Thanks to everybody who sent me a review. I love to know what people think and the feedback helps me become a better writer. Thank you, Alice, for being a good beta.
Morristown
Chapter Two
Wednesday morning the temperature dipped alarmingly and all the students still had to go through their two daily outdoor walks holding onto empty harnesses. This was why warm coats, sturdy boots, hats and gloves were strongly suggested for winter classes.
"Strongly suggest," Jim Dunbar snorted as he shuffled the cards for the night's first poker game. "If I hadn't had my fur lined leather gloves I'd never have to learn Braille because all my fingers would get frostbite, turn black and fall off."
"I don't know about that," Callum Mitchell smiled as he ran his fingers over the cards, "There's always your nose. If you can put it to the grindstone why not put it to the Brailled page?"
"Just the kind of thing you can expect to hear from a science major," Anne Peabody said. "Sticking your nose in a book takes on a whole new meaning."
"Are you here to whine or are you here to play cards?" Dunbar put the cards on the table. "Deuces and eights are wild."
Sam Coleman walked around and observed the men and women scattered through the room. Anne Peabody was an instigator again. When things slowed down Anne would goose the proceedings and never let anyone around her get morose or depressed. She knew what was going to happen tonight; she knew because she had been here three times before.
Jim heard Sam in the background. "Reverend Washington, could you come with me?"
"Something going on?" He asked no one in particular.
"Shut up and play cards."
"Red," Jim was worried, "what is happening with Reverend Washington?"
"Detective Dunbar," Joe Goldman and Anne Peabody spoke in unison, "shut up
and play cards."
"Okay, okay… I can take a hint," Jim checked his cards again. "Anybody want any cards?"
There was a tap on his shoulder. It was Gayle Authier. "Jim, could you come with me?"
Jim rolled his eyes. "What did I do now?"
"Oh, it was nothing you did, but it is very important that you come with me."
"Don't worry, Jimmy," Red snickered as she gave his cards to Ashley Rush, "we'll have someone lose your money for you."
"Hey, I have thirty five cents invested in this game and I'm not about to just give it away!"
The woman put her hand lightly on Jim's shoulder. "This is very important."
"Alright, I fold, I gotta go now." Jim rose and took Ms. Authier's arm and tried to figure what was happening now.
The councilor made small talk. "How are you doing here, Mr. Dunbar? Is this everything you imagined?"
"Imagined? This place was never on my 'to do' list." Jim became thoughtful. "My mother told me not to think about before and after or about better or worse, just different. My life is sure different now."
"Well, it's about to get different again." Ms. Authier stopped in front of Jim's room. "Inside on the desk you'll find a leash and dog treats. I want you to sit down, pick up a treat and have the leash handy. We will bring your dog to you shortly. I want you to call the dog to you, feed him the treat when he obeys you and put the leash on him. From now on this dog is going to be your best friend. He will be attached to either you or your bed for the rest of your stay here. From this moment on only you will be feeding, walking, grooming and calling your dog by his name."
He turned to the woman, "And what is his name?"
"Hank. You are going to meet a beautiful German shepherd named Hank. He looks like a classic police dog and he will be part of your world from now on." With that Ms. Authier left Jim in his room.
Jim walked to the desk and found the leather leash and package of dog treats. He slipped the leash over his shoulder and shook a treat into his hand. He wanted to pace. Hell, Jim Dunbar wanted to run and to work out the nerves building inside him, but he sat and waited for his future to arrive. When the knock on the door finally came, Jim Dunbar was ready to jump out of his skin.
"Mr. Dunbar, time to call your dog."
"Hank, come here boy," the words sounded strange to his ears. The click of nails against tile and the feel of a wet nose against his hand told Jim the dog was here. "Hey, Hank," he ran his hand down the head to find the collar, but his hand slowed as it trailed through the thick shaggy fur. Unconsciously the left hand came up and joined the right as Jim searched his memory for an image that would tell him what his dog looked like. A police dog, tan, brown and black with ears that stick up and pointy teeth. Hank probably looked like the drug sniffing dogs that Jim had seen so many times at work. He could live and work with a police dog and with that he snapped the leash to the collar. He could live with Hank.
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"Six oh seven A. M." the alarm said, prompting Jim's arm to snake out and hit the top of the clock.
Jim's eyes opened a slit as he pulled the blanket up over his head. He hated mornings, he hated dragging his butt out of bed when the floors were frosty and he hated the dark. The dog… Hank… pulled the chain that anchored him to the bed.
"Hey, boy," Jim's hand reached out and Hank gently nosed the fingers that sought him. Jim swung out of the bed and ruffled the big dog's fur. Hank whined appreciatively and licked Jim's fingers. A smile spread slowly across his face as Jim started to open up to the animal before him. "Hey, Hank, how about I get dressed and we go for a walk? I gotta learn how to stoop and scoop for you so I hope you're a quick study."
Jim knew this was the way each day would start from now on. Hank was patient as Jim dragged on his jeans, sneakers and coat and joined the parade to the gravel patch behind the dormitory. He could hear the shuffling and yawning of the students along with the padding and sniffling of the dogs. Snow fell into his shoes as he tried to coax Hank to hurry up and finish his business.
"Mr. Dunbar." Jim jumped when Sam Coleman's voice was suddenly behind him. "I'm sure that you would be annoyed if someone stood over you while you were sitting on the toilet. This is your partner for the next eight to ten years; surely you can give him a few minutes every morning." Jim drew in a shuddering breath and waited for Hank to finish.
"Good boy, Hank," Jim praised the dog half heartedly as he stooped to clean up after the waste. He wasn't sure if he'd be happy with eight to ten years doody duty.
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"Oh no," Milt Gibbs, the trainer who drove the school's van, whispered as he pulled up to the hall of St. Mark's Lutheran Church, "it's him, again."
"Who?" The wobbly tenor of Callum Mitchell asked what every student in the van wanted to know.
"It's that lunatic, SOB."
"Son of a bitch," Anne Peabody quipped as she caressed her dog's head, a golden labrador named Dawn.
"That's what he calls us," Milt stopped the bus and turned to the students and trainers before he opened the door. "I thought I had out foxed the guy, but he's a sneaky bastard. Sorry."
"That's okay," Sam Coleman raised his voice for all to hear. "People, you are about to encounter the Seth O'Brien, Morristown's own lunatic fringe. He is a very radical animal rights activist who believes that using dogs as guides for the blind is an inhumane and oppressive use of the animals. He believes dogs have natural talents but the training we give our animals is unnatural and bonding them to one person is slavery. Don't listen to him. If your partners had not shown a high degree of intelligence, aptitude and enjoyment for the job they are doing they would not be doing it."
Coleman drew in a long breath and looked at the people in the bus. Anne Peabody and Dawn, Jim Dunbar and Hank, Callum Mitchell and Duchess, Ashley Rush and Teddy, Joe Goldman and Piper and Russell Washington and Prince were the brightest students in this class and he didn't need any of them spooked by a loony. "The lovely ladies of the altar guild will entertain the people who will be waiting for their instruction while we take two of you out at a time. Right now, let's get into the church hall and get on with it."
Simple alphabetical order had Jim Dunbar and Hank go first that morning. The vibrations that ran up the stiff u-shaped collar were different with an actual guide dog there. The height was just right for Jim's arm to move comfortably with Hank and Hank was fast. Eight months of stumbling, shuffling steps had slowed him down and now Jim had to pick up the pace to keep up with the dog.
"Tyrant!" Seth O'Brien shouted in his face, distracting Jim making him stumble. Hank stopped.
"Concentrate on your walk, Jim. Praise your dog for stopping and trust your dog." The trainer's voice was right behind him. "Now tell him forward."
Jim tried to get the tension out of his voice. "Good boy, Hank. Forward." Together they started down the sidewalk.
Seth O'Brien followed them, screaming. "That dog is a shepherd. Are you a sheep? Why are you abusing that animal? Would you keep him if he were blind or would you kill him for being useless?"
"Jim, stop and listen to me." The trainer was at the side opposite Hank. "You have to concentrate. Your dog doesn't know where you are going. He is only telling you what is in the way as you get there."
Jim's hand clenched hard on the harness. "That idiot and the way he is distracting…"
"Is not an excuse you can use, Jim. You live in New York City and the distractions there are going to be bigger and louder and in greater quantity than anything you'll find on the sidewalks of Morristown, New Jersey." A comforting hand came down on his shoulder. "Go two blocks forward, a right turn, one block forward, a left turn to the end of the block and then another left turn at the end of the block and then three blocks back to the church."
"That is damn confusing," Jim bit back.
"That is the kind of directions you will get everyday and I didn't even say the words 'here' or 'over there'. Work it out in your head before you start and then tell your dog forward. We are almost at the end of the first block, so trust your dog and start again."
"Hank, forward," Jim walked forward until Hank stopped. "Good boy, Hank," Jim remembered to say as he pushed his foot out until he felt the curb. He listened for traffic and when he felt safe he commanded, "Hank, forward."
The dog didn't move.
"Hank, forward."
"He's not a car," the rough, angry man stepped in front of Jim and spit out his sarcastic words. "He is your beautiful brother and you are using him like one of those polluting monstrosities that foul the earth with their noxious waste."
"Hank," Jim gave the hand command to proceed and Hank skillfully circled the irate protester and took Jim to the curb at other side of the street. "Good boy, Hank, good boy." Jim praised his dog while mentally flipping the bird to the bastard behind him,
and then kept moving forward.
tbc