County Kerry, Ireland

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Just before dawn, James and his dog Bert rose to greet the misty morning. James tugged on some dungarees, a heavy shirt, and his favorite field jacket. Bert shook the sleep out of his body and walked over to the back door, waiting for James to finish getting ready.
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As Bert looked outside, the back yard was quiet and still. The field just beyond it was wet and quiet, waiting for creatures to fill the sleepy pasture.
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James walked across the kitchen floor and swung the back door open. Quickly, Bert darted outside ahead of James and across the pasture to the horse barn. The old dog stopped beside the barn, looking back to see how far his master had lagged behind. James trudged through the snow towards the barn. He was a tall, thin man with few other distinguishing features. The snow had piled into uneven drifts, making his trek from house to barn that much more difficult. He walked as if his feet were oddly attached to his long legs.

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The dog was positioned just to the right of the barn door, waiting for James' arrival. James walked up to the door and grabbed the long thick rope that he used as the door handle. With one quick tug, the door swung open and Bert raced inside.

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The barn had four horse stalls on one side and three on the other. The open area in the back of the barn was where James kept his tools and his tractor. He would go to the back of the barn first, filling the gas tank with gasoline, checking the oil level, and running a towel across the tractor's metal undercarriage. He deliberately cleaned the field soot and wet grass off the bottom of the tractor.

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"Bert," he called out. The Airedale quickly twisted his head and waited for his master’s next command. James spun his fingers in a circle, motioning the dog toward the back door. Bert stepped out and waited for him again, sitting outside the back of the barn.

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James disappeared into the barn, leaving the dog outside, waiting in the cold. James tugged the door open

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*****

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The dog craned his neck to peek around the open door. James fiddled with the tractor for a few moments, then jumped into the seat. He reached down between his legs and pulled on a knob, then twisted the key in the ignition. The tractor clicked and stopped. He tried again, but the tractor clicked for a few more moments, then stopped as he returned the key to its starting position.

Bert watched as James leaped off the seat and went around to the front of the tractor. "Not again," he groaned as he reached into the engine. James fiddled with the engine for a few moments, and then closed the lid and wiped the tractor's nose with a clean handkerchief, cleaning off fingerprints and oil.

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Bert got up on all fours and waited to see what James would do next. James walked out to the edge of the field then stopped. He snapped the bridle over Chester's head and rested the end loop on the saddle. He then leapt onto the saddle and snapped Chester into action.

The dew was still on the rye grass and the morning air was brisk and cold. The dog, the man and the horse pushed hot breath out of their bodies and inhaled the cold crispness of winter. The dog coughed as he tried keeping up with James and the palomino. The cold air clung wetly to his lungs as he ran along. A sense of wholeness came over James as the cold air froze in his lungs. It was the only thing that motivated him on a cold December morning.

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Chester broke into a slow gallop and Bert struggled to match his pace. The ground was broken and uneven, but the Airedale loped easily, letting his legs pick out the hills and valleys in the rough ground. He ran all the way to the fence, where he crossed the creek beyond the property line.

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Every day always began with this same ritual. To the back porch. To the barn. To the property line, and off to the farmer's market.

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The path sloped quickly upward as James made his way up the trail. At the top of the trail stood a small white building. It was the farmer's market.

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Mr. McCullum greeted James as he entered the farmer's market. He was standing on the front porch, tapping the top of his tobacco pipe against his heel.

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He stooped down and picked up a twig, then used it to clean out the dirty tobacco soot.

"How is the day treating you, James?"

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"Not too good, to be honest," answered James.

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He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small metal object. It must have been something from the tractor. He presented it to Mr. McCullum, who pocketed his pipe and took the small metal part in his hands. He twisted it carefully about and investigated it thoroughly, moving his fingers over the valves and making parts shift back and forth under his careful touch.

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"It looks like you could get away with a gasket, but I wouldn't risk it. You could still blow the engine if you don't replace it."

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"That's what I thought," said James.

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"I don't know if I have the replacement, but let's check."

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James tied Chester to a hitching post and then wagged a finger at the Airedale terrier. The dog sat down obediently and waited for him as he went into the store with Mr. McCullum.

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As the terrier waited, children came up and patted him on the head. One child crouched down until his face was directly in front of the dog's nose. The child gently blew into the dog's face. The dog batted his eyes as the boy's breath dried them. Then, the boy blew a puff into the terrier's nose. The terrier snorted and he laughed. The kids then patted him on the head again and rubbed the scruff of his neck before running off.

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James returned with Mr. McCullum, then patted the dog on the head and rubbed me along the scruff of his neck like the children who had just disappeared from view. He crouched beside the dog and grabbed his ears in both hands and nuzzled me.

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James jammed his foot into the stirrup and threw his other leg over Chester's solid body. The Airedale stood up, anticipating James' next move.

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"No, boy," he commanded.

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Mr. McCullum's fingers slid beneath the dog's collar, grasping it tightly. The dog relaxed, knowing he was to wait there while James and Chester left. James kicked his legs against Chester's hips and then they strode off. I wanted to run off beside them. Instead, a strange man who smelled of stale pipe tobacco and an old wet wool suit held his dog back.

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"C'mon, Bert. Let's go inside and get you something to eat."

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The old man dragged the dog inside the store and held him while he investigated the dog's condition. He combed his fingers back and forth through the dog's coat, feeling for ticks and burrs. He then pushed down on the terrier's backside, forcing him to sit beside the counter. He went up the stairs and came back down with a cup. He scooped out a handful of chopped walnuts and littered them on the wooden floor. The dog bent down and licked them up, and then he looked up at him until he poured another handful out onto the floor.

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The dog licked them up as well.

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"Alright, that's enough for now," he said. Mr. McCullum grabbed a bowl from the shelf behind him and filled it with water, before placing it at the edge of the counter, next to the staircase. The dog lapped at the water until the walnut bits were all swallowed. He then went on to tend to the people that stirred about the room, leaving the dog alone at the front of the store.

The front area of the store was crowded with people and three long rows of goods. It was no good place for a smart dog. The Airedale disappeared through the doorway to the living room and found peace instead of the hustle-bustle of the store.

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In the living room, there were two couches and a big brown leather chair with an ottoman in front of it. The dog walked over to the chair and sniffed around. It smelled like Mr. McCullum, dingy and laced with pipe smoke. The leather had the sweaty odor of a man who never stopped sweating. A man who was too busy tending to other's lives to worry about his own. It had the smell of production.

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James probably moved ten times as much as Mr. McCullum, but his body seemed to deal with it better. In the middle of the store, a chubby man toddled about, from one customer to another, then back to the front counter where he would total their bills and collect money.

The dog walked around the living room, investigating his new surroundings. He turned his attention to the small oak table beside the chair. Several pipes were lying on their sides, waiting to be picked up and used again. Pipe cleaners were bent and twisted into a dozen different positions, but none discarded. A bag of pipe tobacco was wrinkled and nearly empty, but not yet discarded either. Mr. McCullum was definitely nothing like James.

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The dog returned to the doorway between the store and the living room and paused there. Mr. McCullum passed through the doorway into the living room, then back out into the store. He continued this for some time, ignoring the dog. In turn, the dog sighed and then went back to the living room and hopped onto one of the couches and lay down. The living room was noticeably warmer than the store. The couch leather quickly warmed beneath me. The dog closed his eyes, basked in the warmth of the living room and thought of James. For a split second, the dog was somewhere else, on a gravel road far, far away.

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"Robert! Get off the couch!" commanded Mr. McCullum. The Airedale quickly got up and got off the couch. Mr. McCullum watched him slink into the corner. Mr. McCullum then disappeared into the store again.

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The dog searched around the living room for a place to lay himself down, then walked into the store and sat at the edge of the counter. The dog watched as Mr. McCullum shifted back and forth between the customers. He pushed the dog out of the way as he stepped around the counter to the register. Mr. McCullum then pushed the dog again as he rushed out into the store.

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"Robert!" he commanded. The Airedale tucked his tail between his legs. He quickly returned to the living room and stood a few feet back from the doorway.

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The dog had lived with James all of his life, except when he was a puppy. James bought the dog from Mr. McCullum at three weeks old. The dog was part of a large litter of brothers and sisters, whom the pup never met. And he never knew this frumpy old man with the smell of tobacco, wet wool, and leather who was now his owner again.

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The routine the dog had with James and his horses was so ingrained that he didn't know how to do anything else. He had come to know James so well that when James wanted to go to the farmer's market the dog was already waiting for him at the back door of the house. When James was just going out to the horse barn, the dog usually stayed in his bed. The dog knew when he was going along on a trip and when he was to stay home and wait.

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Mr. McCullum was a very different breed of man. He was erratic and unformed. He was busy, but not necessarily productive. He was short-tempered and fat.

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James was none of those things. His motions were slow and methodical. He never raised his voice. Everything was accomplished with a simple whistle or hand gesture. James made his horse wait for Robert to climb up a steep bridle trail, or stopped when the old dog was tired.

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It was a day just like this one where James proved just how far he would go for his dog. They were out near the coast squirrel hunting. Bert had caught the scent of a squirrel. The terrier leapt into the undergrowth and four squirrels shot out of the brush in four different directions. The dog darted around, chasing one, then the other. Finally, he treed one of the squirrels. Bert and the Squirrel were on the other side of a thicket of old pine trees, fifty or more feet away. He was barking frantically, calling James to come get the squirrel.

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James could not get through the dense undergrowth on horseback. He hopped off old Chester and stomped through the mud, trying to reach Bert, barking at the top of the bluff. He kept barking, waiting for James. James could tell by Bert's barks that he had treed a squirrel.

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James pushed the brush aside, trying to reach Bert and the squirrel as quickly as possible. As James reached the top of the bluff, he called out.

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"Bert, old boy, I'm coming as fast as I can. Hold on."

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Then it happened. The squirrel heard a second voice, a human voice. That had startled him into realizing his time was about up if he didn't do something quickly. He leaped from the branch to another tree down the edge of the bluff. His claws stretched out and he caught a low branch.

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Bert skidded down the side of the bluff towards the squirrel as the squirrel struggled to stay on the branch above him. The squirrel was still trapped above the dog, unable to move.

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One foot then the other searched for good balancing points as Bert neared the squirrel. The squirrel ran around the tree, looking for another way out.

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The dog leapt, trying to trap the squirrel. His front legs pounded against the trunk of the small tree, making it sway back and forth. The squirrel jumped again. He landed on the ground, barely ten feet away. The dog stretched out and pinned him against the ground with his front paws. The squirrel sat there motionless. Bert bent down and grabbed the squirrel by his teeth. The squirrel snapped back, biting the dog in the cheek. The dog let loose of him and as his feet came back to the ground they slipped over roots and rocks. Bert lost his balance and slipped down the hill. Tree stumps and jagged rocks punched against the dog as he rolled down the side of the hill. Finally, he came to a rest at the bottom of the hill.

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"Bert!" James called from the top of the bluff. He called again, then disappeared for a few moments. He threw a rope down the hill and slowly climbed down towards his dog.

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"You alright boy?" he asked. His hands searched over the dog's body, touching gently against the dog's bruised ribs. The dog cringed as James hit the tender spots. James pulled his shirt off and rolled it into a ball, then laid it under the dog's side. Bert lay there as James climbed the bluff. Bert's eyes followed his master up the hill, step by step. He wasn't sure what James would do next, return or leave him.

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Minutes passed as the dog waited at the bottom of hill for his master to return. James had hopped upon Chester and circled around the hill and made his way to the bottom of the bluff.

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James hopped off the horse and tended to the dog.

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"Here you go boy."

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James picked the dog up and gently laid him across the saddle. The dog wheezed as his ribs settled against the back of the old horse. Meanwhile, James slowly walked beside Chester, holding the reins, making sure the horse walked as carefully as possible. From the cliff to the farmhouse, it was five long miles away.

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Bert lay on his side in the living room of Mr. McCullum's house, blinking his eyes and staring out into the store. Mr. McCullum strode back and forth across the opening, to and from the counter, waiting on customers and taking their money.

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"Come on boy," he called to the dog. Bert perked up and went into the store. He held out a handful of walnuts toward the dog. He laughed as Bert licked them out of his cupped hand. Bert ignored the taste of tobacco on his hands and on the walnuts, and gobbled up everything Mr. McCullum offered him. Bert slurped up some more water and returned to the living room and lay on his side.

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"Here you go," he said. He snapped a leash into Bert's collar and led him outside. Bert went to the restroom and then returned to the store. Mr. McCullum unleashed the dog and left him back in the living room again.

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For the rest of the afternoon, Bert stayed at the edge of the store, peering into McCullum's life. It wasn't really his life at all. He was busy helping other people get through their lives: bread, corn meal, nuts, bolts, tractor parts.

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Bert sat down for a few moments and watched him. Then he got up and walked through the store. He was behind the counter, making change. As the customer walked out the front door, the screen door swung wide open. It hung there in the still air, waiting. Bert quickly cut across the store and went out the front door.

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Three steps down the porch and Bert was off onto the gravel road that traveled between two places. The customer who had just left before me turned to stop me. He reached his hand out and grabbed for me. The dog jumped out of the way.

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"Bert!" shouted Mr. McCullum. He tromped down the steps and ran at me. Two sets of hands reached out to corral me in as the dog jumped about, nipping at their outstretched hands.

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"Come on boy, I don't have time for this," said Mr. McCullum.

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Bert played until others gathered and a young boy finally tackled me. His arms reached around my hind legs and pinched my hips. His body landed on top of Bert, crushing the dog's ribs. The dog let out a small yip. The boy held on tightly to the dog until Mr. McCullum collared the dog and dragged him back into the store. Mr. McCullum pushed Bert out into the living room, then shut the door behind him, trapping him in the small room.

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Bert got up onto the leather couch, then jumped back down. He flopped down on his side, sprawled across the middle of the living room floor. As muffled sounds came through the door, the dog listened to them before closing his eyes and drifting off to sleep.

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Late at night, Bert woke as Mr. McCullum came into the living room. His feet pounded through the living room to the kitchen and back into his bedroom. Bert rose his head, then put it back down as the chubby old man walked away. The dog opened his eyes the slightest amount, just enough to see him move from room to room.

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Mr. McCullum stepped over the terrier and reached for a new pipe and his chewing tobacco. He shook the remainder of the tobacco into his hand then stuffed it into his pipe. Bits of tobacco fell to the carpet around the dog. Bert stretched his neck out and licked at the carpet.

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Mr. McCullum looked down from his pipe and watched the dog lick at the bits of tobacco on the dirty wool carpet.

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"You hungry boy?" he asked. He hadn't really fed Bert all day long. Bert got up and followed him into the store. The old man scooped his hand back into the walnuts and dipped some out onto the floor. The dog sniffed at them, ate a few, then spat them out.

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"Hold on."

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He grabbed a can off a shelf in the store and took a can opener to it. The fragrance of beef strew filled the air as he bent over and shoveled it into the dog bowl, The dog pushed Mr. McCullum's hand out of the way. Mr. McCullum laughed and watched the dog for a few seconds, then returned to the back rooms. Quickly, Bert finished off the entire bowl and began licking the soup off the inside of the bowl. He pushed the bowl across the floor, trapping it in the corner.

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Mr. McCullum came back and pulled the bowl away, then returned to his bedroom. The dog stood there for a moment, half expecting him to return. After a few minutes, the dog realized Mr. McCullum was finished feeding him for the night.

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James had always fed large helpings of deer meat to Bert. James often unpacked a strip of deer ribs from the freezer in the morning before he went hunting with Bert. When they returned, James cooked the meat and gave about one-fourth of it to Bert. It wasn't any special reward, just dinner for a hunter's dog. Bert didn't particularly care if there was a reward or not, as long as I got to eat to my heart's content.

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Mr. McCullum changed into nightclothes, then returned to the living room. He wound up several pieces of paper and jammed them into the fireplace. Then, he lit the edges of newspaper that stuck out from the firewood. Quickly, a fire was blazing in the fireplace. He sat down in his chair, lit a cigar and puffed on his pipe. I sat and watched him. He was definitely a different breed of man.

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Smoke filled the room and I went into the kitchen. Mr. McCullum got up, closed his bedroom door, and returned to his chair. I heaved a sigh and rested my head upon my paws. Mr. McCullum sat in his chair, not making a sound, except sucking on his pipe and cleaning it out and refilling it with new tobacco.

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"Hello?" a voice called from the front of the house. It was James. Bert quickly hopped to his feet and scratched at the door. Mr. McCullum pushed Bert away and opened the door. Bert tried forcing his way into the store and toward the front of the house. Mr. McCullum put out a bent leg, blocking the dog's way. The dog patiently waited until Mr. McCullum went through, then ran to the front window and hopped up. His claws clicked against the bay window.

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"Hey boy!" James' face lit up as he saw his dog pop up at the window to meet him. Mr. McCullum opened the door and the old Airedale jumped into his open arms.

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"Did everything go alright?"

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"Just fine," said Mr. McCullum.

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"What do I owe you?"

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"Not a thing. Not a thing at all."

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Mr. McCullum said goodbye to James and Bert, then immediately cleaned the bay window at the front of the store, before going to sleep for the night.

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Outside, James settled the pack on Chester and jumped aboard. Bert followed along as they rode down the trail to the valley, where they would cross the creek and walk along the fence line back home.

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"It's been a long day boy," he said to the dog. Bert looked up at his master and followed along. Chester's pace was quite a bit slower than it had been early in the morning, but his packs were loaded with dry goods and tractor equipment.

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Just across and down the gravel road from the farmer's market, the opening to the bridle trail opened up. A large tree stood to one side, marking the otherwise poorly lit entrance. James piloted Chester through the rubble as Bert scouted ahead.

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Shale kicked out from under Chester's hooves with each step.

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"Hold on, boy," said James as he stopped just ten feet into the bridle trail. He pulled back on Chester's reins and then tried backing the horse up the hill. Chester stood still, unable to move, forward or back.

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Bert circled around, waiting for the horse to make his way down the trail. Still, Chester would not budge. Bert stood in front of the horse and barked. Chester took small steps forward, inching backwards up the hill. Each successive step backward sent slabs of shale bouncing down the bridle trail. The sound was unnerving to Chester. James wasn't sure if Chester was going to back out of the woods or not.

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"Whoa, Chessie," he called out. The horse stopped in his tracks. James shifted his weight onto one leg, then easily pulled his right leg over the tail of the horse. Chester waited, then stammered as all of Jamie’s weight shifted onto the left stirrup. Chester shifted in the shale. As the horse slipped forward, James jumped off. With four steps forward, Chester caught his balance. Bert quickly jumped out of the way. The terrier's ankle twisted in a snake hole before he flopped down on one side and slid down the hill.

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James ran down the hill where Bert lay. He ran his hand over Bert's side and the dog winced in pain as Jamie’s fingertips found the sore spot in his ribs.

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"I'll be right back, boy."

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James hurried up the hill to the farmer's market and banged loudly on the front door. After a few seconds, Mr. McCullum came to the door. It wasn't long at all before Mr. McCullum ran down the hill. His body toddled along behind James. He was out of breath when he reached the Airedale, who was at the bottom of the bridle trail, near the creek.

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"I think he's got a few broken ribs, James," said Mr. McCullum as he pressed his hand over Bert's left side.

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Mr. McCullum pulled his sweater off and fashioned a hammock to put the dog into. Then he and James carried Bert up the hill to the farmer's market. James went back down the hill and fetched Chester while Mr. McCullum took the dog to the horse barn in the pasture behind the farmer's market.

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"Hold on a few seconds, old boy," said Mr. McCullum. His breath was thick and smoky. He laid the dog on a table as he rummaged around in an old bag. He pulled out some bandages and tape. Slowly, he wrapped the bandages around the dog's midriff, gently raising the dog's head and pushing the bandage beneath the dog's body with each wrap.

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James returned to find a bandaged dog lying quietly on the table.

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"James, you can stay here tonight if you need to."

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"Actually, is it okay if I go home and then I'll come back early in the morning for Bert?"

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"Sure thing," answered Mr. McCullum. They carried Bert into the house and laid him on the leather couch in the living room. James kissed his dog on the forehead and went home.

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Early the next morning, Bert awakened to the sounds of people stirring out in the store. He started to get up, but his bruised ribs were too tender to even move. On the couch just above his head, sat two bowls. One was filled with stew, the other with water. Bert stretched out and tried to reach the plate with stew, but every breath seemed to make his ribs scream out in pain. He lay there and sighed for a few moments. Soon, though, Mr. McCullum passed through and looked at the dog. He bent over the dog and looked in his sad, sad eyes.

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"Can't you get anything to eat?"

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He pulled the bowl full of stew off the couch and held it off the edge of the couch, in front of Bert's mouth. Bert slurped at the stew and bits of potato and meat spilled onto the front of the couch. Mr. McCullum looked at the stew, then wiped it off with the tail of his sweater. He then switched out the stew bowl for the water bowl. Bert slurped up the entire bowl. Mr. McCullum took his sweater and tucked it gently under Bert's head. It was unsettling for the poor dog to think that his caretaker was the same frumpy man who had caused him so much trouble just a few short hours earlier. He sighed again, closing his eyes and falling to sleep.

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In the mid-morning sun, he woke to find Mr. McCullum carrying him to his horse cart. He set the terrier in a pile of dried wheat grass and blankets before hopping into the front seat. He snapped the horses into motion. They jerked the cart forward and Mr. McCullum looked back. He slowed the ponies to a steady gait. They wound around the pine grove to the old farmhouse Bert knew as home. Mr. McCullum steered the horse cart up the drive and stopped it in front of the house.

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After a few seconds, James came out to help Mr. McCullum. They carried the dog again. This time, it would be their last trip as they carried Bert into Jame's bed.

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The room was cold and uninviting. It was clean and white and lacked any smell at all. The bed covers smelled like clean soap. Bert looked at James and Mr. McCullum as they watched the dog resting in the middle of Jame's bed.

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"He's a good dog," said Mr. McCullum.

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"I don't know what I would do without him."

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"I don't either. He's been with you as long as I've known you. I can't imagine the two of you apart."

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"Maybe one day, but not today. Not today."

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Bert closed his eyes and fell asleep without the smell of pipe tobacco or wet wool, the noise of customers or heavy boots, or the comforts of leather upholstery.

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A few weeks later, Bert's ribs had healed up a reasonable bit. James snapped his fingers and Bert sprang to life.

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James left the horses in their stalls. Instead he walked with his dog. They ran from the farmhouse to the horse barn to the silo to the old tree at the Southwest corner of the rye field. They ran down to the old Sycamore tree at the creek's edge. Then they crossed the creek and climbed the hill to the farmer's market on the other side.

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Mr. McCullum crouched down as he saw James and Bert come up over the hill. He patted his hands against his thighs. Bert broke out into a full sprint for the old man.

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"How you doing old boy?" he asked. He scrubbed the dog behind the ears and then reached into his pocket. He popped a few walnuts into his mouth then cupped his hand so Bert could eat the rest.

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James bought a pair of boards and some nails, then took his dog back down the ridge to the creek and then up the hill to the rye field and back to the farm house.

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James swung the back door open and Bert darted in before him, sliding on the hardwood floor as he turned the corner from the kitchen to the reading room. At the end of each long day, Bert sprawled out in a diagonal line, from the fireplace to his master's chair. His nose pointed at the warmest part of the fire. Bert's ribs pressed awkwardly against the floor as he lay on my left side. James came up and tucked some pillows beneath Bert's body then went out to the silo to repair a few of the rafters.

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For Bert it was a very short day. Usually, James wore out long before he did. He could always tell by the way his boots fell to the floor as he took them off, first one, then the other. He walked across the hardwood floor in his socks and plopped into chair.

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Bert waited inside while James ran errands around town. Late at night, he returned and started cooking some deer loin. The smoky smell of venison filled the cabin. James came out into the living room and sat there for a few moments before he reached to his jacket pocket.

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He pulled out a small canister and sat it on the table. The lid pried off easily with a small pop. He reached in, pulled out a handful of walnuts, and threw them across the hardwood floor behind the counter. The dog walked around and licked them off the floor, waiting for more after he finished. James tossed a second handful of walnuts onto the floor, then got up and went into the kitchen.

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The last of the deer meat went into the skillet and was flavored with salt and pepper until it had that snap to it that James loved. He put several strips in a bowl and set them on the floor. The dog cleaned them up and waited for still more. James bagged the last of the meat and stored it in the freezer. He then plodded upstairs, with the dog tagging along behind him.

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