Tony and Zack
Tony shuffled through the autumn leaves covering the cracked sidewalk toward the park. His old German shepherd hobbled beside him. Years before, Tony remembered, when he was 66 and Zack was still a pup, the two of them flew up and down the hills like kites blowing in the wind, the cool air licking their faces, their feet scarcely touching the ground. Not any more. He bent over and rubbed his arthritic knees.
"Good boy," Tony said as Zack paused again, sniffed, and marked the familiar trail. "Take care of your business outside." He leaned over and tapped the dog's head. "Leave your special surprises out here, too," he cautioned. "That man from Clean-Rite Carpet's at Harry and Irene's again this morning, you know."
Tony blinked, adjusted his bifocals, and stared into the dog's rheumy brown eyes. "We're gettin' on, Zack." He shook his head. "Never thought I'd see 80 or that we'd both be living with my son and his wife."
Zack licked Tony's hand. Tony ran his gnarled fingers through the dog's thinning hair, taking care to avoid the tumor protruding from the dog's hip.
"No point in doing surgery," Dr. Fernandez had said. "Why put him through that?"
Why, indeed, Tony thought. He checked his Timex, reached into his pocket, and, while stroking the dog's chin, poured the pills into Zack's mouth. "Don't worry," Tony promised. "I'll take care of you. Always have."
The dog barked and nuzzled against his leg. Autumn leaves crunched beneath their feet as they walked together, breathing the crisp air and making little discoveries along the way, like the single white bloom hidden beneath a cluster of leaves, the lizard scurrying to a patch of sunlight, and the insistent woodpecker at work on a sprawling oak. The old man smiled.
"Tony, over here," Art called, waving from a park bench.
Tufts of white hair peeked out from underneath Art's green baseball cap. His red plaid jacket nearly swallowed him. On his feet he wore his usual old Army boots, his jeans tucked neatly into his shoes. The foxhead cane Tony had carved for his old friend rested beside him.
"Morning, Art," Tony said.
"Movin' a mite slower today," Art said, pointing to Zack, "and still limping."
Tony nodded.
"Should he be out?"
"That's how he wanted it. Stood on the other side of the door, whining. I couldn't leave him."
Tony felt Art's arm wrapping around his shoulder.
"That dog lives to be with you, Tony."
The dog rested his head against Tony's knee.
"You know, Art, the cancer's eating away inside him, just like me, but he won't give up." Tony pushed a thin strand of white hair out of his eyes. "He's not ready, Art. Not yet."
"I know how that is."
"My problem is Harry and Irene." Tony pulled his blue knit cap over his ears and patted Zack's head. "Don't know how much longer they'll put up with the mess. His...," he hesitated, "and mine."
"You, too?"
Tony nodded. "Now it's my bladder. I seem to be going downhill fast."
"Have they said anything?"
"No. But you know how particular Irene is with her house. When she cleans, no stone's left unturned. Oh, I try to tidy up after me and Zack the best I can, but there's always the..."
"The smell," Art chuckled, tightening his scarf against a gust of wind.
Tony looked at Zack and then back at his friend. "It's only a matter of time. Me in a home, Zack..." He wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his sweater. "Everything changes, Art," he muttered. "Everything."
Tony felt a shudder against his leg and saw Zack sinking into a heap, his legs splayed out at his sides.
Kneeling beside him, Tony whispered, "Zack? Zack? You still with us?" He lifted the dog's chin and kissed him. "Hang in there, Buddy. I'll get you up."
Wrapping his arms around Zack, he gently pulled. Zack didn't move, even though Tony could feel the dog's pulse throbbing against his fingers.
"You lift his front. I'll lift his back," Art said.
"C'mon, Zack," Tony pleaded. "You can do it."
The men worked, pulling and lifting.
"He was almost up," Art said, but his wobbly legs can't hold him."
Tony sat on the ground beside his dog, cupped Zack's head in his hands, and looked into those dark, brown eyes.
"What's it gonna be, Boy? You want to leave me? Had enough?" His voice choked. "Wouldn't blame you, you know."
Tony gritted his teeth. He remembered the other times, the other falls, getting worse over time until, like now, he couldn't get up. He remembered Zack beneath the table, waiting for secret morsels Irene wouldn't see. Then there was Zack waiting patiently at the door, wagging his tail, knowing it was walk time. Tony swallowed hard and wiped his eyes again.
"I'll call the vet," Art said, grabbing his cane. "The pay phone's not far."
Tony looked at Art but said nothing. He couldn't help but notice the few leaves still clinging tenaciously to the almost bare branches. It's coming, Zack, Tony thought, as he caressed his beloved dog's face. Don't know when, but our last cold winter's on its way.
Zack whimpered. A wet tongue slurped Tony's quivering mouth, his cheeks, his nose. Two front legs came together as Zack struggled to get up.
Tony felt his heart pounding in his chest. "Attaboy, Zack! Attaboy!" he said. "You can do it!"
Panting, the dog heaved himself up. He swayed on his feet but stood alone, looking deep into his master's eyes, waiting.
Tony threw his arms around Zack's neck and buried his face against the soft fur.
"No need to call anyone, Art!" Tony shouted, as he and Zack shuffled side-by-side through the fallen leaves. "We're not ready. Not yet."
~Mary Chandler
© Copyright 1998 by Mary Chandler.
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