Mr. Shepherd's Library

Mr. Shepherd’s Library

“Come on, George. Gracie! Catch up! We need to get back to the hotel.”

“Perhaps I should have kept them on the leash,” I thought as I looked over my shoulder.

George and Gracie had been my companions for the past four years. They were beautiful German Shepherd Dogs that I had raised since puppies. I tried to take them on as many work trips as I could, as they were two of the best friends that I had in the world.

My husband passed away when I was in my late fifties. He had been the center of my universe. As the friends and well-wishers from the funeral faded back into their world, I needed someone to talk to. I knew I could not replace my husband, but someone (or in this case, something) with whom to share my world was imperative.

George came from a breeder in Opelika, and I bought Gracie from a local friend who trains police dogs.

Today, we were on the Atlantic coast. The October weather was cool, and the beach was one of my favorite places to be. The dogs’ internal clocks made them stir around 4:00 a.m. and, since I knew they were not going back to sleep, I usually rose with them.

We beat the sunrise this morning and were playing in the surf when the first rays began to warm us. Even George and Gracie stopped for a moment and watched God’s masterpiece brighten the Eastern sky.

“Come on guys, I need to rinse all the salt water off before you go inside. Momma has work to do today,” I called after them.

Gracie came full speed. George took one more dig at the wet sand, but then chased his sister to my side.

“Have you had fun today?” I asked. “We may have to come back here on vacation. It is beautiful!”

As we reached the beach shower, Gracie seemed intrigued at the large rock formation a few hundred yards ahead.

“Come on, Gracie,” I called. “We have to go. Momma has a presentation in four hours, and I need to prepare.”

With Gracie seemingly getting a pass on the shower, George ran up the beach as well. By the time I reached the collection of rocks, I could see that Gracie had begun pawing and digging. There appeared to be an opening, and by the dogs’ behavior, something on the other side.

“What is it, girl?” I asked. I knew she would not answer, but her head turned quickly and sharply. I was a bit startled at her reaction.

George joined the digging and soon, at the back of the hole, I could see a wooden door.

“What in the…” my voice trailed off.

“What did you find, guys?”

I leaned down. The wood was weathered and dry. George and Gracie nudged the back of my legs. After a pat on their heads, I crouched down and kneeled on the beach.

Gracie pawed at the door. George encouraged her with a whine and a bark.

“You want me to open the door?” I looked at them.

Bark and yelp.

“What is in there?” I questioned.

Another bark and yelp.

I looked up and down the beach and saw no one.

“It is probably some type of hurricane protection,” I surmised, “but why would it be on the beach?” I began pondering about what could be behind the closed door. “It’s probably nothing,” I thought, but I knew it had to be something from the dogs’ reaction.

I brushed some more sand off the door and pulled on the wooden handle. It budged but did not open.

“If it doesn’t open, we are going to the hotel,” I told the dogs. I stood to get a bit more leverage. I was more than just a little apprehensive about the discovery which awaited us. 

I pulled again and the door creaked.

“What is this?” I wondered as my heart began pounding in my chest.

The third pull opened the door enough that George and Gracie bolted inside.

“Hey!” I shouted after them. “Hey, come here!”

One more pull and I was able to squeeze through the opening.

I clicked the flashlight on my phone to see if I could lay eyes on my pups.

“What is this?” I questioned again. With my flashlight as my guide, I moved it around to survey my new surroundings. Other than the sand that had seeped under the door, there was a tile floor, sheet rocked and painted walls, and light bulbs hanging from electrical cords tacked to the tile ceiling. Everything was weathered, but white in color. I deduced that this must be a storm shelter and my blood pressure began trending towards normal again. But where were the dogs? How big is this place?

I whistled for George and Gracie, and they came running. They were unharmed. I unfurled the leash from my belt and hooked them to me, just to be on the safe side.

Walking in what appeared to be a hallway, I pointed my light ahead. I turned and looked at our entrance point and saw the bright morning sky. Holding the leash in one hand, I found a mid-sized rock to prop open the door.

“Just to be safe,” I told the dogs as I turned to continue my adventure.

A couple more steps into the shelter, I found a larger chamber. Feeling my way down the wall, my hand rubbed a plastic rectangle on the wall. Not really thinking of the consequences, I pushed the plastic switch up.

The light bulbs hanging from the ceiling flooded the area with light.

“Where am I?” I whispered.

George and Gracie pulled at the leash. Startled, I released them to the interior.

The room was approximately six by nine feet with a seven-foot ceiling. On the walls were books of various sizes and colors. Some of them were very old and covered with dust, but some were fresh like they had just been read. There was a dog bed in the middle of the space.

Eyes squinted, forehead furled, I tried to understand what I was seeing. George and Gracie, on the other hand, had tails wagging and tongues flapping.

George put his front paws on the third shelf like he was looking for a book. Gracie took her spot on the dog bed watching him.

“George, get down!” I barked…no, I really did bark!

George simply turned his head to me and said, “It’s ok, Momma.”

“What?” I barked again.

Gracie giggled and redirected to George, “I want to read the smaller one. The red one on your left.”

I slipped to my knees and just watched the confusion.

“Can you understand me?” I queried.

“Always have,” George threw over his shoulder.

Gracie seemed to delight in the fact that I was so confused. I rubbed her head and looked at the book which was now in her paws.

“What type of language is that?” I asked, unaware if I was talking or barking.

She looked at me over the binding of the book and said, “it is canine. Mr. Shepherd told us the library would be open when he called and asked you to present today.”

“Mr. Shepherd?” I asked. “He talked to YOU?”

“Sure!” George said. “He said we could stay here while you are doing your talk thing.” He was now lounging next to Gracie with a thick gray book.

“What?” I questioned. “Mr. Shepherd, the head of the project committee?”

“The very one,” George barked (or said – I couldn’t tell what I was hearing anymore). “You know him, tall, long back, beard…”

“Gorgeous brown eyes,” Gracie snickered.

I know he is a human, I thought, but his ears were a bit pointed and seemed to stand up…no…

“He’s a man, not a German Shepherd,” I yelped as I snapped out of my thoughts.

“Oh, we know,” they answered together, nodding their heads and smiling.

This was all so strange. Was I dreaming, or standing in the middle of a canine library? Was I talking or barking? Was Mr. Shepherd a man or a dog? As I pondered these questions, Gracie asked George how to pronounce a word.

I shook my head as to rattle these thoughts away.

“Projector,” George said slowly.

“Projector?” I probed, “What are you reading?”

“I am studying how to capture the audience…lure them in…and impart great wisdom. I thought if you could travel and give presentations on what you know, maybe Mr. Shepherd would pay us to do the same.”

“I am looking forward to making money and buying better dog toys!”

“What?????”

They looked at me giggling but soon returned to their books.

George grabbed my attention again when he said, “I am reading about architecture. I am going to build a better doghouse.”

“You live inside and have all the comforts of a human home,” I scoffed.

“Not for me, Momma. For others. I have an entrepreneurial spirit that is just bursting to be set free. I want to teach humans what a canine really wants in an outdoor bungalow.”

“You are going to teach and talk to humans?!?”

“You do it all the time with your presentations.”

“My presentation!” I suddenly remembered. “I need to go.”

“We will be here,” George sighed as he turned the page. “Please give our regards to Mr. Shepherd.”

“Shut the door on the way out,” Gracie followed.

“We will talk about this later,” I told them as I turned to go.

As I returned to the weathered wooden door, I hoped that I could concentrate on my presentation. Please don’t let my thoughts wander. Please don’t let me wonder if my dog could have presented this better. Please help me remember to be gracious to Mr. Shepherd. And please let my speech be human and not canine.

As my face met the afternoon sun, I wondered, “Mr. Shepherd? My dog talks to my boss, Mr. Shepherd?” 

I think I heard George and Gracie snickering as I pulled the weathered old wooden door behind me.