by
Elsa Fernandez
Photo provided by author
This was a new land for me—the wild Irish coast below Galway Bay. We came here to his Mam's old farm cottage to be close to the place he loved best, wanting to live out his days with a measure of serenity. This was a place of raw, breathtaking beauty, where legends sometimes became realities.
My husband took the pen from my hand and shut my book. "No more writing, sweetheart," he said, “just talk to me." He knows that I still prefer communicating with written words. I wasn't always this way and used to be outrageously loquacious. But an emotional depressive illness took its toll. Years later, during my recovery, we met and fell in love. Now, with his help, I am slowly learning to find, again, a kinship with my vocal cords.
|
So I told you about the beautiful black dog who followed me home. He padded slowly behind me, silent and unobtrusive. I had gone shopping to the weekly Farmers Market in Kinvara Village and noticed him politely sitting by the old pier, watching from a distance. His sleek black coat reminded me of a wet selkie. As I walked home, I saw him again, respectfully keeping his distance behind me. I slowed my pace and talked to him as we walked. I told him that he reminded me of Henry, the black Labrador retriever who belonged to my brother.
When I went inside the cottage, you were at your desk working. I started to put away the brown bread and Cashel Blue cheese, and wondered if you would like a cup of coffee. I glanced out of the window and saw the black dog quietly sitting by the kitchen door. I looked for some bread and poured a little milk into a white bowl, thinking, he must be hungry, that handsome lad. You came up behind me and kissed my neck, "Is that for my supper, love?" “No,” I laughed. “It is for that beautiful thing, waiting outside by the kitchen door.” You looked out the window and shook your head. "There's nothing there, love." I opened the door to set the bowl out for my new friend, but the garden was empty. I looked around to see if he is hiding, but he was gone. Only a lazy bee, buzzing around the yellow gorse, remained. |
We went outside and I tried to describe what happened as we walked home that morning. You smiled at me, "Eilis, I know you really want a dog, but perhaps he belongs to the new family up the lane?"
I shivered a little and then woke up. It was the dream again. How can I tell you about the dream? Was it a dream? Will you laugh at me, trying to feed a phantom dog? So, I write about it in another book. I stroked the top of your head as you sat at the desk, your fingers flying over the keyboard. I cooked you a healthy lunch and lined up your medications in small paper cups. We played a fast game of Scrabble on my Samsung tablet. I won!
Later that evening we walked down to the beach and watched the surfers glide over the waves. "Surfing in Ireland?" I asked, used to watching the daredevils at our Mavericks in Pacifica! He wryly raised an eyebrow, “Why not? Maybe there's a Duke Kahanamoku O'Toole out there!" I saw he was tired and led him home.
Before I went to bed, I called my friend Grainne, my Gaelic language teacher, who is also a gifted seer and sage. I asked her if there were any black dogs in our village. She was silent, and then quietly said, "Only the Pooka hound who comes to escort a soul to the other side when it is time."
I shivered a little and then woke up. It was the dream again. How can I tell you about the dream? Was it a dream? Will you laugh at me, trying to feed a phantom dog? So, I write about it in another book. I stroked the top of your head as you sat at the desk, your fingers flying over the keyboard. I cooked you a healthy lunch and lined up your medications in small paper cups. We played a fast game of Scrabble on my Samsung tablet. I won!
Later that evening we walked down to the beach and watched the surfers glide over the waves. "Surfing in Ireland?" I asked, used to watching the daredevils at our Mavericks in Pacifica! He wryly raised an eyebrow, “Why not? Maybe there's a Duke Kahanamoku O'Toole out there!" I saw he was tired and led him home.
Before I went to bed, I called my friend Grainne, my Gaelic language teacher, who is also a gifted seer and sage. I asked her if there were any black dogs in our village. She was silent, and then quietly said, "Only the Pooka hound who comes to escort a soul to the other side when it is time."
Send a comment to the author: