A Long Way Home
Irv Pliskin
Jefferson was what they called a Heinz 57.
The pooch was fairly good sized, weighed about 60 pounds and had a very mixed ancestry. His predecessors had been more interested in gratification, obviously, than in pedigree.
But, he was a pleasant fellow. Now just about a year old, he was the kids play pal, and sometimes their protector. He, like all living things, though, was occasionally underfoot and real trouble to the household.
Now here he was, lying patiently in the back of the van as the family tooled down highway 80 into the sunset on their long trek to vacation. They had not wanted to put him into a kennel, he was morose and unhappy for days when they took him out of one of those places, even if the kennel was a pet resort and provided supervised play time and other happiness activities for the residents.
So he was with them, on their long trek from home to their rustic retreat on the shores of Lake Michigan.
After an hour or so of moaning and "are we there yets?" Dad, pulled the van into a large rest stop for bathroom calls and leg stretching. The family got out of the van, leaving Jefferson inside, in the heat.
They had gone just a few feet when dad turned around and looked and asked: "Hey wheres Jeff? Tommy, go get Jeff, you have to take him for a run in the pet area, he has to go to the toilet, too." He tossed him the keys..
Eleven year old Tommy complained, but he went to the van, unlocked the door, and slid it open.
He didn't t have time to put on the leash: he was feeling the need for personal relief, so with Jeff on his heels he raced to the "no pets allowed" facility.
At the door he looked down at Jeff, who wagged his tail, and if you can imagine such a thing, smiled at him.
"Stay," Tommy said. "Sit here and stay. Ill only be a minute."
Jeff sat dutifully a little to the side of the stream of people racing in and walking out of the center.
Jeff had been sitting, waiting for about a minute when one of the travelers walked by with a big dog on a leash. The dog saw Jeff sitting there, growled and snarled and started to lurch toward him, teeth bared.
Now Jefferson was no coward: he could handle himself well in dog terms, but he was also not foolhardy. He saw the menace, and stood up and trotted away.
His mind told him to get outa there. Dont fight useless battles.
He skipped into some bushes alongside the building, and lay there to wait for what came next.
The family came out of the center together, all five of them, The kids were eating ice cream cones and mother was concerned about their dripping in the heat. They got to the van, climbed in and drove off. By the time Jefferson had realized it was his family--hard to do among the milling people and the excitement and the smells, he got up and raced for the van.
Too late...
The car was already pulling away into the fast traffic lanes.He raced after it a little bit, but realized that it was useless.
For a while, Jefferson went back to the doorway and sat, as he had been told to do. But he soon sensed the futility of that: Tommy had gotten into the van, he wouldnt be coming out to get him. Besides, the van was gone.
People were looking at him strangely. So he turned and trotted into the nearby woods. He found some water and drank thirstily. And then he sat some more and considered a plan of action.
Then, with the instinct of myth and fiction he started home.
The family had driven perhaps 20 miles down the road when Dad said "How is everyone doing?".
"Fine," the kids yelled.
"How about Jefferson?" he asked, "Hows he doing?"
"Jefferson? Jefferson?"
"Oh my God, he isnt here. We must have left t him at the rest stop.".
Dad's exclamation of dismay was at a very high decibels. The words can not be reprinted here in a family story and . . . they are hardly proper for anyones ears.
He couldn't turn around where he was, crossing the divider was not acceptable, so Dad drove an other five miles until he could get off the highway, turn around and go back to the rest stop.
When he got there, it was of course, too late.
They scoured the area, they called, they whistled, they cajoled.
Jefferson was nowhere to be found.
He had decide that the had to go someplace, back toward where he had come from. And he was on his way, walking in the underbrush alongside the highway, looking for edibles and moving constantly towards home.
Nature sometimes takes care of its own. . . Jefferson soon learned that he could find and feed on small animals. He passed some residential areas and investigated garbage cans to some avail. He avoided people, he avoided other dogs, he avoided cats. He was dedicated to finding his way back to the haven that had been his home.
He soon found that there was more prey at night, so he slept days. He discovered that the woods were less hostile than the streets, so he avoided built up areas.
He relentlessly followed the compass in his head, moving in the direction of what he considered home.
He was on the road for a month and a half. Lean now, street smart, and cautious, he felt certain that he was coming close to his goal. Home. He could tell. There was a feeling in the air that told him so.
He was almost there, tired, bedraggled, full of burrs and ticks, flees and other vermin. but he sort of recognized the streets now, and had a sense that he was coming to his proper place.
In the morning, he might be home.
He started to cross a major, dark section of highway, as the l8 wheeler came speeding down.
Irv Pliskin is a retired advertising agency owner. He is a combat veteran of World War II and an Ex Prisoner of War of the Germans. Married, with three kids, and four grandchildren he devotes his time to writing flash fiction. He hopes, that someday, he may become the Grandma Moses of flash fiction. He lives with his wife of 57 years in Cherry Hill,NJ.
