It started on one of those hot days, the kind that begin in early June and don’t end until late August. Despite the fact that it was only ten o’clock, the sun wreaked havoc on the little river town in Tennessee. My clothes already uncomfortably stuck to my body. The air was so humid that I felt as if I could wring water right out of it. Clouds were nowhere in sight. Even the river water in front of me looked lukewarm and uninviting. Not much promise waited in miserable days like those.

Working at the docks on the river was the job selected to help me "get by" during my first summer off from college. After the thrilling on-the-go life I’d led as a college freshman, coming home to small town life was disappointing to say the least. The rental area of the docks that I worked in was like a giant magnet for the most immature breed of teenagers in a 50-mile radius. All day I sat in my little shack and handed keys to jet-skis, among other things, to kids that probably weren’t old enough to drive. The more of them that swarmed each day made me, at twenty, question my behaviors at that age. Had I ever been that lacking in judgment and manners?

It had been a week since I’d encountered a rational customer and, like I said before, the day didn’t hold much promise. A sticky breeze teased me on its way down river. Pontoon boats treaded slowly through the water, most stark white in the sunlight. My lines of wooden docks housed small boats and jet-skis that bobbed in the water and tugged at the tethers.

Squinting my brown eyes in attempts to see if the next set of docks was getting much business, I spotted the newest lifeguard strutting towards the swimming area. Just out of high school, Lacey was a leggy beauty with bleached hair and a smothering aura. As if the weather wasn’t suffocating enough by itself, high maintenance Lacey sucked every last bit of unsaturated oxygen right out of the atmosphere. Most of my co-workers on the docks were male, and she had the ability to send every one of them peering out from their shacks. I was less impressed, possibly because I was female, but mostly because she was as fake as Pamela Anderson’s breasts.

After reoccupying the chair in my hut, I opened up a book I’d picked up from the supermarket that morning on my way to work. The paperback stubbornly fought to stay closed because it was new and the binding had yet to be creased. Give it a week, I thought, and it would be just as adamantly holding its cover perpendicular to the ceiling with pages sprawling.

Before I finished the first page I heard a whining noise come from the back of my hut. Placing a finger to mark my place, I turned my head, followed by the rest of my body. My small, blue backpack sat in between the doorjamb and the door, allowing a strip of light in. There didn’t seem to be anything there, and the noise had ceased, but I was still and had my eyes curiously focused on the door. Nothing caught my interest and I returned to my book. I had barely opened it up when behind me there was a short, scuffling noise. My peripheral vision noticed that the wall where the strip of light had been was dark. Dropping my book to the desk and spinning around, I swung open the door. Nothing…

Growling at my feet sent my eyes to the skinny, black dog on the ground. His teeth gnawed at the front pocket where half of my ham sandwich was stashed. When he detected my presence his brown eyes innocently gazed at me as he released my bag and wagged his thin tail. Despite the fact that this dog had just stolen my backpack, I smiled.

He looked like a greyhound, but his appearance was healthy, unlike the ones that you’d find jetting around at dog races. My hand instantly went to his head. Still wagging his tail, a pink tongue flopped out of his mouth and slid up my hand, followed by his hot breath. Well, at least he was friendly. I wiped my hand on the leg of my denim shorts and reached down to tug my backpack into the hut.

"Go on," I urged the dog. Instead of galloping away, he sat down and cocked his head at me. Fiercely his tail swept along the ground as it wagged. A whimper escaped him. Furrowing my brows, I knew I would never get rid of him. Reaching into the front pocket of my backpack, I peeled the cellophane from the sandwich and tossed it on the floor in front of him. It was too hot to eat anyway.

Leaving my hut door open, I went back to my book. The first chapter had me spellbound, well, almost. Every now and then I would glance down at the sleeping black figure that had curled itself under my desk. It was almost like watching a baby sleep; it tugged at the corners of your mouth and pulled at your heart. I didn’t have the heart to put him out in the sun, so I stayed quiet and let him be. In an odd way I liked him being there. He made good, peaceful company.

~*~

My area of the docks closed at five. I’d checked all of the clipboards to make sure that all of the keys had been turned back in, and I was ready to lock up. The straps of my backpack were on my shoulders and the keys to the hut were in hand. After jingling them for a moment, the black figure arose with a groan and slowly trotted out of the hut. I hoped that after I left him he wouldn’t go terrorizing swimmers. Lacey would throw a tantrum if she had to climb down from her lifeguard chair and shoo a big, nasty dog away. I giggled just imagining the scene.

The keys slid into my pocket easily. My hand ran over the soft fur on the dog’s head. Maybe he’d be able to find his way home tonight. Without another thought about it, I took off on my twelve-minute jog home. It was a straight shot; I lived on the slightly curved highway. As soon as I began I knew that it might take a little longer. It was stilly muggy out and hard to breathe. Sweat beads instantly formed on my forehead. Even though the highway was lined with tall, hardwood trees, it was impossible to escape from the sweltering heat of the afternoon.

It wasn’t until a car passed that I heard the barking. I didn’t even have to look to know that the black dog had followed me from the docks. He probably hadn’t broken a sweat and was probably trotting along happily without a tiresome bone in his body. I wouldn’t doubt if he were covering twice the ground as me, at times with his wet, black nose to the grass on the side of the road. Encouraged by his vitality, I jogged just a little faster. When I listened hard and tuned out the sound of my heaving breathing and the pounding rhythm of my sneakers on the ground, the clicking of the dog’s nails on the asphalt tickled my eardrums.

The house I’d rented for the summer was riverfront. It needed some work, what with its ripped screens on the front porch and its overgrown flowerbeds. But it was peaceful and quiet, sometimes a little too quiet when I sat at home alone in the evenings and missed the life on the college campus. The air-conditioner was in the living and kitchen area, and it hung out the side of the house with condensation dripping from it. Hopefully it would be cool inside, especially since my house rarely got any direct sunlight because of the old, broad-leafed trees growing around in the yard.

My body found rest on the front porch steps, and the black dog sat at the base of them. His eyes begged for invitation to approach me, and my fingers massaging his ears gave him one. I wondered where he was from. Hopefully he hadn’t wandered away from some vacationing family’s towel on the riverbank.

Finally I caught a glimpse of the silver tags dangling from the blue collar around his neck. Taking the cool metal into my hands I read the engraving on the first one. At least he’d had his shots. The other one offered more helpful information, like a name and a phone number: Bobby, with the seven digits plus the area code for my town. I gave the panting canine a once over. He can’t be too lost, I thought to myself. "Bobby, huh? You don’t look like a Bobby." A playful bark tossed his head back. Laughing at his enthusiasm, I ruffled his ears and opened the screen door that led onto my roughly screened-in porch.

The old welcome mat that lay before the front door made a nice place for the dog while I located the phone and dialed up the number that I’d gotten from his tags. Counting rings in my head, I hung up unsuccessfully after fifteen. Brown eyes stared at me through the screen door. "Sorry," I offered to him. It didn’t make him sad; he comfortably rolled onto his side. I would try again later.

A shower seemed to be the only way that I could wash away the grime of the day. When you live in a house with one struggling air-conditioner, you learn to take cool showers and like it. Torrents of water ran over my clean skin. Refreshing as it was, my phone ringing in the other room drew me from the relaxing euphoria. At first I’d decided to ignore it, but the longer it rang the more annoyed I got. Shutting off the water, I grabbed a towel from the rack and wrapped it around me. Jetting as quickly as possible to the phone in the living room, I slid on the linoleum in the kitchen a few times because of the feet that I hadn’t dried off. Dripping wet, I answered the phone breathlessly.

"Hello?" said the male voice on the line.

"Yes," I said. Gripping the towel around me, I waited for a reply. The dog peeked through the screen with his ears alert.

"Hi, I’m returning a call. This number was on my caller ID. I’m Bobby Lee." He expectantly paused. His name was Bobby? Though he didn’t know it, I was embarrassed that I’d thought his name was the dog’s name. I was glad I hadn’t stuck my foot in my mouth by blurting out "I found your dog Bobby".

"Oh, hi," I managed. "I called about a dog. He’s black. Looks like a greyhound."

"Yeah, that’d be Beck," he said. He didn’t sound worried. Maybe Beck ran off with strangers all of the time. For a moment I had a funny thought that this man had trained the dog to run home with girls so that they would call him. The large, gentle creature on my front porch gave no sign of being trained to do anything out of the ordinary.

"I found him – or rather, he found me – at the river docks this morning. He stayed with me all day and then he followed me home," I explained.

"I’m sorry if he bothered you. I can’t believe he followed you home. He usually stays pretty close," he said. His voice was so mellow, pleasant to listen to. I'd forgotten about the water dripping from me and the chill from the air-conditioner blowing right at me, and I desperately tried to picture what sort of person would match a voice like his.

"He’s no bother, really," I said. My eyes meandered over to the still figure on the porch that was wistfully watching me. "I just thought you might like him back."

"Oh yeah," he said. The accent on those words was backward of what most people would use, but it was cute. The phrase sounded assured with a long oh and short yeah, but it made for an aesthetically pleasing combination. "If you don’t care I’ll just stop by and pick him up. Where do you live?"

"I’m on highway 410 south, a mile and a half south of the rental docks. My house number is twenty-five. I have a University of North Carolina mailbox and there’s a black Honda Accord sitting beside the house. And there’s a big, black dog sitting on the front porch," I said. He laughed, and I smiled.

"I’ll be there in about five minutes, if that’s okay," he said.

"That’s great. See you in a few," I said. When I hung up the phone I began to realize what I’d just said. I was soaked! My hair was wet! I didn’t have clothes on yet!

Cursing to myself, I ran into my bedroom and frantically began to pull myself together. I’d just slid the UNC T-shirt over my head when I heard the dog bark. A quick glance out the front window showed a Chevrolet truck pulling slowly down my gravel driveway. The first denim shorts I could reach were hastily slid on and I rushed in bare feet to the front door. My strawberry hair was soaked a dark brown color and was pulled up in a sloppy bun. My face was without make-up, and my freckles, which I hated, stood out when I got worked up. I could only hope that my disheveled appearance wouldn’t frighten away the man with the sexy voice.

Upon stepping onto the front porch, I received a smile from the attractive young man of about my age that slammed the door to his truck. With his hands in his jeans’ pockets, he slowly approached my house. I propped open the screen door to the porch in hopes that Beck would jog away and that Bobby wouldn’t see me up close. The damn dog happily sat on the welcome mat, which he’d drug a few feet away from the door. My smile was one of embarrassed terror. Move, dog! I kept thinking. Go you stubborn beast!

Bobby lingered on the first step, his brown eyes kindly Beck. Dark brown hair poked out around the edge of his white baseball cap. "Come here, boy," he said. Beck just flapped his tongue out of his mouth in reply. "I’m really sorry about this." Bobby was like a magnet for my eyes, but I fought to keep my stare away from his direction. He was terribly attractive, and not what one might consider conventionally attractive, but nonetheless nice eye candy.

"It’s no problem," I insisted. If I looked halfway decent I would’ve been thrilled to have this hot guy on my doorstep, seeking a dog that wouldn’t budge. But I looked like Death, and I itched for him to leave.

"How long have you lived here?" he asked. Oh no, small talk.

"About two weeks," I replied. We both laughed. "I’m from here originally, but I go to college in North Carolina. I’m back for the summer."

"Only for the summer?" he asked. I nodded with a smile. "That’s a shame. River life is kind of nice." What could he possibly care if I stayed? "But I’m sure you know that. You were at the docks all day."

"I work there," I explained. He smiled and pointed to the dog.

"He seems to like it here," he said. My eyes darted to Bobby’s face and then back to the dog. "Come on, Beck."

He seemed to be in a calm hurry to leave, but I would be to if I were standing on Death’s doorstep.