Encountering a regular acquaintance Saturday morning was not a surprise, but we didn't expect to see him holding a wriggling creature in his outstretched hands, warily eyeing it like a man holding a clump of dynamite and debating whether to clip the red wire or the blue.
D. K. Wall:Our hero in this tale is Richard. Though the odds suggest that isn't his real name, We've passed him on the neighborhood greenway most mornings for the past five years. We've chatted about the usual topics discussed among neighbors here in Asheville. How about this weather? Have you seen any bears today? Do you think Interstate 26 will ever have a day without construction?
D. K. Wall:What we have never done, not once in five years, is introduce ourselves. Instead, we've assigned him a nickname. It's what we author types do. Spy another human being, give them a moniker, create a backstory, identify their motivations, goals, and flaws, map out their character arc.
D. K. Wall:Richard, for example, is a former federal agent who retired to the North Carolina Mountains to avoid the mobsters seeking their revenge. Or perhaps he's an engineer, depends on the day.
D. K. Wall:The name came to me because of his resemblance to a dear departed friend. Not just in looks, though they could certainly be brothers, but because they both are somewhat reticent, not particularly chatty in the way that men often aren't. And yet, they share a quiet kindness that shows itself in small acts.
D. K. Wall:We've seen this Richard, for example, clear fallen branches from the trail so others don't trip, probably because of his years as a safety director. Watched him pause to observe the wildlife, no doubt a habit of his decades as a forest ranger. Heard him offer a good morning to every soul he passed, typical of the clergy. Simple things, but the things that make this world a little better.
D. K. Wall:Which means we weren't entirely thrown when we ran across Richard walking toward us, holding a small, furry, wildly enthusiastic creature at maximum arm extension. The creature was Cassie, the damsel in distress in our little tale, A canine of one of those many smallish breeds I can no more identify than I can remember the actual names of my neighbors.
D. K. Wall:She couldn't possibly have tipped the scales at ten pounds. She lacked the thick dignified coat of our Siberian Huskies sporting instead the wild hair of a mad scientist attached at random points across her tiny body.
D. K. Wall:What she lacked in size, she made up for in sheer unbridled nuclear grade enthusiasm. Her little legs were spinning as if she were running a marathon in midair.
D. K. Wall:We knew immediately that Cassie was not Richard's dog, not merely because we had never seen him with a canine companion, but because of the way he held her. Outstretched, desperate, the posture of a new father confronting his firstborn's soiled diaper while mom has just pulled out of the driveway.
D. K. Wall:For a fleeting second, I guessed he intended to hand us the squirming little body and bolt for the hills. Instead, he asked for help. Do you have a phone? There's a number on her collar.
D. K. Wall:And thus, Richard's adventure achieved clarity. He had found a lost dog and wanted desperately based on the outstretched arms to return her to her rightful owners. He could not, however, make the call himself since he was confronted with the impossible logistics of dialing a phone while balancing a dog who was doing her best impression of a furry blender set to puree. I'm guessing Richard isn't a retired circus juggler.
D. K. Wall:We dutifully dialed the number as Richard helpfully reported. Her name is Cassie. It says so on her collar. How he could read that from a dancing tag on a vibrating dog is beyond me. I would probably have read Lassie and thought close enough.
D. K. Wall:The phone rang once, twice, and then a voice answered filled with the tension of someone who has been on the sharp edge of panic and is about to fall off. Are you missing Cassie? I asked. Oh, yes. Please. Do you have her? Is she okay?
D. K. Wall:Now I'll admit my creative mind can take me down some socially inappropriate paths For a fleeting, delicious second, I imagined a ransom scenario. If you ever wanna see Cassie again, leave a bag of milk bones under the park bench in fifteen minutes. Come alone. Don't call the police.
D. K. Wall:Fortunately, better sense prevailed. Perhaps it's because I am also a dog owner and know the sheer gut dropping terror of a missing pet. It's also possible that my ever patient partner in life who knows better than anyone how my imagination can stampede into uncharted territory shot me a warning look. Whatever the cause, I said simply, she's fine.
D. K. Wall:She was by all appearances more than fine. She was having the time of her life. Her little legs still pinwheeling chasing squirrels in her mind, no doubt, or given her size, more likely being chased by squirrels.
D. K. Wall:Richard, though, was less than enthused. He continued to hold her at arm's length as if she were mildly radioactive.
D. K. Wall:Where are you? The frantic voice asked. When I described our location, she gasped. She got all the way over there. It'll take us a bit. We're in the woods searching for her.
D. K. Wall:Naturally, I needed to arrange a meeting point. But since my duties as telephone operator would soon draw to a close, I didn't need to wait for the joyful reunion. I just needed to connect Cassie's owner with Richard.
D. K. Wall:So I tried to hand the phone to him. He, of course, could not take the phone. His hands after all were full of what might as well have been a small hairy jackhammer.
D. K. Wall:So I did the only logical thing or at least the thing that popped into my mind no matter how much the passage of time points out the lack of logic. I stepped closer to hold the phone up to Richard's ear.
D. K. Wall:This is where I should mention Roscoe, 55 pounds of Siberian husky who had been clipped to my hiking belt this entire time. He had been watching the proceedings with an intense growing interest.
D. K. Wall:You see, Roscoe has a single-minded purpose of for once in his life nabbing one of those pesky, chattering, elusive squirrels that scamper high into the trees. In his mind, a reasonable interpretation of events had formed. This kind man had approached us bearing a gift tree rat.
D. K. Wall:As I stepped toward Richard with the phone, Roscoe found himself suddenly, gloriously within lunging distance of his prize. What followed was predictable chaos. Though my feeble mind did not see it coming.
D. K. Wall:Roscoe surged forward. Cassie objected by twirling her legs even faster. Realizing what was happening, I froze, and the leash grew taut. Roscoe's scrambling legs mimicked Cassie's, except his paws tangled in the leash that wrapped itself around my legs. I made sounds I have no memory of but suspect were not words found in a family dictionary.
D. K. Wall:I can only imagine what Cassie's owner heard on the other end of the open line. Barking, shrieking, scuffling, the muffled voice of Richard saying I can't take it over and over. He meant the phone, of course, but out of context, that probably sounded deeply alarming.
D. K. Wall:I know. I know. You are asking, why didn't I just put the call on speakerphone? I am not an idiot. I thought of that. About five minutes later, my excuse is that it was early morning, and I had had only a single cup of coffee.
D. K. Wall:Only one neighbor passed us during the circus, a woman who slowed her pace to take in the full spectacle with undisguised delight. I figured she's been telling her version of this story ever since, which is why I had better get mine on the record first. Not that I come off looking particularly bright in either telling.
D. K. Wall:Somehow, through a series of acrobatics I couldn't reconstruct under oath, Richard arranged a rendezvous point. We parted ways. Richard marched off stiff armed. Cassie still held before him like an offering to the gods of chaos.
D. K. Wall:We walked in the opposite direction, Roscoe bounding proudly ahead, telling every dog, bird, and mailbox who would listen about the squirrel he almost snagged.
D. K. Wall:Later, on our return trip, we passed Richard again. His hands were free. His posture was relaxed. He reported with visible relief that he had delivered Cassie safely to her grateful owner.
D. K. Wall:We congratulated him on his heroism, and it was heroism. The quiet, unglamorous, stiff armed kind, no capes, no fanfare, just an unassuming man on a Saturday morning who saw a lost dog and decided despite every indication that the dog was trying to vibrate out of existence to do the right thing. Clearly, a former battle hardened army medic accustomed to racing in the danger with nerves of steel.
D. K. Wall:He thanked us for our help, though I suspect he was just being polite. Next time he'll ask someone else for help.
D. K. Wall:We walked on in the morning light. Roscoe trotting beside us, still scanning the trees for squirrels.
D. K. Wall:Five years of passing this man on the greenway. Five years of good mornings and small talk about the weather and construction. And I still don't know his real name.
D. K. Wall:But I know what kind of man he is. And honestly, that's the better thing to know.