My Brother’s Dog

The Sentry by Fernando Johnson of Diné College, winner of the TCJ Student Rez Dog Photo Contest. See the entire pack at TCJStudent.org

“Are you disappointed?”

The gentle male voice behind Ten Twelvestreet flowed over her shoulders. She lifted her chin from her chest. She’d ridden the Southwest Chief for almost two days, her bones jostling from Los Angeles to Albuquerque. No one had welcomed her. No one had stood on the train platform holding a sign scribbled with her address-like name.

“I’m sorry you’re sad.”

Ten soaked up the words of kindness. The late afternoon sun, red and edged in yellow, warmed her face when she turned sideways on her wrought-iron bench. She wanted to say to her unseen companion, “I’m so tired of being farmed off to farflung, shirt-tail relatives. I hoped this journey would be different.”

She inhaled the autumn air. “I took the bus to the address I was given. It’s a very clean, neatly kept, adobe house near the university but. . .”

“No one was home.”

Her knit glove wiped at her nose. “There was a ‘sold’ sign posted near the drive. I thought I was going to live there with another distant cousin. He sent me a picture postcard of this plaza surrounded with glowing luminarias. It’s almost Christmas and it’s not snowing.” She closed her dark eyes, the sun’s image burning with overlapping circles of red and yellow behind her eyelids. A tinny, jingle-jangling sound, metal bouncing against metal, perked her ears. Recognition, like a little valve, opened up beneath her heart. Athousand tiny skipper butterflies danced along her spine.

She, too, floated with wings. Falling back, back in time, until she saw her own dimpled baby hand reaching for a bell-shaped metal tag. It dangled from a figure-eight clasp attached to the shiny buckle of a leather dog collar. A dog tag jingling, metal against metal, every time her brother’s rust-colored dog flung his rear leg back-and-forth to scratch an itch.

Ten looked behind her and blinked. There he sat, his head cocked above the lacy wrought-iron bench back, his black lips drawn into a doggy grin. “You’re my brother’s dog, aren’t you?”

“Go ahead. Say my name.”

The dog’s mouth didn’t move. Ten understood that his words were inside her head, not spoken to her ears.

“Your name is Jimmy. You’re a golden retriever and Chow Chow mix. That’s why your ears stand up straight, your tail curves around, and your tongue has black spots.”

The dog stood, pushing his short muzzle against her cheek. His brown eyes, flecked with gold, were as Ten remembered, kind and watchful. Tears burned her eyes. Her arms wrapped around Jimmy’s warm neck. Oh, to belong to a happy family again, she sighed to herself.

Twilight surrounded the plaza now. The high desert temperature dropped with the setting sun. Ten shivered. “It’s getting cold,” Jimmy said. “Got your key?”

She nodded, fingers enclosing the key in her jacket pocket. “Are you sure it’s okay?”

“‘Sold’ just means new tenants are expected.” “You and me?”

“Let’s go home. I’m hungry.”

“We’ll have to buy kibble.”

“I’d rather have a steak.” Jimmy turned, angling past the plaza’s gazebo. “When does the next bus arrive?”

Ten snatched up her travel tote. “They run every 15 minutes. Do you think they’ll let you on the bus?”

“Of course.”

Ten and Jimmy headed toward the bus stop on Central Avenue. Ten smiled at the jingle-jangle of Jimmy’s dog tag.

“I’m glad you’ve accepted me as your brother’s dog.”

“Doesn’t bother me that you talk. I had a cat that talked.”

“Everybody needs an angel. We arrive in different forms.”

They’d almost reached the parking lots beyond Romero Street when Ten noticed Jimmy had fallen several steps behind her.

“I hope you’ll accept my next form as easily.” A soft swirl of golden asterisks glowed, then vanished. When they emerged from the shadow of the last building, Ten was walking beside a tall, young man dressed in a dark blue uniform. A golden name tag rode over his heart.

“St. James,” Ten said. In the flickering street lights, she saw the young man’s face flush with color.

“Please, I am still Jimmy, the golden retriever-chow mix. I only convert to this human guise when necessary.”

“Like when riding a bus or going into a grocery store to buy a steak?” Ten held up her hand to signal the oncoming bus to stop.

“Yes. Exactly,” Jimmy said, pulling a dollar bill out of his trouser pocket for bus fare.

They sat near the rear exit. Ten peered out the darkened windows hoping not to miss their stop. “There’s a convenience store a block from our house.”

“The house is stocked with all we need.”

Oh? Was Jimmy making things appear by magic? Or was believing a dog who pulled money out of his pocket an act of faith bordering on a miracle? “Steaks, too?”

“In the freezer. Andrew Benjamin bought them before he left for Union County.”

 “You know my cousin, Andrew Benjamin?”

“Two perfect rib eyes. Just for your Christmas Eve birthday.”

Ten pressed her lips together. Maybe

Jimmy knew where her long-lost brother was. She barely remembered him. “Andrew Benjamin doesn’t mind that a talking dog will be staying at the house?” Jimmy stood, yanking the stoprequest cord. “Our stop.”

Ten scrambled down the ramp behind him, noticing that Jimmy ignored the tiny mom-and-pop store in the middle of the block. He aimed straight for the adobe. “Don’t you need kibble?”

He smiled, calling over his shoulder. “Big bag. In the pantry.” His arms spread wide, Jimmy pointed to the cloudstreaked indigo sky. Venus sat high in the southern canopy, twinkling behind a gentle symphony of falling snow. “Christmas star,” Jimmy said. “Make a wish.”

The little valve beneath Ten’s heart opened again; warmth flooded through her veins. Snowflakes graced her open hands and melted. She believed in angels. She wished her cousin, Andrew Benjamin, would return home soon. And her missing brother, too.

Vivian Mary Carroll (Cherokee) is a student at the Institute of American Indian Arts.