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 sun was almost completely in the sky. 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 here!”

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. 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.

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 room. Feeling my way down the wall, my hand rubbed a light switch. Not really thinking of the consequences, I flipped the switch.

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

“Where am I?” I whispered.

George and Gracie pulled at the leash and, 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 room.

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?”

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

“We will be here,” George sighed as he turned the page.

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

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

“Mr. Shepherd?” I thought. “My dog talked to my boss, Mr. Shepherd?” 

I think I heard them snickering as I pulled the weathered old wooden door behind me.