enjoying the sound of leaves rustling under my feet, the smell of earthy decay, and the cool air against my face. But that gloom. In a way, it heightened the experience, casting shadows, multiplying the shades of oranges, browns, and reds around me. Dappled. That was the word I was looking for. Sun-dappled woods.
The trail itself required its own attention. Rocks and roots from the trees closely lining it, camouflaged by all of the fallen leaves, made me more than a little grateful for the sturdy hiking boots shoring up the doe like ankles I was cursed with. The dogs, fleet of foot, showed no such concern as they bounded on and off the trail, always 10 to 15 yards ahead of me. My eyes kept track of them while also trying to appreciate the canvas before me.
After a short bit, perhaps no more than 5 to 10 minutes from the time we’d started out, the trail began to slope downward and curve to the right. In my mind’s eye, I recalled from the last time we’d been here, we would soon come to a little footbridge over a piddling stream. The bridge itself was in desperate need of repair but if you were to fall through, it would be no more than a foot and a half drop into a few inches of water. The trail allowed for two choices at the bridge: go left and climb a steep slope to a different part of the park or cross the little footbridge and stay on more level ground. I had opted for the bridge and level ground last time but given how much cooler it was, I decided we’d go left this time.
I picked up my pace in order to catch up with the dogs so that I could ensure they went the direction I wanted to go. I needn’t worry. As I came around the bend, I saw them both standing in the middle of the trail, side-by-side, not moving. My pulse jumped a couple of extra beats. What would get them both to freeze like that? A person? A wild animal? As I caught up to them, scanning ahead trying to make out what they were looking at, I saw him. A fairly large man, at least six feet tall and somewhat heavy set but in that way typical of men in their 60s was standing up the hill just about 10 or 15 yards away.
I immediately called out as I started to trot toward the dogs, unhooking their leashes from my belt, “They’re friendly! Don’t worry!” He didn’t move and gave no response. I started to worry that, despite his imposing size, he might be deathly afraid of dogs as some people who have had a bad encounter with one can be. The dogs had not yet moved a muscle either, which was starting to unnerve me. Ordinarily, they were the perfect breed ambassadors, wagging tails happy to greet potential new friends. And then I finally got close enough to see what might be causing this stand-off. The man, wearing a light denim jacket over a flannel shirt, and light brown pants, looked like he’d just been rolling on the ground. But it was the gash, from the middle of his forehead down to his left temple that really got my attention. It wasn’t bleeding like you’d expect such a wound to be but that didn’t detract from how awful it looked.
“Oh God,” I said, as I reached down to pat the flanks of each dog, trying to reassure them. “Are you ok? Do you need help?”
It was at this point the man finally seemed to become aware of me. “My dog…I’m looking for my dog….” he said, sounding confused.
“Oh well, we can certainly help you with that. But…your head…,” I said, pointing at my own.
He cut me off. “His name is Rusty. I’m looking for my dog, Rusty.”
I couldn’t fault him for being more concerned about his dog than his own well-being. I would probably be in a similar state of mind if I were in his shoes.
“Ok, well let’s see if we can find him and then get you some medical care,” I said. I started walking toward him and asked, “What kind of dog? Could he have gotten far?”
“He’s an Irish Terrier…I’m looking for my dog,” he repeated. Internally, I laughed because, of course he named an Irish Terrier, Rusty. But I had no trouble containing it because I was starting to worry more about this guy’s mental state if all he could say was, ‘I’m looking for my dog.’
“Yep, yep…I’m sure we’ll find him,” I said, trying to sound comforting. “We’ll…,” I started to say before turning and realizing Tank and Scout had not moved an inch. They had stayed exactly where I found them, watching me. “Come on guys,” I called. “We’re gonna go find…” and as I turned to repeat the name, Rusty, the sound caught in my throat. The man was gone. I turned back around completely to scan the trail, the woods on either side, the bridge, everywhere in my line of sight. I listened closely, thinking I might hear him crashing through the woods and running in a particular direction I could follow. Even as I stood there, all my senses straining, something told me it was in vain. He was just…gone.
I felt Tank and Scout come to my side. They showed no interest in going any further and seemed just as baffled as I was. “Guys…” I said slowly. “Let’s…go home.” I stood for a moment more, listening and looking, before I turned and headed back the way we had come. I wasn’t exactly trotting but I was definitely moving faster than a walk. The dogs stayed close by my side the entire way. Whether out of a protective instinct or just their own urge to put these weird woods behind us, they didn’t lag behind or run far ahead.
Once back at the car, they both jumped right into the back seat and were facing straight ahead as I climbed behind the wheel. I sat there, staring at nothing for a few moments, wracking my brain for rational explanations for what had just happened. Coming up with none, I started the car, pulled back onto the road, and headed home.
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Depending on your temperament and tolerance for the unusual, you may think me a lunatic or a kindred spirit for what happened next. A couple weeks had passed and I decided, whatever had happened in those woods, there had to be a perfectly rational explanation. And at any rate, whether he’d found his dog or not, and I certainly hoped he had, that man had to have left the park. No doubt, he was going to be staying close to home for a bit until that hideous gash on his forehead healed. I had a headache just thinking about it.
Despite all that, I couldn’t help but feel my stomach tighten as we drove up the small road to the trailhead. The houses here were far and few between and I couldn’t help but wonder, did he live in one of them. I remembered there was no car at the trailhead so I thought he must have been close by. As I maneuvered off the road to park, I noted there were no other cars this time as well. I turned the car off and sat for a moment. The dogs sat quietly, expectantly. Normally, they’re pretty eager to get out and get started exploring but this time they didn’t move.
“C’mon guys…it’s a nice park!” I said, unbuckling my seatbelt and trying to sound enthusiastic. Once I got out of the car, they seemed ready to give it a go, hopping out and immediately starting to sniff anything and everything. We started down the trail, just as before. With the exception of even more fallen leaves, the park seemed virtually unchanged from our last visit. Even the light seemed to be falling through the trees in much the same way. And, thankfully, this fall had been relatively temperate, allowing me to get away with just a pullover fleece.
Travelling down the trail, I tried to banish my anxious thoughts, but I couldn’t help peering deep into the woods on either side, looking for a man, or even a dog who might come out of nowhere. Tank was keeping close to me, but Scout, true to his name, was forging ahead a good 15-20 yards away. As it turned out, this was both a good and bad thing. He seemed to be trotting along, quite happily until we came to the downward slope and bend in the trail. His pace slowed until finally I saw him come to a complete stop. I called out, “Scout?” He didn’t turn. “You good, boy?” I added. He turned back to look at me but then quickly turned back to whatever had stopped him.
As Tank and I got closer, we could see now, there was a man standing in the middle of the trail, again, just a bit beyond the small footbridge. Getting closer, it was, without a doubt, the same man. He was dressed exactly the same and even had the same scattering of debris on his clothes as before. I legitimately felt light-headed. This couldn’t possibly be. I could feel my heart start hammering in my chest as I realized, even the gash over his forehead was the same. Still ugly looking, not bleeding, and showing absolutely no sign of healing or getting worse since I last saw him.
“I’m looking for my dog,” he called out. I couldn’t help but think, ‘You need to be looking for something else!’ Instead, I called back, “Rusty? Are you looking for Rusty?”
He turned his attention directly to me upon hearing my voice and after a brief pause, he replied, “Yeah, I’m looking for my dog, Rusty.”
I don’t know why I didn’t just turn and run at that point. But there was something in his voice. This plaintive desperation. Like he’d been looking for his dog for a while. In fact, instead of turning to run, I kept my eyes locked on him as I started to approach. I was not going to let him just disappear like last time! “Ok,” I called back. “Let’s go find him!”
He turned around and started walking back up the steep incline. I called out to my dogs, “Tank! Scout! Let’s go….” For his size and age, this guy started moving far faster than I would have expected and so I felt my breathing starting to quicken as I labored to keep up.
Although it happened suddenly, the event itself seemed to happen in slow motion. My left foot caught on something, probably a tree root, and as I tried to regain my balance, my arms flew out before me which just increased my forward momentum toward the ground. Fortunately for me, because I was falling toward toward the incline, I didn’t have far to go. My arms landed first, breaking the rest of my fall, and I could see the leaves rushing ahead of me as I crashed into them. Tank and Scout were immediately by my side, Tank sticking her snout into my ear and licking my cheek, distracting me from the pain shooting through my forearms.
I didn’t even have to look up. I knew he was gone. After observing the variety of oak, birch, and maples leaves inches from my face, I rolled over onto my back, groaning as I did so. For whatever reason, Scout decided the best thing for him to do was stand across my chest, as though shielding me. Tank continued licking my face. I half laughed and groaned. There I was, chasing…a ghost…and when I wipe out, my dogs immediately try to render aid in the only way they know how. But I could imagine them also saying to one another, ‘Damn fool, going after that here-but-not-here man! Are we gonna have to drag her out?!’
After a couple minutes lying there, I finally sighed and said to Scout, “Ok buddy…let me sit up.” He made no move until I slapped his right hip. “C’mon…I can’t get up…thank you for the help but move!” I said, giving him a light shove. At this point he agreed I must be ok and could sit up, stepping the rest of the way over me. Knowing the answer, I turned and looked behind me anyway. Sure enough. No one. Nothing. I sighed heavily. As I brushed leaves and dirt off my arms and chest, I couldn’t decide whether to be angry with myself or this ghost. I quickly decided on the ghost. “See if I ever try to help you find your dog again…damn!”
I got up, brushing myself some more, but the dogs had already turned and started walking back in the direction of the car. “Well ok then…,” I said at their retreating backsides. After inspecting my hands for scrapes or scratches, I hmphed and started following them.
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I sat with my laptop in front of me, the cursor blinking in the search bar as I tried to decide what exactly my search terms would be. I started with: “Man dies St. Roque Park.” As is so often the case with New England, the first results were in old England. Adding my town and state proved to be the key. The local town paper popped up as a source for a headline that read “Local man found in St. Roque Park Preserve.” The date of the article was almost five years exactly. I clicked it and started reading, my heart starting to race.
A local man was found unconscious at the base of a ravine by Animal Control Officer, Beth Pratt, who alerted emergency medical services and attempted to render aid. When contacted for comment, Ms. Pratt stated, “I was pretty sure the victim had already passed on but I also knew I couldn’t get him out of there by myself so I called 911 right away.”
Asked how she learned about the accident victim’s whereabouts, she described the phone call she received from an unnamed passerby reporting a medium size brown dog running along the road near the trailhead. The caller informed Pratt that they had stopped, thinking the dog was trying to cross the road to one of the houses on the other side, but when it ran into the woods, they called Animal Control to report a stray dog and left the area.
Upon arriving on the scene, Ms. Pratt found the dog, agitated and evading capture, running into the woods. “As soon as I started to follow him, he took off but then he would stop and wait for me to catch up before running away again.” She added, “I started to think, silly as it sounds, ‘This feels like a scene from a Lassie movie.’ Sure enough, once we got to the edge of that big ravine in the park, he started barking and looking over the edge and that’s when I saw the body.”
Authorities have identified the deceased but had not released his name before press time.
I sat, staring at my screen in disbelief. Was it really possible this was the same guy, still there in the woods, looking for his dog? What was his name? I decided to extend my search. On a guess, I typed “obituary St. Roque dog Rusty”. Before even clicking the link, I sat back and blinking at the title: “Friends and faithful dog say goodbye to David James.” Reaching out for the mouse slowly, I moved the cursor to the link, and clicked.
The article told me what I already knew deep down. The article recapped some of the information from the first story. But then it went on to add background details about when David and his wife, Sue, first came to town and bought the house on Brook Lane that he had stayed in after she lost her battle with cancer. His daughter, Jerri, had moved back in to help with her mom’s care and it was she who encouraged him to get a dog to help him get out of the house.
She related, to the laughter of those gathered, that she had tried to get her dad to come up with a name more original than Rusty for an Irish Terrier. But then, smiling through her tears, she told the group that he had said, “Nonsense. Trusty Rusty. It suits him!” And that seemed to be the case as the dog was the reason her father was found as quickly as he was, even if it was too late. Jerri looked at him and said, “Isn’t that right. Trusty Rusty to the end.” To the delight of all, Rusty who had been quietly lying on his dog bed on the shelf inside the bay window, took a deep breath and sighed in that way that made dogs seem almost human.
I stopped reading at that point. I confess it was in no small part because I was having trouble seeing the screen through my tears. Brook Lane was a small dead-end road perpendicular to the one that leads up to the trailhead. I couldn’t help myself at that point. I had to wonder if Jerri had stayed in the house. I went back to the search bar and typed, “Jerri James Brook Lane.” A property record link came right up. I clicked on it and learned that she’d sold the house just a few years ago. I couldn’t blame her. It included the street number and the names of the buyers. I jotted the address down on a post-it note, closed the browser, and put my laptop to sleep. I got up from my little desk and turned to look at my own two doggos, peacefully sleeping in their respective beds in the corner next to my desk. “Trusty Rusty…,” I said aloud. Scout rolled over onto his back, paws to the sky. Tank opened her eyes briefly, looking at me as though pondering if there was some reason she’d been awakened, and deciding not, nestled down a little deeper into her bed and closed her eyes again. “Sleep well. We’re headed back tomorrow,” I said to their sleeping forms. “With a little detour on the way.”
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Glancing at the post-it note stuck to my dashboard, I confirmed the street number, as I turned left onto Brook Lane. The dogs, happy as ever to be going for a car ride, were in the back looking ahead, unaware of the slight tremble in my hands. It was just three houses down on the right. I slowed to a crawl, and finally stopped. It was clear I had the right house as the numbers were brightly painted on the wooden mailbox post. But also, there it was, a big bay window to the right of the door, sheer white curtains just visible on the sides. I stared at the window, hoping no one would look out and catch some stranger staring back at them.
And then I had to blink several times. I even rubbed my eyes a little, not believing what I was seeing. Without ruffling the curtains at all, a smallish Irish Terrier jumped into the window, looking out at me. The dog stood there for a moment, before moving to the middle of the shelf and sitting on his haunches. “I’m not seeing this,” I said out loud. I turned to Tank and Scout, as though to confirm they also saw this dog. Sure enough, Tank was staring out the window, her eyes fixed on the house. Scout was a bit more oblivious, looking around at nothing in particular. For a moment, I debated whether I should get out of my car and actually walk up to the house and ring the bell. I could imagine the reaction to “Excuse me, but is that a real dog or ghost dog in your window?”
Before I could play that scene out in my head, the garage door on the far-left side of the house started to go up. I began to panic a little, thinking I was sure to be viewed with suspicion, sitting right in front of these people’s home. As I started thinking about some plausible reason for my presence, I saw a small child, a boy probably no more than 10 years old dressed for the cool autumn weather, leave the garage. Coming behind him, a woman, presumably his mother, also dressed for an early morning walk, was following with a golden retriever pulling her down the driveway.
Without really thinking it through, I jumped out of the car. Both my dogs stood up as though they were going to be joining me but I called back to them, “Sit tight!” as I closed the door. As I came around the front of my car, the little boy stopped, looking at me. His dog, now just behind him, immediately took notice of me as well, no longer pulling but definitely starting to head my direction. I knew my own dogs weren’t happy with this scene unfolding in front of them, stuck inside the car. The woman, no longer fumbling with the garage door fob, which she’d just clicked sending it back down, looked at me a bit perplexed. “Can I help you?” she asked, clearly not sure what to make of this disruption to her morning.
“I’m sorry,” I began with a smile. I knew I was going to sound like a nutter with what I said next, so I figured I’d better come across as friendly right away. “I couldn’t help but notice the dog in your window…the front bay window?” I said looking toward her house.
“Dog? In the window?” she replied, following my gaze. Because she was no longer looking at me, she couldn’t see the mixture of shock and confusion on my face. The dog was gone. Which, by itself shouldn’t be surprising. It would make sense that the dog would run to the door leading to the garage as soon as he heard it open. She broke into my internal debate by stating, “This is our only dog.”
“I’m sorry – I could have sworn I saw a small reddish-brown dog in your window…you…you don’t have another dog?” I stuttered.
“No. Cooper is our only dog,” she answered, lifting his leash up slightly “Perhaps you have the wrong house? Who are you looking for?”
Without thinking, and looking back up at the window, willing the dog to reappear, I answered, “The James family. They had a dog. Rusty.”
I turned back to her and the frown on her face suggested she was starting to consider going back into the house and calling the police. “The woman who sold us this house was named Jerri James. But that was a couple of years ago. I seem to recall seeing photos of a dog…I think she said it died shortly before she decided to sell the house,” she said slowly. “Are you…were you a friend of hers?”
Although she still seemed to be unsettled about my random appearance in front of her house given what I knew, I think she was less apprehensive. I chuckled. How the hell was I supposed to answer that? I felt like I did know this family but in ways that no one should. I wasn’t about to share all that so I simply answered, “Yes…but…well I guess I’m too late.” Taking one last look up at the house, I said, “I’m so sorry I took up up so much of your time.” Trying to sound cheerful as I went back to the driver’s side, I called out, “Have a good walk!” I quickly jumped into the car so as to end this awkward conversation as fast as possible.
Looking back at Tank and Scout, I told them what good dogs they were, and started the engine. Looking up to see the woman, her child, and dog still watching me, I smiled through the windshield and gave a little wave goodbye. Putting the car in gear and doing the fastest three-point turn ever, I headed back to the main road and turned left for the trailhead.
I pulled up onto the small patch and jumped out of the car, grabbing their leashes. Swinging the back door open, I called to the dogs, “Ok, let’s go! We gotta go!” They both dove out and immediately headed for the trail. Whether excited to get out of the car and start the walk or because they knew we had a mission to complete, Tank and Scout headed straight into the woods. The walk from the start of the trail to the point at which we’d seen David the last two times (jeez, like I knew the guy!) went by in a blur. In no time, we were heading around the bend and down the slope. Tank and Scout both started to slow down, Scout looking back at me a couple of times as though to ask, “Are you sure about this?” And then we all stopped.
He was standing in the same spot, looking as concerned and confused as ever. The debris on his clothes and the gash over his forehead, all the same like a photograph. “I’m looking for my dog,” he said.
“I know,” I called back. I took a few more steps, closing the gap between me and my own dogs. “Rusty? You’re looking for Rusty,” I said as if reading from a script.
“Yes, my dog, Rusty,” he answered, looking at me now. I hadn’t thought this through but I knew I had to somehow break the pattern, the loop David was in.
“We found him. We found Rusty, David. He’s home,” I continued. My mind raced as I started trying to decide just how much do you say to someone who has been ‘stuck’ looking for his dog for years, unaware both he and his dog are dead. “He saw you get hurt. So, he ran for help. He ran to get you help.” I said quickly, feeling tears well up in my eyes. “ Trusty Rusty,” I added.
“He went to get help?” David asked, his mouth shifting from one of confusion to a small smile. “My Trust Rusty…he went to get help,” he said, as though he was starting to remember his dog with fondness.
“Yes, and he did get help. But they took him home. He’s at home waiting for you now. He’s sitting in the front window, waiting for you to come home,” my voice broke slightly as I recalled the article and the dog I had just seen. “He’s been waiting a long time, David. You should go home.” I couldn’t say any more as my voice was betraying me.
But now David was truly smiling. Smiling in anticipation of seeing his dog. Smiling with relief that he didn’t have to keep looking for him. Happy that he was home safe. “I’m going to do just that. Thank you. Thank you for letting me know.”
I smiled at him as he slowly started to come down the hill toward us. I called to Tank and Scout to move, “Let Mr. David by, guys,” I said. But I needn’t have bothered. As he approached us, for the first time since we’d had these encounters, I saw him start to fade out, first his feet and legs, then his torso, until finally he was like steam rising and dissipating into nothing. And then he was gone.
I stood there for a moment, listening to the quiet stillness of the woods all around us. Tank was the first to break the silence, letting out a long slow howl, something I’d only ever heard her do once before. I stepped forward, and patted her left flank, reaching down to scratch Scout’s head. “That’s it, doggos,” I said feeling both the most peculiar mixture of sadness and happiness. I took a deep breath and then let out a big sigh. As though to throw off the whole moment, both dogs shook vigorously, from their head down to the tail. And then, doing what dogs do best, they started to live in the moment again, taking off running. I laughed and started running after them.
