Blue
(an old man, a bird dog, a pickup truck)
The old man’s voice was gruff as he called to the dog. The dog was an elderly Irish Setter. Once he’d been a deep, rich red color, but now his fur was fringed with gray. Rather than bounding up to him as he had as a puppy, he shuffled slowly, nudging his pointed nose under the man’s callused hand. They were both very old, and very, very tired.
Carl moved toward the ancient pickup truck, the constant ache in his hips and knees causing a curious limplike shuffle. Blue followed along at a similar slow place. Carl leaned against the side of the truck, the faded blue of his coveralls nearly indistinguishable from the faded blue paint. Blue flopped to the ground at his feet, letting out a breath that was remarkably like a sigh. The old man took out his pipe and began filling it as he talked to his faithful friend.
“That old woman is going to drive me crazy, Blue. No matter where I am, or what I’m doing, it seems like I’m always in the way.”
He awkwardly tamped down the tobacco and reached for a match, struggling to hold it with his bent and twisted fingers. .
“Says I interfere with her routine,” he grunted. “Imagine that.”
Blue let out a soft whine, as if sympathizing.
“Damn artheritis has made me damn near useless,” he grumbled.
It hadn’t always been like this. Once he’d been a strong, vital man. Nothing had been too much for him. He’d worked hard all his life and taught his sons how to work hard, just as his father had taught him. Now, even the simplest tasks seemed beyond him. He felt worthless, used up.
“When a dog gets too old and is in pain, they just put him to sleep - no fuss, no bother. He just quietly goes to sleep.”
The dog whined again. Carl put his pipe to his mouth and looked up at the clouds before he said quietly, “That doesn’t sound like such a bad idea, does it boy?”
Blue rose stiffly to his feet and padded over to the old man, nudging his head under the gnarled hand. Carl petted him carefully.
“Come on, boy. Let’s go for a ride.”
He opened the door, letting Blue climb in first, then grunted as the step up put strain on his joints. It took three tries to get the old truck started. Blue laid patiently on the seat, his eyes on his master. Carl worked his hand around the gear shift, struggling to put the truck in gear, then hit the gas, spinning out of the driveway in frustration.
They drove aimlessly for awhile, the cab filled with the roar of the old engine. The open fields soon gave way to crowded trees as they entered a more wooded area, and Carl turned onto an old dirt road, heading deeper into the woods. Blue slid to the floor as the pickup bounced over the ruts. Laying his head on his paws, he watched Carl with old, sad eyes. Moments later, deep in the heart of the woods, Carl brought the truck to a stop. He leaned his head on the steering wheel, and sat silently for a few minutes.
Blue stood up and climbed back onto the seat. He stepped closer to Carl, trying to nudge under his hand again. A single word, “No,” stopped him and he whined again.
Carl sat up and looked out the windshield. “It’s no use, Blue. I’m no good to myself or anyone else.” Carl paused, looking again at his twisted hands. “And it ain’t gonna get any better.” Blue listened patiently. “Maybe it’s time, Blue. Time to just go to sleep.”
Blue tentatively licked Carl’s hand then sat back on his haunches, watching. Carl took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Opening the door awkwardly, his hands making it difficult to grip the handle, Carl stepped slowly out of the cab, grunting as his weight came down on his joints. Blue followed, almost as awkwardly. Carl stood silently for a moment, then reached into the cab and lifted the shot gun off the gun rack. Reaching behind the seat, he picked up a couple of shells and thrust them into his pocket.
“Come on, boy.”
The man and his dog walked side by side, winding between the trees. Carl could hear a stream nearby and he headed toward it, leaves crunching beneath his worn work boots. He stood near the bank, leaning back against a tree. Blue stood beside him, his head just beneath the old man’s hand. Carl stroked the smooth fur.
“Are you ready for a rest, boy?”
His only answer was a soft whine. They stood together for several minutes, the sound of the water in the stream providing a gentle background music. Carl closed his eyes as he continued petting Blue. He was so tired, and so goddam useless. What was the point of going on?
Blue came to attention as Carl lifted the gun, watching as he struggled to put the shells in the chamber. One of the shells slipped from his hand and rolled a few feet away.
“Damn,” Carl muttered as he stiffly bent down to reach the shell. He clinched his teeth together tightly as he concentrated on loading the gun and shot the bolt forward with a decisive click. Closing his eyes to rest a moment, leaning back against the tree, worn out by such simple effort. When he opened his eyes, Blue was gone.
“Now where in the world has that gosh darned dog gone now?”
Carl turned slowly, looking through the trees, “Here, Blue. Come here, boy.”
A single bark sounded from the east, and Carl moved that direction. After about 100 yards, he saw Blue set solidly into a point, paw lifted and nose pointed toward something.
“Blue,” Carl groaned. “We’re not hunting, boy. Not today.” Carl turned away, “Come on.”
Blue held his position solidly and whined, softly at first, then louder. Carl turned. “Come on, boy. No birds today.”
Blue answered with a sharp bark, still pointing.
“What is it boy?” Carl ambled back to Blue, looking in the direction of his point. “There’s nothing there, Blue. Let’s go.”
Carl turned again, stopping as Blue barked, took several steps forward and went into point again.
“Dammit, Blue. What is it?” Carl walked back to the dog and peered into the trees. This time, he saw a faint scrap of orange cloth, almost hidden beneath the leaves. “What the hell?” Carl limped forward, Blue following at his heel. He brushed the leaves aside with his foot, revealing a hunter’s cap. Resting his hand on a fallen tree trunk for support, Carl stiffly bent down to pick it up.
“Wonder who left...” Carl stopped short as he looked at his hand. A thick, dark red liquid covered the palm of his hand. More covered the fallen tree.
“Blood,” Carl breathed out. Blue sniffed the log, then barked. As they stepped over the tree, Carl spotted more blood a few feet away. He held his hand down for Blue to sniff and gave a quiet command, “Find him, boy.”
Not more than 50 feet away, they found a young, blonde-haired man, laying face down in the leaves. The back of his jacket was drenched with blood that had flowed from an ugly wound in his shoulder. Carl’s eyes were wide with fright. He’d never seen so much blood. He couldn’t imagine that the man was still alive.
Carl grunted as he dropped to his knees placing a trembling hand at the side of the man’s neck for a pulse. He sucked his breath in swiftly when he found a faint, erratic beat beneath his fingers.
“He’s alive, Blue. Now what the hell do we do?”
His mind racing with jumbled images of stories he’d heard, television shows he’d seen, Carl mumbled, “Got to stop the bleeding, or he’s a gonner for sure.” Fumbling from the surge of adrenaline that was racing through him, Carl shed his jacket, and removed his flannel shirt. He put the jacket back on, and zipped it up against the chill. He pressed one part of the shirt to the wound on the man’s back, then muscles straining, Carl painfully turned the man over so he could put pressure where blood flowed from the front of his chest. The man let out a soft moan.
“It’s gonna be okay,” Carl began to chatter, more from nerves than that he really had anything to say. “We’ll just get this blood to stop, then see about getting you some help. But you gotta wake up and help me now. Can’t get you to help all by myself.”
Carl closely watched the man’s eyes as he pressed the flannel against the wounds. Blue whined and licked the man’s face. His eyelids flickered as the wet tongue slid over his cheek.
“Come on now. You gotta wake up. I’m too damn old and crippled to do this alone.”
Slowly the man’s hand rose, feebly trying to push Blue away from his face. His eyes fluttered open, blinking against the brightness.
“That’s it, son. Open your eyes.” Carl tried to figure a way to hold the makeshift bandage in place as he continued talking. The man blinked several times as he tried to get his eyes to focus. “What’s your name, son?”
Carl could see his lips move, trying to frame a word, but no sound came out. Blue licked his face again, urging him to consciousness.
As he tied the sleeves of the flannel shirt around the man, Carl kept talking. “Might be nice if you tell me your name. Can’t keep calling you ‘son’ all day. We got us a hard job ahead of us, getting you to the pickup. Might be nice if we was on first name basis.” Carl finally got the shirt tied into place. It wasn’t the best of bandages, but it would have to do. He took a couple of deep breaths, calming himself, and steeling himself for the task ahead.
Deep blue eyes, cloudy with pain, looked up at him, and the man made another attempt to speak. “T...T...Tom” His breath rushed from him and he closed his eyes again, exhausted from the simple effort of speaking.
Carl slid his hand behind Tom’s neck, gritting his teeth against the pain of his twisted fingers. “Nice to meet you, Tom. Wish it was better circumstances, but you take what you can get in this life.” Carl grunted as he pulled Tom into a sitting position, working himself behind him so Tom could lean on him as they both caught their breath.
“The way I see it, Tom...you and me are bout to get acquainted real fast.” Carl paused, out of breath already. “You see, my pickup’s about 200 yards from here. That’s like two football fields away.” Carl looked down, “You a football fan, Tom?”
Carl waited until he saw Tom’s head nod slightly. “Me too, or at least enough to know that two football fields is a pretty far piece. Ain’t no way I’m gonna be able to carry you that far, understand?”
Tom nodded slowly as he began to understand. Carl almost missed his faint words, “Got to walk.”
“That’s right.” Carl lifted Tom’s left arm, and ducked under it, letting it fall on his shoulders. He put his right arm around Tom’s back. “I’m gonna help you, Tom. You and me...we can do it.” Carl pause, then took a deep breath. “You ready?”
Tom hesitated, not sure he could even stay conscious, much less walk. The old man didn’t seem any too strong, and Tom wasn’t sure how much help he was gonna be. As if reading his mind, Carl reassured him, “I’m stronger than I look Tom. We can do it. Now, are you ready?”
Tom nodded and placed his left arm around Carl’s neck. Carl gripped him around the waist, “On the count of three. One.....two...three.”
They both struggled to stand, the young man gritting his teeth against the pain in his shoulder as the older man gritted his teeth against the pain in his joints. Awkwardly, they worked their feet underneath them and shakily rose.
“All right now, Tom. One foot in front of the other.”
Slowly, painfully, they moved a few feet before Tom’s knees weakened and he almost fell. Carl grunted with the added weight, calling on strength he thought he’d lost years ago. Tom managed to get his feet beneath him, and they began moving again. The 50 feet to the fallen log where Blue had found the hat seemed as if it were 50 miles. They were both breathing hard, sweat trickling down their backs despite the chill air.
Carl felt as if his joints were being torn apart with each step, Tom’s added weight causing the arthritic spurs to grate against each other. Each step was torture. Carl eased Tom down to sit on the log. He didn’t dare let him slip all the way to the ground for fear they’d never get up again.
Tom was lost in a haze of pain and weakness, the hole through his shoulder bleeding freely again despite the flannel bandage. He closed his eyes, leaning against Carl weakly. Carl, usually a taciturn man, kept up a one-sided conversation, hoping to keep the wounded man conscious simply by the sound of his voice.
“Just happened to be in the woods today, Tom. Didn’t plan on it. Damn good thing I did, eh?”
Tom managed to nod, his eyes still closed and his breath coming in ragged gasps.
“What you doing out here today, son? Getting a little end-of-season hunting in?” The intense pain was settling down to a more familiar ache. “No dog with you? Hunting’s always better with a good bird dog.”
Blue sat nearby, listening to the old man ramble, his old, sad eyes locked on the younger man. Carl reached out his hand to pet his head. “Yup, a good bird dog’s worth his weight in gold.”
Tom’s head sagged down to his chest as he rested, not speaking, trying to save what little strength he had for what was to come.
“Must not of had a dog though. Didn’t seen one anywhere. Old Blue here would have smelled him if he’d been here. Come to think of it, I didn’t see a gun either.” Carl looked over at Tom, “Where’s your gun, Tom?”
Tom just shook his head silently. Carl looked at him for a long moment, then tightened his arm around Tom again. “All right, rest’s over. Let’s go.”
Again, the two men struggled to their feet, both uttering a soft groan. Together they made their way to the stream, sheer determination keeping them going. They rested again at the stream, then continued. Every step was torture. About 50 yards from the truck, Carl’s joints were screaming in agony. He had to blink away tears with each step, his shame at his own weakness eased by the sight of silent tears trickling down Tom’s cheeks as he fought his own pain.
After one last rest, they saw the pickup. Just as Carl breathed a sigh of relief that they were so close, Tom’s foot caught on a rock, and he tumbled to the ground. Carl tried desperately to keep the younger man from falling. It felt like his arm and shoulder joints were being torn apart, and he couldn’t suppress a cry of pain and frustration. He also couldn’t prevent Tom’s weight from pulling him to the ground.
Joints screaming as if on fire, Carl laid in the fallen leaves, gasping for breath. Tom’s eyes were closed, his face slack.
“No, Tom! Don’t do this!” Carl sat up and shook Tom’s shoulder, but Tom didn’t move. “No! Come on, son. I need you awake.” He shook harder, but there was no response. A dark shiver of fear ran through Carl, and he quickly place his hand on Tom’s neck. There was no movement beneath his fingers.
“Uh uh, boy. You’re not gonna die on me, are you?” Carl shifted his fingers slightly, hoping to find a reassuring beat. It was faint, but it was there. “That-a-boy. You just keep that heart of yours beating, Tom. We’ll get there.”
Carl shook Tom again, then lightly slapped his cheek, hoping to shock him into consciousness, but it did not good. Tom was unconsciousness, and it looked like he planned to stay that way.
“Damn,” Carl muttered. Mind racing, he tried to think of a way. The pickup was still 50 yards away. The trees grew too close to each other to get the pickup any closer. “How the hell am I gonna get him there?” Carl groaned. He didn’t have any tools to make a litter. All he had was himself.
“Well,” Carl sighed, “I guess if all I have is myself, then I’ll have to do it myself.”
Refusing to think about the pain, Carl slid his arm beneath Tom’s neck. Taking a deep breath, he lifted him into a sitting position. Holding Tom’s arms awkwardly, Carl stooped in front of him, draping Tom’s arms over his shoulders. Holding tightly to Tom’s wrists, Carl called on long forgotten strength. With a loud combination of a grunt and a cry, Carl heaved himself upward, pulling Tom with him, hanging across his back, feet dragging in the leaves.
Ignoring the tears that filled his eyes, ignoring his own cry of pain, Carl staggered, desperately trying to get his balance. The weight hanging down his back threatened to pull him down. The agony in his joints screamed at him to give up. Carl ignored it all. With each word bursting from him, he talked to himself, and to Tom, as he placed one foot in front of the other. A word for each step.
“Got...to...get...you...to...the...truck.”
Tom’s feet, dragging in the leaves seemed to catch against every obstacle. Carl ignored it all, his mind focused on only one thing.
“Got...to...get...you...to...help.”
Blue raced ahead, turning to bark his encouragement. In a haze of pain and exhaustion, Carl didn’t seem to see or hear the dog.
“One...foot...in...front...of...the...other.”
“Got to stop,” the thought broke into Carl’s concentration. “Can’t take much more of this,” his body screamed. Carl closed off the thoughts as if he’d shut a door.
“Not...much...further...now...Tom.”
Tom’s foot tangled in some branches. Carl simply ignored it, leaning forward and pulling the foot free with the sheer strength of his determination.
“We’re...gonna...go...to...a...foot...ball...game...one...day...Tom...you...and...me.”
His eyes on the ground before him, willing his feet to keep moving, Carl nearly bumped into the pickup. Relief rushed through him, but Carl steeled himself against it. “Not time to relax yet. Have to get him into the truck.”
Carl leaned against the tailgate, gasping for breath even as his twisted fingers felt for the release. When he had his fingers hooked into it, he had to move backwards to open it. His feet tangled with Tom’s and again, he nearly fell.
Tailgate down, he turned and let Tom fall back onto the tail gate, wincing as he heard his head thud against the bed.
“Guess it ain’t gonna hurt him anymore than the gun did.”
The urge to rest was almost irresistible. There wasn’t a part of him that didn’t scream with pain, but Carl kept his mind firmly closed to it. He had a job to do, and he was damn sure going to do it!
Tom’s legs still hung from the tailgate. There was work to do. Carl tried vainly to lift them and push Tom further into the bed of the pickup. A few moments later, he stopped, catching his breath. He almost gave up. He could almost get him started sliding into the pickup, but it seemed that the cold metal gripped his clothes in a relentless grasp.
Carl hung his head, breath coming in tortured gasps. For a moment, he lost himself in his own pain and exhaustion, his knees threatening to collapse. Blue brushed against him, and a sharp bark brought him back.
Carl looked down at the dog. “Wish you could help me, Blue. We’re so close.” Carl closed his eyes again. The sound of Blue’s toenails clicking against the bed of the pickup as the old dog leaped up reached through the haze of pain and exhaustion. Blue looked at Carl with his old, sad eyes as if trying to give him strength. Then, to Carl’s amazement, Blue bent his head and gripped Tom’s jacket in his teeth. Feet trying to grip the pickup bed, Blue tried to pull Tom into the bed.
“Not ready to give up yet, Blue? Okay, boy, one last try.”
Carl wrapped his hands around Tom’s legs once more, and with a loud cry, heaved with all his might. He could hear an answering cry deep in the throat of the dog, and this time, with Blue’s help, Tom’s body slowly slid forward.
“YES!” Carl shouted. “We did it, boy!” Blue answered with a loud bark.
Carl could just barely close the tail gate, Tom’s feet still hanging over it.
“Guess it won’t hurt him to ride that way, eh Blue? What blood he’s got left will go to his head.”
Carl limped to the cab of the pickup, holding onto the side for support. Exhaustion threatened to overwhelm him. Slowly, painfully, he climbed inside. Blue laid down beside Tom and closed his eyes. Refusing to close his own eyes, fearful that if he did, he’d never get them open again, Carl cranked the engine. Miraculously, it started on the first try.
As he placed his hand on the gear shift, Carl remembered his gun. He’d left it laying beside the stream. “I should go get it,” Carl thought. He sat for one long moment, looked through the trees toward the stream. Then with a sureness and confidence he hadn’t felt for a long time, Carl jerked the pickup into gear.
It wasn’t the distance, or the pain, or even the need to get Tom to the hospital that made him leave the gun. It was the suddenly clear understanding that he simply didn’t need it anymore. With every bone, muscle and joint in his body crying out with pain, with exhaustion weighing him down, and with a badly injured man in the back of the pickup, Carl finally realized he wasn’t so useless after all.
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