Huck: The Remarkable True Story of How One Lost Puppy Taught a Family--and a Whole Town--about Hope and Happy Endings (10 page)

Johnny Damon was booed by many in the crowd the minute he walked onto the field. Other players were hit by pitches. One of the Red Sox plunked one of the Yankees in the back. The emotional intensity of the game was so high it felt more like a game in the World Series than an exhibition game in the Grapefruit League. Bernie Williams hit a home run for the Yankees in the second inning. Rich and Michael jumped up and started pumping their fists in the air and high-fiving each other.

By the middle of the game, I was getting cold, and despite the intensity of the matchup, I was starting to get bored. Mimi and I set off to see if we could find something to warm us up—hoping for hot tea, hot chocolate, or depending on our level of desperation, sweatshirts.

We walked past the stand where the turkey legs were sold, past the stand that sold smoked crabs (another delicacy not sold in Yankee Stadium), to the hot dog counter. There was no tea, no warm drinks, just beer, lemonade, water, and soda. We passed it all up and went into a small souvenir shop, mostly for a chance to warm up. We decided to forgo the overpriced sweatshirts. We made our way through the aisles of pencils and snow globes and shirts and hats, bumper stickers and balls, and went back outside again.

We were not far from the vendor selling the green hats with shamrocks on the bills. I went over and looked at the green hats one more time. There were only two left. I decided to buy one for Michael. I knew he wanted it, but had been too excited to stop long enough to buy it on our way in. Who knew if it would still be there on our way out of the stadium that night. I bought it and stuffed it into my purse.

By the time we got back to our seats, Mimi and I had spent so much time walking around that we weren’t that cold anymore. Tyler had wandered down from the press box and filled Michael in on how Jorge Posada had been taken to the hospital before the game after taking his eye off a pitch that landed somewhere between his left eye and his nose. Michael loved the baseball gossip and the camaraderie.

For me, the greatest pleasure of the night was watching Michael. I was so happy to see him so happy.

The game had been tight all along, but the Yankees pulled ahead in the seventh inning, 5 to 3. Things tightened again in the eighth inning, but the game ended just perfectly, a 5–4 Yankees victory. We walked out of the stadium in high spirits singing “New York, New York” along with the recording by Frank Sinatra that is pumped in after every Yankees game.

I handed the hat to Michael. “I hope this brings you a lot of good luck.”

“Oh thanks, Mom. I love it. I can’t wait to show it to Jack.”

Michael’s buddy Jack loved the Yankees, too, and had a fondness for St. Patrick’s Day. I was reminded of another spring break when we had come to Florida to visit Rich’s mother. Michael was only about five years old, and scatological humor could still produce a belly laugh. After seeing a sign that said “Butt’s Road,” he was desperate to call Jack to laugh with him about it. The boys were too old now to find Butt’s Road very funny, but they would both like a green Yankees baseball cap with a shamrock on it. I was sorry I had not thought to buy one of the caps for Jack. I saw the vendor on our way out of the stadium and asked if he had any green hats with shamrocks left. They were all gone.

“Will you have more tomorrow?”

“No, that’s it for this year. All our lucky greens have been sold. You’ll have to wait ’til next Paddy’s Day.” I was glad I had already secured a lucky hat for Michael.

Back at the hotel, we sat and had a late-night snack with John and Mimi, and then said good-bye to them. They were heading home in the morning.

We then went to our room. Michael, basking in the glow of a Yankees victory over the Red Sox, was already planning the next day’s events. He wanted to go to the Yankees practice fields near the stadium to watch the minor leaguers during their morning practice. He also wanted to go swimming in the hotel pool. We had a lot on our to-do list before tomorrow night’s game against the Texas Rangers.

We were all exhausted. Michael could barely keep his eyes open long enough to change his clothes and brush his teeth. He got into bed and then out again, pulling a picture of Huck out of a book in his backpack and standing it up against the lamp on the bedside table next to his new green Yankees cap and his baseball glove. “Good night, Huck,” he said. He fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

I was already feeling the effects of having some distance, physical and emotional distance, from New York. I was starting to relax, something I had not done in a long time. The interruption of routine, so dreaded after my cancer diagnosis, was now a welcome respite. But as I got into bed and realized neither Rich nor I had to take Huck for his nighttime walk, I thought about Huck, staying in what to him was a strange house. I asked Rich if he thought Huck was okay. “I’m sure he is, but you can call Barbara tomorrow if you want to put your mind at ease.”

C
HAPTER 6

T
HE NEXT MORNING
, we set out under an overcast sky to find the minor-league practice fields. The concierge at our hotel directed us to a park where old-fashioned, simple, green stands separated two baseball diamonds. So depending on which way you sat, you could watch the action on either of two fields at the same time. By chance, there was a minor-league scrimmage in progress on each of the diamonds. We sat there for a while watching some young players hit the ball a distance that surprised even them, while others missed routine plays. Michael and Rich critiqued the players.

All this baseball led Michael to start thinking about his own upcoming seventh-grade baseball season. He wanted to take advantage of the warm Florida weather and get in some practice. Rich, who had brought his glove to Florida under the assumption that he’d be pressed into nonstop catches during our time at the beach, suggested we stop at a nearby Sports Authority and buy a glove for me, too. That way Michael would have a pitcher and a fielder for his practice.

I knew there was a method to Rich’s madness. Throwing a baseball around on a field in Florida was a long way from having chemotherapy dripped into my veins. It was a good idea, physically, spiritually—just a good idea.

So off we went. Back on the road, we stopped at the Sports Authority on Kennedy Boulevard where I tried on dozens of gloves. I had no idea what one looks for in a glove, so I took Rich’s and Michael’s word for it when they urged me to take the soft, tan outfielder’s glove made by Wilson. I had never owned a baseball glove. When I was growing up, girls didn’t play on school baseball teams. While we walked to the register I put the glove on my hand, punching my fist into it to make it mine. I imagined myself becoming every bit as good a baseball mother–player as Mimi Kepner.

We headed back to the hotel to change and swim in the pool. I had wanted Michael to have some lunch before we went swimming, but he insisted on swimming first, saying he was still full from the pancakes he had eaten for breakfast.

We were the only people at the pool. The sky was growing dark. Still, Michael was the first one in the water. With an eye on Michael in the pool, Rich and I sat down for a moment, talking about the plans for the beach part of our trip. “Come on, Dad,” Michael called. “Come on. I’ve got the football.”

“Give me a minute.”

Just as Rich stood up to take off his T-shirt and dive into the pool, it started to drizzle. The sky was getting darker by the minute. I was the killjoy. “Come on, Michael, it’s starting to rain. You have to get out of the pool.”

“Let’s wait and see if it stops,” he called.

“It is not going to. Come on, let’s get some lunch. If it stops, we can come back later.”

A dripping, disappointed, suddenly hungry Michael got out of the pool, wrapped a towel around himself, and asked: “What are we going to have for lunch?”

We went upstairs to change. Rich stretched out on the bed. Michael grabbed the remote control, turned on the TV, and started surfing the channels looking for
SportsCenter
. I was about to go into the bathroom to take a shower when my cell phone rang.

“I’ll bet it’s
The Times,”
Michael said. “If it is the paper, don’t answer it,” he went on. “You promised you would not do any work.”

“I have to answer it.” I grabbed my phone and looked at the caller ID. It wasn’t the paper. It was Barbara. “It’s Auntie Babs.”

I flipped open the phone. “Hi.”

“Jan, I’m at work. I conferenced Dave in. He’s on, too.”

“What’s wrong?” I didn’t want to hear the answer.

Our room was suddenly silent. Michael had turned the television off. I could feel him and Rich staring at me.

In a cracking, barely audible voice, Dave said: “Janet, I am really sorry, Huck ran away this morning. We’ve looked for him all day. He’s gone.”

I couldn’t speak. The shock and pain nearly overwhelmed me. I looked at Michael while I was trying to absorb Dave’s words. I could not bear it. I handed the phone to Rich.

“Dave.”

Dave repeated to Rich what he had just said to me. Huck was gone.

“Oh, no. Oh, no.”

At just that moment, Michael put the pieces of the conversation together and threw himself at me, sobbing uncontrollably. “WHAT HAPPENED TO HUCK? IS IT HUCK?”

Before I could answer, he yelled again, “JUST TELL ME. WHAT HAPPENED TO HUCK?”

I tried not to cry. “He ran away.”

Michael was screaming and crying. The cries were visceral, as though he were in excruciating physical pain. I held him. His whole body was shaking. His cries were so loud, Rich could not hear Dave.

Rich raised his voice. “When did this happen?”

In a very slow, quiet way, Dave began to step Rich through the morning’s events. He recounted the story that is every dog owner’s nightmare, the nightmare that makes it so risky to give your heart over to a pet in the first place. For our family, our little Huck represented nothing less than the affirmation of life.

“It was about seven thirty. I went out to the driveway to get the paper like I always do.”

Barbara kept interrupting Dave. “Has Huck had a rabies shot?”

“We’ll get to that, honey,” Dave said to Barbara.

Then he continued. “I came through the backyard and locked the gate behind me. Huck was out in the backyard doing his business. I was standing in the driveway looking around for the paper and the next thing I knew Huck was barking and running down the driveway. At first I called to him, but he wouldn’t come. Huck would just not come to me. I kept trying to catch him, but every time I reached for him, he ran from me.”

Barbara started to talk over Dave. “Has Huck had his rabies shot?” she asked again.

Impatiently, Rich turned to me. “Janet, has Huck had his rabies shot?”

“Yes, yes, why?”

Rich tried to continue with Dave. Rich was doing his best to keep his own emotions at bay, concentrating fully on getting the facts. He was now speaking in forceful tones. “Barbara, he’s had his rabies shot. Now, Dave, this happened when?”

“It was early this morning, before Darian went to school. In fact, she didn’t go to school today; she stayed home to help look for Huck. She’s really upset.”

Rich could not piece the story together fast enough. “Dave, how did Huck get out?”

“He is so small and so skinny, he must have been able to slip through the part of the fence where it meets the gate,” Dave continued. “There are about three inches there. I don’t know if he saw me on the driveway getting the paper and wanted to follow me, or if he just wanted to get out of the backyard. I just don’t know. But all of a sudden, there he was barking, running around between the front yard and the driveway. Whenever anyone came near him, he’d run. Darian tried to get him to come to her. And if he’d go to anyone, he’d go to her, but he wouldn’t. At one point I was able to grab hold of him from the rear, but he turned and sank his teeth into me, which surprised me. It wasn’t a very good place on his body to grab him, but I didn’t have a choice. And then once he started biting, I couldn’t hold on. Barb was trying to leave for work—she was all dressed and was in heels—but she came running out of the house to try and catch him, too.”

Barbara was still worried about what Huck had done to Dave. “You should see my husband’s hand. He can’t use it. I want him to have a doctor look at it. He won’t go.”

Rich, whose sharp mind always functions with laserlike precision, kept trying to bring the conversation back to the time line. “I’m really sorry about your hand, Dave. Let’s come back to that in a minute. Finish telling me what happened.”

Dave’s voice had now grown a lot steadier. “It was the morning rush hour, there was a lot of traffic in front of the house. There is some construction going on about a half mile up Wyckoff Avenue, so everything was kind of backed up. At one point, Huck was at the end of the driveway and I was worried he would dash out into the road and get hit by a car. Barb went out in the street and stopped the traffic. Darian and I kept trying to catch Huck. People in their cars were watching what was going on. Huck just kept running between the front yard and the driveway. People walking to school stopped to watch. A lot of horns were blaring because of the traffic mess. At one point a heavyset guy driving a truck stopped, got out of his truck, and started walking toward Huck, and making all these noises at him. I guess the guy thought he could make Huck run back toward the house. But that didn’t happen. The guy just scared Huck even more. Huck tore up Wyckoff Avenue, in the direction of Hubbard School. I was still in my robe and slippers and Darian was still in her pajamas, but we all went running after him, including Barb in her high heels. We kept calling him, but he just kept going. I can run pretty fast, but he outran us right away. Darian ran up past Oak Street, but she lost him, too. At that point Barbara had to get to work. Darian and I have been out looking for Huck all day. She wouldn’t go to school.”

Rich was finally getting the picture. “What about your hand, Dave?”

“He got me pretty good. Like I said, I was really surprised he would do that to me. But it’s all right. Barbara thinks it’s worse than it really is. There was a lot of blood, but I don’t think there is any real damage. It is kind of swollen right now. I’ll be okay.”

“I’m very sorry Huck bit you like that.”

“Rich, we’re the ones who are sorry. I don’t know what to say. I feel terrible. We are all so upset.”

“We’re upset, too,” Rich said. “Let us figure out what we’re going to do and I’ll call you back. What kinds of things have you been doing to find him?”

“I called a friend of mine who lives up that way and he said he saw Huck run by. This guy said he didn’t think Huck would run past where they’re doing the road work. So we’ve been driving around looking for him in all those streets back there. But we haven’t seen him. I called some of the police stations and veterinarians within a five-mile radius. Darian has been working on a sign. I can expand the radius if you want me to.”

“Yes, of course, do that. It couldn’t hurt,”

Rich said. Rich now wanted to get off the phone with Barbara and Dave so he could collect his thoughts. “Let me call you back in a few minutes when we know what we’re going to do.”

Meanwhile, Michael had not been able to stop sobbing. I tried to both hold him and reach for Rich’s cell phone at the same time. Working the phones was intuitive for me. I wanted to start calling the airlines to find out how soon we could get on a plane. There was no question in my mind that we were going to go home and look for Huck.

“You shouldn’t come home,” Barbara said to Rich. “We can put up a sign and keep looking for Huck. You should stay and try to enjoy the rest of your vacation.”

“I don’t know what we’re going to do,” Rich said. “Let me talk to Janet; I think she is on the phone with the airlines. I’ll call you back.”

Rich hung up the phone and reached for Michael. But Michael pulled away and reached for his suitcase, still only half unpacked, and started throwing his clothes into it. In soft tones Rich started to explain to Michael what had happened.

“When Uncle Dave went out to get the paper off their driveway this morning, Huck somehow got through the backyard fence. Uncle Dave tried to catch him and so did Auntie Babs and Darian, but they couldn’t. Huck ran up Wyckoff Avenue. Uncle Dave and Darian have been looking for Huck all day, but they have not been able to find him.”

“Is he dead?” Michael asked.

“A friend of Uncle Dave’s who lives in the direction Huck ran in saw Huck, but I don’t know when that was.”

It was now about 3:30 in the afternoon. We’d soon be facing rush hour. I was having a hard time convincing American Airlines to find tickets so that we could fly home right away. I begged the woman on the other end of the phone to find us seats, on any airline, for anytime that afternoon or evening. She said there was nothing for the rest of the day. I begged some more. I told her we had to get home for a family emergency and then explained to her what the emergency was. I was grateful to be put on hold. I thought it was a good sign.

I told Rich he ought to start packing, too. He paused, then said, “Is this the right decision?” and then didn’t even wait for an answer. “Tell her we have to get home, tell her to let you speak to a supervisor, ask if we can just come to the airport and be on standby.”

While I waited on hold, I looked over at Michael. Our son’s heart was shattered. Our little eight-month-old, nine-pound puppy whom we had left in a strange place was now lost. Forget the ball games. Forget diving into the Atlantic Ocean and lying on the beach with a book. Forget feeling carefree. Forget trying out that new baseball glove. Nothing mattered now but finding Huck.

“Ms. Elder?”

“Yes, yes.”

“I can give you the last three seats on our last flight out of Tampa. It leaves at 6:02.”

“That’s great. We’ll take them. Let’s just exchange the tickets we have for next week out of Palm Beach for the tickets out of Tampa tonight.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, I can’t do that.”