Oh, Baby!. Judy Baer
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glare from her new doggie bed. Ever since I’d brought it home, the cedar chips still fresh and fragrant inside, Hildy had refused to budge. Even Geranium rooting in her dog dish had not prompted her to rise. That usually started a pig-dog skirmish worthy of the evening news.
I went for the big guns. I reached into the closet and pulled out a scrap of red fabric with writing on it and dangled Hildy’s therapy-dog identification cape in front of her nose. She sighed, one of those deep, heartfelt, comes-from-the-gut sighs, that told me this was the most difficult decision of her life.
Bed or nursing home? Bed or nursing home? Which will it be? I could practically hear the struggle in her thoughts. Still, all the creature comforts in the world couldn’t keep her from the job she loves. Finally she rose and trotted to me to put on the uniform that displayed her official designation as a therapy dog.
“Come on, sweetheart, we don’t want to be late. Mrs. Olson will be waiting for you with doggie treats burning a hole in her pocket.”
River’s View Estates is only minutes away from Bradshaw Medical Center and overlooks the Minnesota River. Mrs. Mattie B. Olson had been new to River’s View when Hildy and I first came to visit the residents three years ago. They’d forged a bond that had helped the elderly woman “over the hump,” as it were, of loneliness and homesickness, while she adjusted to her new place. They’ve been friends ever since. When Hildy sees Mrs. Olson, she trots to her and lays her furry head in the old woman’s lap. She will stay that way indefinitely as Mrs. Olson strokes the soft silky top of Hildy’s head.
Some of the people at River’s View do not have family nearby so affectionate hugging or touching of another living being rarely occurs. The tactile experience of petting a dog provides immeasurable pleasure and connection. I should know. Hildy comforted me many times after I broke up with Hank. Frankly, as time passes and my vision clears, I see how mismatched Hank and I were. It’s apparent to me now that whoever I marry will have to share all my passions—including my life as a doula. If I can’t find that, other than for an occasional whiff of sour doggie breath, Hildy is a mighty fine companion.
“Hello, darling,” Mrs. Olson said. Only then did she look up at me. “And hello to you, too, Molly.”
“How’s your cold?”
“Much better, thank you.” She peered at me, a pretty lady, even at this age. She must have been stunning as a young woman. Her intelligent deep blue eyes were sharp and clear. “You look tired. Have you been up all night delivering babies?”
“I don’t deliver them,” I reminded her. “I just cheer them on as they come into the world.”
“When I had my children, I was alone except for the doctor. My husband, poor soul, didn’t have much of a stomach for medical things. He passed out on the floor on the other side of the door every time I gave birth. Once he hit his head on the corner of a table and got a concussion. We always joked that that was the most difficult birth I ever had—I ended up caring for both him and an infant. I could have used you back then.”
“How many children do you have?”
“Four. All doctors, if you can believe it. There are several generations of them. We tease each other about being related to Luke of the gospel. He was a physician, too, you know. A family tradition, I guess, including several pediatricians. The men in my family are all good with children. Most of my family is in the medical profession. My husband was an accountant, however, and the closest he came to the medical field was doing my siblings’ taxes.”
She patted Hildy on the head. “As much as I love talking with the two of you, I think you should visit room 209 today. There’s a gentlemen who recently moved in, and I think he’s feeling rather blue.”
I bent down to give Mattie a hug. “You’re always taking care of someone, aren’t you?”
“Like I said, I’m from a family of healers and nurturers.” She held tightly to my hand. Even in her late eighties, she was still strong. “Besides, you nurture me. You have no idea how much I enjoy your visits.”
“We’ll be back.” Of all the people we visit at River’s View, Mattie is my favorite. If we’d been contemporaries, I believe we would have been best friends.
“We’ll stop to see you again before we leave,” I assured her.
As we walked away, Hildy looked back longingly at her friend.
The gentleman in 209 was, indeed, lonesome, but after a long chat about dogs from his past, he was considerably cheered. It didn’t hurt that Hildy gently licked his hand as we were about to leave.
It was nearly six o’clock by the time we’d made our rounds, visited again with Mrs. Olson and found our way back to the nurses’ station near the front door. I was surprised to see a familiar masculine figure bending over the desk, reading a chart. What was Dr. Reynolds doing here, the place that represented the other end of life’s spectrum from the delivery room?
He glanced up, saw me and did a double take. He must have thought the same thing about me.
“What are you doing here? And what’s that?” He pointed to Hildy.
“We work here, thank you very much. This is my dog, Hildegard, and she’s a therapy dog. We hang out at River’s View quite a bit. The better question is this—what are you doing here? Surely not delivering babies?”
A faint smile quirked his lips and hinted at what it might be like to see the man actually smile. Dazzling, I surmised.
“I have friends, too, you know. Maybe I’m visiting someone.”
“You just moved here.”
“Perhaps I bond quickly with people.”
I’d opened my mouth to tell him that that was as unlikely as snow in August before I realized he was actually teasing me.
I, who can babble like a brook, suddenly couldn’t think of anything to say. The man’s presence was intimidating, not only because he had influence over my welcome at Bradshaw, but because he gave off an impressive aura—solid, impenetrable and capable of harboring secrets like Fort Knox shelters gold. I shuffled a little and Hildy looked at me inquiringly. “I guess we’d better get going. Nice to see you, Dr. Reynolds.”
He nodded curtly and returned to reading the chart, as if Hildy and I no longer existed.
We were almost home before I realized that I still didn’t know why Dr. Reynolds had been at the nursing home. It was curious, really. He’d just moved to the Cities, after all. How many people could he know here? He really was a man of mystery. Too bad he was also in the role of dream squasher for me. Otherwise I might have been intrigued, very intrigued.
When we got home, Lissy, Geranium and Tony were watching television in my living room. There were empty tortilla chip bags, soda cans, a carton of guacamole and a nearly depleted bag of red licorice twists on my coffee table. Geranium had her nose in one of the bags of chips, and Tony was eating a bowl of ice cream smothered in butter-scotch topping and walnuts.
Hildy trotted immediately to the table to see what she could lick clean. Geranium gave a squeal of protest when the dog nosed her out of the way but toddled off when Hildy wouldn’t back down.
“I leave this house for a couple hours and it’s vandalized. I’m going to have to move to a better neighborhood.”
“That’s the thanks we get for keeping Geri company?” Tony looked genuinely hurt, as if his eating all the groceries I’d purchased yesterday were no big deal.
“Oh, sorry. Thank you. I think.”
“You’re most welcome.”
“His date stood him up,” Lissy said, her eyes never moving from the television screen where some wannabe singer was auditioning for a panel of judges.
“She had appendicitis,” Tony corrected. “That’s not exactly being ‘stood