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After Iris died, members of the community left flowers and gifts on the bridge crossing the river near the spot where she was murdered.
I walked with Isak most days, and every time we crossed the bridge, he stopped, took off his hat and whispered a prayer that ended in, “I’m sorry Iris. I’m so sorry.”
Part of his prayer was silent, but I watched his face and I watched how he moved and I saw that he was burdened. Perhaps I should have given him more space, but I was numb myself. It felt like I was in a body that I didn’t own and something else was at the controls.
I spent most days lying on the couch. I went two weeks without eating. My dog came and sat beside me and did his best to absorb as much pain energy as he could. I spent tortured hours contemplating how to escape, but I have my own kids and as much agony as I was in, I knew I couldn’t leave them.
But God did it hurt.
Walking with Isak and his wolf dog helped. Celeste pawed along silently and I trusted in her wisdom as Isak did. She jumps up on fences like she has wings, effortlessly floating into the air so she can get a hunter’s perspective on the ground below.
She knows all the secrets of a sacred animal.
“Iris loved Celeste,” Isak told me. “She used to come riding up on her bicycle and she’d pet Celeste, and Celeste loved it because Celeste used to have a little girl.”
Isak paused. He’s a gruff old man. He’s small and tough and prone to making outbursts.
I’m reminded of Isak when little dogs see my dog and erupt into loud barking. He walks so much he wears out his shoes. The wolf dog demands it, and so do all the other dogs in the neighborhood which Isak loves so dearly.
He loves them and he walks them. He knocks on doors and says, “I’ll walk your dog for you. I’ll walk him for nothing.”
“I’ve seen how protective Celeste is of little girls,” I said. “I’ve seen that in the way Celeste’s eyes light up when my girls are around. I think she’d run through a brick wall to help them if they were in danger.”
Isak looked at me and nodded. He doesn’t often agree with anything anyone says. But he agreed with this.
“Before Celeste came to me, she had a girl,” Isak repeated. “The family couldn’t handle Celeste, so they had to give her up.”
Celeste, the wolf dog, turned to look at us, then went back to silently padding along the top of the fence. Her footfalls were like a whisper.
“Celeste remembers,” Isak said.
Being in the presence of Celeste brings me comfort. That she tolerates me is reassuring. I take it as proof that I’m a decent person. She’s got a penetrating stare. She looks past your eyes right into your soul.
When she flops down on the ground or rolls over on her back to expose her belly, I’m honored.
“Iris used to pet Celeste and say, ‘I love this dog,” Isak said. “She said, ‘When I grow up, I’m going to get a dog like this.’”
Isak and I fell into silence.
Days went by. Days turned into weeks. Isak and I continued our walks, always passing the bridge with the monument. Stuffed animals sat on the concrete, plush toys that soaked up the rain like a sponge.
I kept looking at them helplessly as I waited for the pain to go away.
One day, Isak turned to me and said, “On the night it happened, I heard something.” He took a deep breath and I recognized the agony of regret in his voice.
His house was right across the river from where Iris had been killed. He’d been so close.
“I heard a sound like a scream,” Isak said. “I remember it because I thought I heard fear in the voice.” Then Isak’s voice got louder and he said, “But darn it, you never know if kids are just playing, they scream all the time, you just don’t know!”
Isak shook his head. “I almost went to look. It was late. I remember Celeste. Celeste was looking at me. All I had to do was flip the latch and she’d have been out the door. But…”
Isak loved his dogs. He is a responsible dog owner. The last thing he would ever do would be to let his dog go running free on the streets.
But now I was left imagining possibilities. What if Isak had heard the scream and looked to Celeste and recognized that Celeste had heard it too?
Celeste, the wolf dog who once owned a girl, would have known what to do.
Celeste can speak with her eyes. “Flip the latch, let me go, there’s something that needs to be done.”
And what if Isak had done it. What if he had reached over and flipped the latch and let the wolf who protects little girls run free?
There are only seconds. Celeste must get across the water and stop the attack.
I imagine Celeste slipping out the door like a shadow. She moves without sound.
I’ve seen her run. You should see her run.
I’ve seen her run without urgency and it’s so beautiful it stops you in your tracks. You are powerless but to stand and admire the beauty and the fluid grace and the perfection of her stride.
If I were to see her run with urgency, if I were to get a glimpse of what she’s truly capable, I think it would terrify and humble me. It would be a surrender to the power of the universe. To see her run with purpose would be terrifying and awesome.
If Isak had flipped that latch, I have no doubt the river would have proved little obstacle to Celeste. Perhaps she has another gear that allows her to run on water. The river isn’t deep. There are plenty of rocks. There’s a fence, but Celeste could have cleared that without thought.
I imagine she’d have been out the door in the blink of an eye. I imagine she’d instantly be in her full stride, yards passing beneath her belly between paw strikes.
Celeste loves little girls. Celeste can peer into the souls of bad people.
I think she’d have been across the river and into the woods and upon the attacker before he knew what was happening. I think she would have emerged from the bushes a fury of fur and teeth and taken the killer down.
I imagine Iris rousing from her attack and seeing her savior, clutching up Celeste in a hug and saying, “Oh Celeste, you saved me!”
It is a dream.
This vision lives in me.
I come back to reality and remember that’s not what happened. The latch remained in place. On that night Isak paused and Celeste paused, their ears straining. They listened, but there were no further noises loud enough to carry across the river.
“I was tempted to go and look,” Isak said. “But it was late and I didn’t. I didn’t…”
“Even if you had gone, you wouldn’t have arrived in time,” I said. “Maybe if you’d let Celeste out to go check on her own. If you’d opened the door and commanded, ‘Go!’”
As I said this, Isak again made eye contact with me. His customary gruff visage was absent. Instead, there was a flash of pain. I realized he shared my vision and the thought was a burden to him.
“You didn’t know what was happening,” I said. “You have a responsibility to Celeste. You can’t let her go running free on the streets. You can’t do that. You can’t. And if you’d gone and walked there with Celeste on a leash, you’d have arrived too late. There was nothing you could do.”
I realized Celeste was looking at us as we talked. I got the sense that she was waiting for us to understand.
“I guess…” Isak said. “I guess you’re right.” Then he said, “Celeste would have probably tried to get across the river rather than cross the bridge. A straight path is fastest.”
I nodded because I had seen that already.
“Celeste loves little girls,” Isak said. “I told you that she had one right?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Well, she loves them. She protects them.”
“I know,” I said, because I’d seen how Celeste plays with my girls. I knew that Celeste was a force beyond understanding, and that she had been placed on this world to protect little girls.
“I know,” I said again, and I reached down to pat her.
She met my gaze as I touched her fur and I felt my burden grow lighter.
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