Life's little rewards

Andy was standing at the store bulletin board. He was flattening a bulletin against the cork board, as I had breezed through the door the icy wind that followed me had lifted the bottom edge of the piece of paper Andy had been tacking up. “Bit cold for a yard sale!” I said sorting through the mail I just picked up at the post office. Now Andy is a teacher at the school. Andy is a first year teacher at the school. They are a breed apart, these new teachers. They come to tiny northern towns like ours from universities across this great land with new sheepskin diplomas and shiny faces with ruddy cheeks. They show up every fall, full of enthusiasm and brimming with idealism. They are set to change the world. They can’t wait until the first day of school. They are young and hip and expect that the kids have just been waiting for someone like them. Someone who listened to their music who understood the way they spoke. Someone cool. They were full of the brave foolishness of the young. They are bullet proof.
I admire them, I do. I admire their enthusiasm, their bravado. I admire them and I pity them. I have seen them come, a week earlier than the older teachers. So keen and so full of energy. And I have seen them on the last day of school, standing on the apron of the runway, less than five minutes after their last class. The school door still swinging behind them. They had been packed for a week as they stood there waiting, straining to hear the sound of the single engine charter that was supposed to be waiting for them. Oddly enough a few come back. Most don’t.
Andy turned and looked at me forlornly. “I am trying to find Hagar.” His voice was reedy and tired. Now Hagar is a dog. Well sort of. Hagar is a stray that wandered into the school one afternoon. Andy took pity on this odd creature. Hagar was a dog of indeterminate breed. Usually people will pin it down to two breeds, you know like, it’s a shepherd, husky cross. Or maybe a terrier, spaniel mix. Hagar could never be summed up in two breeds. He had the head of a St Bernard, the body of a sheltie. He had a tail like a Golden Retriever but short legs like a Dachshund. He had a coat of many colors to match. I gave up trying to categorize him. If I had to choose two words I would call him an ugly, mutant cross. Not that I am a snob. Most of my dogs have been mixed breed and none the worse for that. But poor Hagar was another kettle of fish altogether. Andy was an English teacher. A literature major who had named the dog after Hagar Shipley from Margaret Lawrence’s A Stone Angel. The kids thought it was named after the Viking character from the cartoon of that name. So Hagar was missing.
I was a bit surprised that the dog was missing, it followed Andy everywhere. I liked Hagar. As ugly as he was he had a way about him. His body moved in a queer corkscrew motion, his tail was outsized for his tiny abdomen and it spun his body like some kind of gyroscope. Andy put in the last thumb tack and turned his face to me. His eyes were swollen and he had obviously been crying. I had been about to make a snide remark about Hagar seeing his own reflection and taking to the hills. Instead I put my arm over Andy’s shoulder. I glanced at the bulletin. It was a reward poster. It offered a $100 reward for the safe return of Hagar. There was a photocopied picture of the beast himself. The grainy black and white photocopy was no improvement on the original.
“Feel like having a coffee and telling me all about it?” I asked opening the inner doors to the store I manage. “Sure, I guess.” said Andy sullenly. He looked like he didn’t have a friend in the world. He was a quiet sort so it was almost a literal truth. The older teachers had been together for a while and the local guys his age were too busy to seek out the company of the young, bookish white guy. Andy would show up at my door on Saturday nights he would have the latest thing he had read under his arm and Hagar would be trailing behind. I would make a pot of coffee and we would discuss history or literature or politics or philosophy. I think he liked the fact that I had taken many of the same courses in college. When he left hours later Hagar would rise from my deck, shake off the snow or damp and follow behind him with that queer corkscrew gait.
“He was just gone when I got home last night!” Andy was practically wailing. “Gone?” I commiserated. “Was he chained up when you left?” I inquired. “Of course!” he said with disbelief. “You think I would let him ruin loose?” “I guess not. I am sure he will come back. I’ll help you look for him after work.” I said reassuringly. “I looked all night. He isn’t anywhere.” Well that explains the dark circles I thought to myself. I left Andy at the door after our coffee and went back to my work. We walked the streets for hours that night. There was no sign of Hagar. Andy was disconsolate. “Maybe he’ll be back in the morning.” I said as we said good night.
At lunch the next day Andy was back at the store. His eyes were clear; his cheeks were ruddy once more. He was bouncing as he walked. “I got Hagar back!” he shouted. He almost looked like Hagar; he seemed to be developing a corkscrew motion of his own. “Well I’m glad!” I said. “Did he show up at your door?” “NO!” Andy said pointing to a young man with an armload of junk food making his way to the checkout. “He found Hagar he just returned him.” The kid seemed to be as pleased as Andy he was struggling under the weight of pop and chips and gummy bears. He had a few chums tailing behind. I rubbed my chin and then shook my head. I was having suspicions. I thought it was my paranoia. I’ve been up north too long, I thought. I wanted to share Andy’s moment of joy. All was well for a week or so. Then in one of those déjà vu moments I came through the porch doors of the store to find Andy putting up another bulletin. I recognized the slope of his shoulders and the pallid cheeks and sunken eyes. He didn’t have to say a thing. “Hagar again?” I said. Andy nodded his downcast head. “Coffee’s on.” I said. “Tell me about it.” The story was the same. Andy had come home the night before to find Hagar’s chain outstretched the empty snap laying in the snow. He had once again spent the whole night walking. “Same reward?” I asked. Andy nodded again. “I have a feeling you will see him by lunch tomorrow.” I said my suspicion hackles standing on end. “You will help me look tonight?” I looked at Andy. They say that we start to look like our spouses after years together. Andy looked every bit as pathetic as his pooch. How could I say no?
That night was windy and cold. Snow lashed our faces as we walked every road and goat path in that tiny town, not twice, but three times. Nothing. I said goodnight and went home. Sure enough the next noon Andy was back in the store looking like He’d just had a baby. I congratulated him. A few minutes later a young guy came to the cash register with a pile of munchies. I took the till myself this time. I rang up the items and sure enough the young guy pulled out five crisp twenties when it came time to pay. It was a different boy, but the first lad was in line behind him, not buying anything, but they were definitely together. I stared hard at the youth and he began to shift his weight from foot to foot. “Let’s get outta here.” He said to his friend and they left post haste.
A routine developed. Every few weeks Andy would come home to an empty yard. A reward would be offered and the dog would magically appear. A boy would come into the store with five new twenties. Finally I had to do something. “Andy…” I said one Saturday as I poured coffee. “Do you trust me?” “Of course I do!” he replied emphatically. “Why?” “The next time Hagar disappears, and believe me there will be a next time, let me handle it.” Andy got pale. “How do you mean handle it?” he asked. “Just trust me I said. Andy got quiet for a second. He sipped his coffee before saying, hesitantly “O.K., I guess.” I nodded. “Good. The next time will be the last time.” He eyed me very strangely. He downed his coffee and took his coat. Hagar was already on his feet when Andy opened the door. He never even said good night. I watched the pair as they walked into the snowy blackness as they passed the last streetlight.
I didn’t have long to wait. Tuesday morning Andy dashed through the front door that familiar look on his features. “He’s gone!” he wailed. I sprang into action. I pulled a bulletin out from under my desk blotter. I had taken Andy’s last one and cut the bottom two inches off it. I photocopied it with my one and only change. Andy followed me to the bulletin board, perplexed. He stared at the poster. “You can’t be serious?!” he asked sounding a bit angry. “Oh yes, very serious.” I said turning on my heel and walking back into the store. Andy was hot on my heels. “You can’t do it!” He demanded. “You said you would trust me. So trust me.” I said firmly. Andy stopped, he looked at the ground. “At least help me look tonight.” He pleaded. “Uh-uh we have a deal. You are going to trust me and I am not going to waste another evening walking the streets.” I left him so suddenly he knew the conversation was over.
Andy didn’t come to the store the next day, so I went to his trailer that night. Hagar was on his chain in the yard. He jumped on me as I approached and I rubbed his big head. I slipped him a soup bone I had been saving for him. Andy met me at the door. “Well, how did it go?” I asked. “He was in the yard when I got home, on his chain no less.” He was a little down for a man who just got his best friend back. He had the look of a child chastised. “I think your problems are over now.” I said. I hadn’t taken off my boots or coat. It was obvious he didn’t want me to stay. I was turning my toque in my hand as I spoke. “I told you to trust me. I hate to say I told you so.” I said. “Well it sure doesn’t sound like you hate it. How did you know it would work?” he said tentatively. “Economics!” I said boldly. “Economics?” Andy snorted. “Yeah, economics. For a hundred bucks I’d kidnap your dog myself. For the ten bucks I offered no one in their right mind would kidnap that creature.” I let myself out. Hagar followed me the length of his chain. I stopped. He put his short legs on my tummy and I leaned forward so he could lick my face. I ruffled his fur. “Well boy, you may not be a purebred but you are the most expensive dog in town.” His tail was wagging a mile a minute as I walked under the streetlight and disappeared into the snowy dark.