The House at Lost Dog Lane and Shut Eye Road

It was a Sunday and dawn had not yet broken on what would be a serene and pastel summer day. In what seemed to be a matter of minutes, the house at Lost Dog Lane and Shut Eye Road was first engulfed then devoured by the flames.  By the time the volunteer fire brigade arrived - summoned out of their warm beds by the wild shrieking of the factory whistle at just past 4 am - there was little left save smoke and ashes,  a few scattered and charred cinderblocks and the sad remains of a foundation.  It was all they were able to do to contain the damage and prevent it from spreading to the surrounding woods and it was several minutes before anyone noticed the small terrier-like dog who emerged from the trees, his coat blackened and his muzzle sooty, dragging a little girl's doll and whining anxiously.  

Sweet standin' Jesus!  Jacob Sullivan suddenly yelled and abandoned the body he was dragging out of the still smoldering debris, John, look!  It's Shadow!

John Sullivan peered into the slowly brightening dark and dropped his shovel.  Shadow!  Come here, boy!

The dog  came, still holding the baby doll in his teeth, whining softly and shivering.  He dropped it at John's feet then began a frantic dance, repeatedly barking and running toward the woods, nipping and tugging at John's boots.  Jacob and his brother exchanged a quick glance then with Shadow leading, they both ran for the trees while Uncle Willie and Uncle Shad continued to count bodies - all in all, there were nine dead - only the two little girls that Shadow had saved survived.  They were found together, in their nightclothes, scratched and bruised, covered with dirt and unconscious, but alive.  In was only when Jacob and John carried them to the relative safety of the fire scene and laid them in the back of Uncle Shad's wagon that anyone realized Shadow had stayed behind in the woods.  The Sullivan brothers went back for him, whistling and calling his name - they searched until it was light, until the last of the bodies had been pulled from the ashes and laid out in the early morning sun to await the hearses from the mainland.  They searched the following day and the day after that but there was no trace of a dog, not alive and not dead.  John and Jacob began to consider the possibility that the stress of the fire and rescue had caused some kind of mutual hallucination - no one else could remember seeing Shadow and they were both a little fuzzy on the details - but the fact remained that two little girls were resting and recovering at Rowena's and the Sullivan brothers were not prone to flights of imagination.  If Shadow hadn't led the way, how had they been found, John and Jacob both wondered but only to themselves.

By unanimous decision, the village decided on one unifying funeral, the thought of nine separate services was too overwhelming to bear, even the minister agreed.  Clean up of the fire scene would begin the day after the burials, a final act to cleanse the ground and repair the damage as much as was possible.  A dozen or so volunteers, including John and Jacob Sullivan, arrived with shovels and axes, Uncle Willie and Uncle Shad drove  in wagons to haul away the debris, the island women brought box lunches and gallon jars of iced coffee and the men worked in shifts, wanting to finish this sad duty as quickly as possible.

They began at first light, shoveling and raking, tearing down the remaining support beams and gathering the remnants of what had been a home.  It was tragic work, done silently and respectfully.  No one complained or joked in the light hearted way people sometimes do to alleviate sorrow or distance themselves from a very bad situation.  It was coming on sunset when John and Jacob Sullivan lifted the scarred but intact claw footed bathtub out of the ruins and discovered Shadow - his small emaciated body, scorched and singed in places, his muzzle blackened, one ear nearly severed and his front legs crushed.

Aw, hell and damnation, Jacob swore and his voice carried clearly in the clear afternoon air, Put the sumbitch down, John, and look here.

John Sullivan knelt and looked, his face frowning and puzzled as he reached one gloved hand out.  How'd the poor little bastard get under here, Jacob?  How come he ain't....you know....decayed?  It's been a week.

Maybe he ain't dead, Jacob said tentatively and his brother glared.

Look at'im!  John snapped, 'Course he's........

And at that moment, Shadow's eyes fluttered open and he whined, soft, low, and pitiful.  Both brothers cursed  and stumbled backwards in shock - John lost his balance, Jacob pinwheeled against him and fell.  For a second, neither spoke then both scrabbled on their hands and knees toward the wrecked animal, scooping him up as gently as they could and carrying him away from the burnt out ruins.  Rowena, packing up lunch baskets and loading them into the wagons, dropped everything and immediately slipped out of her jacket and wrapped Shadow in it.  Get me home, John, she said urgently, I've got work to do.

Children and animals, Rowena had been heard to say, share the gift of innocence and natural resiliency.  Why, I can't recollect one didn't take to love and a little kindness when they was needing healing.

It was a long healing season for the two little girls who had survived the fire, longer still for the small dog who had saved their lives but all three were mended.  The house at Lost Dog Lane and Shut Eye Road was returned to the wild and eventually nature reclaimed it.  The trees grew and the wild grass thrived.  No one ever thought to ask John or Jacob Sullivan how it was that Shadow had come to be buried after he had escaped the fire and led them to his children.  

Some things are just meant to be a wonderment.