Any Dpare Change, Ma’am?

ANY SPARE CHANGE MA’AM?

“Any spare change ma’am?”

I jingled my purse and heard some coins rattling around. I stuck my hand in, scraped around in the bottom, and pulled out some coins—three one-dollar coins, and one two-dollar coin—five bucks. Since Canada had gotten rid of paper one- and two-dollar bills, I found I had a lot more lose change rattling around in the bottom of my bag.

I walked over to the man. He was about thirty, and was clearly down on his luck. His clothes were in tatters, his hair matted, and his shoes were full of holes. I figured he could use the money more than I could. I dropped the coins in a Tim Horton’s paper cup at his feet, his only donations today.

“Thank you, ma’am. God bless.”

I smiled and continued my walk to the store. Once inside I picked up the food items I needed for tonight’s dinner. I also threw in a couple of extras—a can of peanuts, some jerky, some Baby Bel cheese balls, two bottles of yellow Gatorade, and a one litre bottle of water. These purchases didn’t cost me a fortune but maybe they would provide the the man outside something to eat today. I threw in a small bag of dry dog food for the tiny puppy I had spied curled up in the man’s lap, its tiny head poking out from under his coat.

I headed back the way that I had come, and the man was still sitting there on the sidewalk, a thin piece of cardboard the only thing between him and the cold concrete.

I held out the bag of food I had bought for him and his dog.

“Here you go.” I held out the bag.

Instead of taking it, he just looked at me.

I smiled, placing the bag beside him. “I hope you like peanuts, cheese, and jerky. There’s also a box of food for your puppy.” I nodded towards the little face just visible in his lap. “What’s his name?” I asked.

The man looked confused, but answered, “He’s a she, and her name is Emma.”

“What a lovely name,” I said. “How old is she?”

He just shrugged. “Dunno. Found her in the forest beside a big dog—probably her mother. But she was dead. So I took her. I didn’t want the coyotes to get her.”

I wasn’t expecting Emma’s story to be so traumatic. “That was really kind of you to take her in. You probably saved her life.”

He shrugged. “Yeah, but there’s a problem.” He gently scratched Emma between her ears. She shut her eyes and seemed to fall back to sleep. Then he looked up at me. “It’s getting cold out, and I need to go to the shelter to keep warm, but I can’t bring her into the shelter—no pets allowed.” He shook his head. “I’m worried someone’s gonna hurt her, here out her on the streets. There are a lot of crazy people. Some sicko tried to steal her yesterday.” He paused. “Do you want her?”

“I .. I ..”

“Please lady. If you don’t take her, I don’t know what I’m going to do. I need to go into the shelter, but I can’t take Emma with me.” He gently pulled the little pup out from inside his jacket, and held her out to me. “Please, lady. She needs a good home.”

She was so tiny. And skinny. You could tell that she’d been living rough with her person—her fur was grimy, her eyes rheumy and runny, and she wheezed a little bit when she breathed. I could see the ticks and fleas in her coat.

I bent and took her into my arms. She had to weigh no more than three pounds. “Hello, Emma,” I said as she weakly licked my hand. I looked back at the man. “What’s your name?” I asked.

“Greg.”

I looked at Greg, then back to Emma. I didn’t need a dog. I didn‘t want a dog. But Emma needed a home. So did Greg, but I was certainly in no position to provide that.

“My name’s Remi.” I looked back down at the little bundle I was holding, nestled in the crook of my arm. “I’ll take Emma, but once I take her I’m not going to give her back. This will be a lifelong arrangement between the three of us. I will always care for Emma, and you won’t ask for her back.” I looked at Greg. “Does that work for you?” He was nodding, but he looked sad.

“She’s a really good dog, lady. She really is. I just wish I could keep her.”

“But you’ll see her a lot. I promise. We’ll come by for lots of visits.” I gave him my card with my phone number on it. “And if you need anything, please give me a call. Maybe I’ll be able to help.”

He shoved the card in his pocket. He got up and came over and whispered in Emma’s ears. “This nice lady is going to give you a new home. She’ll love you, and feed you, and take you for long walks. No one will try to hurt you. I’ll see you soon.” He kissed the top of her head. “I love you, Emma.”

****

There was a bit of blowback from my kids.

“Mom, what are you going to do with a dog?”

“You don’t need a dog.”

“It’s a lot of work being a pet owner. Are you sure you’re up to it?”

I explained, that, yes, I knew a dog was a lot of work—we’d had dogs when the kids were growing up and I was fully aware of the time and money needed to have a pet. What I didn’t mention was that I was a bit lonely since their father had decided to see the world and find himself. With his hairdresser. All three kids were grown and on their own, so I was alone, rattling around in my big old house. I figured Emma would keep me busy enough so that I would would stop planning my revenge on my ex and his coiffure. It was good to have something new to focus on.

When I took her to the vet, he figured she was about six or seven weeks old—a bit young to be weaned, but old enough for puppy chow and supplements. He guessed that she was your classic mutt of many breeds, but was probably going to be a small- to medium-sized dog. She had worms, and kennel cough, both of which were easily treated. Thankfully the parvovirus and distemper tests came back negative. Her coat was a breeding ground for ticks and fleas. She had never had a vaccine, so she had to get the full spectrum—for her own protection and the protection of other animals she might come in contact with. All-in-all though, she was fairly healthy considering her rough start in life.

We went to training. She learned to pee outside, and I learned to put my shoes away unless I wanted them destroyed. She learned to walk on a leash, and I learned that six a.m. was an excellent time to take a walk. We were simpatico.

We saw Greg at least once a week. I always brought him food, and as the weather got colder I thrifted him a winter coat and a good pair of boots. He was always appreciative. But his joy was in seeing Emma. I’m not sure she remembered her time with him, but she would always strain on the leash, urging me to walk faster. She needed to see her friend Greg!

Fall turned into winter, winter into spring. Early in April I couldn’t find Greg. There were a few places that he liked to frequent, and I checked them all, to no avail. He was just gone. After a week, I checked the Good Shepard shelter, the one Greg preferred.

I explained that I was a friend of Greg’s and I was worried that I hadn’t seen him in over a week.

Michael, the intake manager broke the news. “Greg was stabbed last week and died. Someone was trying to steal his coat, but he said no—it was a gift from his friend, and he wasn’t going to give to anyone—not even a guy with a knife.”

I was stunned. And heartbroken. Greg had died refusing to part with my gift. It cost him his life.

“I would have bought him another coat,” I whispered, my eyes filling with tears. Emma jumped up on my leg and licked my face as I bent down to pick her up.

I felt a hole open up in my chest. I was going to miss Greg. Emma was going to miss Greg. I hadn’t known that much about Greg’s life before the streets, other than he chose his life. He said he liked the solitude and the freedom—no pressure to conform to society’s expectations.

Emma and I walked slowly home.

About a week after receiving the news about Greg, while I was making arrangements for his burial, there was a knock on the door. Emma barked and ran around in circles. She loved company. Me, not so much—especially unannounced company.

I opened the door. A man in an expensive suit and topcoat, holding a beautiful leather briefcase stood there.

“Remi Martin?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said. I had no idea who he was, expect I was pretty sure he wasn’t going to offer to clean out my gutters for me. He looked far too fancy.

He handed me a card. “My name is Westley Connors, of Green, Booth, and Connors, Family Law. I’m here regarding a bequeath made to you by one of my clients. Can I come in?”

Now I was really confused. And, I don’t usually let strange men into my home, regardless of how nice they look.

“One moment,” I said shutting the door. I looked up Green, Booth, and Connors online, and yup, there was the man at my door on their webpage. I called the office, and had them describe Mr. Connors.

I opened the door. “Can I see some identification, please?” He took out his driver’s licence and health card, handing them to me.

Okay, I was convinced. The man in front of me was Westley Connors.

He stepped in, and looked around. Emma sniffed his feet, her tail wagging. He bent down to rub between her ears, then stool back up. “I would appreciate it if we could sit down to go over the papers.

I led him to the kitchen. After I offered him coffee or tea, which he declined, Mr. Connors opened his briefcase and pulled out a number of manila folders, placing them on my kitchen table.

“What this all about?” I asked trying to read the name on the file folder upside down.

“You are a benefactor in the estate of Vincent Gregory Connor. He was my nephew,” said Mr. Connor, with a sad smile.

I was really confused. I didn’t know any Vincents, and the only Gregory that I knew was Greg, and he certainly didn’t have an estate. Most days he was lucky if he got something to eat.

“I’m sorry, there must be some mistake.“

Mr. Connors smiled. “There’s been no mistake. We found you through a card that Vincent had with your name on it.” He smiled. “Vincent Gregory Connors is the man you knew as Greg. He has left you his estate.”

“I’m not sure what you mean by estate, but Greg really didn’t have much. In fact he was killed when someone tried to steal his coat. That doesn’t sound like an estate,” I said, smiling slightly, trying to hide my confusion.

Mr. Connors smiled. “Did you know what Vincent—sorry, Greg—did before he ended up on the street?”

I shook my head. “We never talked a lot about his past. We mostly talked about books and music, and Emma and went on walks.” Emma leaned up on my leg. I picked her up. “He really loved Emma.”

“Greg was a tech guy. He made apps and operating systems. Three years ago, he sold his company to Microsoft for $793 million dollars.”

I was stunned. Seven hundred and ninety-three million dollars!? “But, he was homeless,” I stammered, more confused than ever.

“By choice. Greg was overwhelmed by his sudden wealth, and the demands that people were putting on him. He chucked it all, and moved to the streets.”

“But why didn’t he get himself a place? For him and Emma?”

“Like I said, he didn’t want to. He craved anonymity, and the streets allowed him that.”

I was dumbstruck.

“Greg was unconventional, said Mr. Connors.

“Wow,” I whispered.

Mr. Connor opened the top folder. “Greg did not have mental health issues. His choices were his to make, and he was happy.” He paused, remembering. “We’d have dinner once a month at my place. Greg would have a shower and wash his clothes, then head back out onto the streets.”

I was shocked. It must have shown no my face. Mr. Connors continued. “It was during these dinners that Greg told me about you. The kindness and the friendship that you showed him. He had me change his will.” He scanned the papers in the file. “Greg had bequeathed you the sum of one million dollars annually, for the maintenance of you and Emma.”

My mouth hung open. “One million dollars? Annually?”

“Yes, for the duration of your life.”

I didn’t have any words.

“And the rest of his estate is to also go to you in trust. He stipulated that you can do whatever you want with the remainder of the money, but it has to be beneficial to society.”

*****

I took the giant scissors and cut the ribbon. Emma barked at my feet, turning in excited circles. The people around me clapped. Greg’s Place was officially open. It was a shelter—for unhoused people who had pets, and a safe haven for the pets of people who couldn’t manage their care. Our mandate was to keep people and their pets together, even when they were down on their luck.

I looked around, tears in my eyes.

“Thank you,Greg,” I whispered, bending down to scoop Emma into my arms.