A Cemetery Visit

There are only so many routes to the Englishman’s workplace and the road from the interstate through Sharon, Georgia is the most direct.  Railroad tracks that are still in use follow the road and Sharon boasts a tiny post office, stately homes from years gone by and the oldest Catholic Church in Georgia.  A small sign points the way to the original church site and the remaining cemetery dating to the 1700s.

Tucked away from the rural road, I have visited the Locust Grove Cemetery on a few occasions.  It is surrounded by a stone wall and the many headstones are difficult to decipher.  As the Englishman stopped our truck, I jumped out and carefully helped our 16-year old English Cocker Spaniel, Molly, to the ground.  In the past year, her hearing had completely vanished and her vision diminished as well.  She sniffed the air and then followed us into the cemetery. 

Birds chirped overhead in the canopy of trees.  The grounds were difficult to navigate with unexpected low points filled with water from the recent rain earlier in the week.  Autumn leaves still covered the ground, a contrast to the snow drops and daffodils carpeting the ground with blossoms of bright white and lemon yellow.

Molly shuffled through the crisp, brown leaves until she found a dip of rain water.  She pressed down into it, covering her belly and lapped up a mouthful.  The Englishman rushed to the truck to retrieve her bottled water and a towel.  Molly met us at the entrance to the cemetery and the Englishman poured clean water into a Ziploc bag that was improvised into a bowl.  Molly lay on the ground, a paw on either side of the bag and started to drink.  I perched on a small, flat rock and the Englishman stood a few feet away.  Molly abruptly raised her head and moved it upward from side to side. 

“What is she doing?” I asked the Englishman.  He stepped forward and crouched down next to her, lightly touching her back.  “Are you finished, Molly?” he asked.  Molly’s head lowered once again to her water bowl.  The Englishman stroked the top of Molly’s head.  She stopped drinking, raised her head and moved it upward from side to side.

As we drove away, Molly on a towel next to me and sun flickering through gaps in the trees, I wondered if someone from long ago was happy to have the chance to pet a dog once more.

Bring Your Dog to Work: A Ghost Story

I used to work in a haunted office. I can hear the snickers now, but it is true. I don’t consider myself the most sensitive person as far as that kind of thing goes. I remember, years ago when I was living with my cousin in his turn-of-the-century brownstone, coming home to find him pale and trembling on the couch. I laughed when he told me he had seen a ghost.

The ghostly activity began in the office shortly after the company owners purchased the renovated historic home. Typically footsteps could be heard pacing in the reception area in the later hours of the day. Things would disappear and then reappear in strange places. Door knobs would turn but no one would be on the other side. The accountant’s ten-key calculator would make calculations on the paper tape overnight. Because the strange occurrences were more prevalent at night, employees did not like to remain after hours. Even me, the non-believer.

One evening, I needed to be at the office to work extra hours on an important project. I intended to stay until about nine o’clock but didn’t relish the thought that I would be alone so I brought Chase along for protection. My office was on the second floor so I locked the employee entrance behind me and set the alarm for the doors. Upstairs, Chase seemed determined to inspect every office and every garbage can so I locked him in with me. He curled up on the floor beside me and went to sleep for approximately forty-five minutes. Suddenly, his head popped up and he stared intently at the door. Tail wagging, he approached the door and bent down, tail in the air, trying to peer underneath the base. I called him back but he wouldn’t settle down. He approached the door again and refused to listen to me. My dog was completely focused on what was on the other side of that door.

I decided to call it a night and turned off my computer. The switch for the downstairs reception light was on the second floor which meant that I would be walking down the stairs in the dark. Firmly clutching Chase’s leash, I turned off the light and then scolded myself for not leaving any lights on in another office below. The darkness was inky black as I hesitantly felt the first step with my practical three-inch heel sandal. I pushed Chase ahead of me and gripped the banister. We made our way slowly down the stairs. On the third step from the bottom, Chase froze. Then he slowly started to wag his tail at an invisible something in front of us. My heart was racing as I not-so-gently nudged him forward. He refused to budge and began to wag his tail more rapidly. As panic began to set in, I moved around him and pulled his leash from the safety of the floor, forcing him to comply. I walked quickly toward the back door, relieved at the small sliver of light from the outside parking lot. I locked up the building and retreated to my car, deciding once and for all that I would never bring my dog to work with me again!