Jon-Paul Josephson sat along the creek bank, a fishing pole in his right hand, and his Burmese Mountain dog Spaz sitting on his left side. His father had bought him the dog, a year ago, and he quickly bonded with him quickly. The spot he found himself now, was one of his favorites. Mostly catching a various species of Bass, he would spend the entire morning, and a good part of the afternoon, just sitting with his dog, and catching fish here. He was a young boy of thirteen, and enjoyed fishing ever since Grandpa Josephson took him on his first fishing trip, several years ago. He had only one real friend that he didn't see often on the account his friend spent a lot of his time with other friends he had, so Jon-Paul spent most of his time fishing with Spaz. Today was one of those days, leaving himself to enjoy the company of his dog. He was comfortable with not having many friends, though sometimes he wished his friend would spend more time with him.
Normally, he'd pack a couple of sandwiches for lunch, and now he took one out of the baggy, and began nibbling at the liver sausage and onions, with horseradish mustard sandwich. He had also brought a couple of dog biscuits for Spaz, who now contently gnawed on one, occasionally looking up at Jon-Paul. Taking his time with his sandwich, he allowed himself to enjoy the warm June air, and the company of his beloved dog. He was thinking about moving upstream, to another fishing hole he knew about after lunch. His parents didn't want him wandering too far upstream, but what they didn't know wouldn't hurt them. With lunch finished, he put the empty plastic baggy back into his backpack, and went back to fishing, deciding to go upstream after catching a few more fish at his current spot.
Soon he was packing up his fishing gear, and heading to the fishing hole upstream. It was a one mile hike to the spot he had in mind, but was worth every step. His parents always told him to keep Spaz on a leash, but sometimes he would allow him to walk without one; this afternoon was one of those times. Spaz zigged-zagged across the dirt path, if a path it could be called, occasionally stopping to sniff at the underbrush that bordered the path. Jon-Paul would call out to him from time to time, keeping Spaz from getting too far ahead, and the dog generally listened, like the good boy he was. The spot he was heading to had three fishing holes in walking distance from one another, and he would check out all three of them if he had the time. He wanted to go there, because the fishing for Pumpkinseeds was good. There was also Yellow Perch, here in the area, but it was the Pumpkinseeds, he was hoping to catch. Either way, if he could swing it, there would be a few of either one of them for dinner tonight. He would help his father fillet them, and his father would be the one to cook them.
Once there, he set down his tackle-box, he sat down Indian style. Japanese Knotwood grew in great expanses in this area of the creek. Spaz obediently followed instructions, and sat down beside him. Casting out, Jon-Paul held onto his fishing pole. He hoped that the fish he was targeting would start biting at his night-crawler soon. Spaz only shortly stayed put, before getting up and begin sniffing along the creek bank.
"Don't wander off now Spaz, stay close puppy dog." Jon-Paul said.
Soon Jon-Paul was lost in thought, and concentrating on catching fish. He wished his friend was here, seeing this was one of their favorite holes.
"Spaz, come here, come sit with me puppy dog." he said, still watching his line for movement. When Spaz didn't approach him, he looked around for his buddy. There was no sign of the dog to be found, and he called out to him once more, a bit louder this time. Once again, there was no answer nor sign of him. Standing up, he looked around again, to see where he went off. Setting down his fishing pole, and cupping his hands to either side of his mouth and called out to Spaz, shouting loudly. All was silence, not even a cricket, playing violin with his hind legs. He found himself shocked that he didn't hear Spaz wander off, especially with all the Japanese Knotwood around.
He was at a loss to what he should do; he couldn't just go home and tell his parents his dogs was missing because he wasn't paying attention to him. Nor could he go trampling through the Knotwood. Therefore, he walked along the creek bank, hoping to spot Spaz along the water's edge. He would spend the next two hours looking for his dog, without any luck. With the heaviest of hearts, the realization that his beloved Spaz was gone, lost.
All the way home his stomach did somersaults, knowing he would have to explain to his parents that he had lost Spaz. Jon-Paul sullenly packed up his fishing gear, and began heading home. He would also have to come clean about going further upstream than he should have gone. Tears welled up in his eyes, and he allowed them to fall down his cheeks.
"Spaz my boy, where did you go?" he said.
When he reached his driveway, he hesitated to walk up to the house. His father was sitting on the porch, and he waved to his son. By his son's body language, and his not waving back, he knew something was wrong. Reaching the porch, his father noticed he had been crying heavily.
"What's wrong son, where's Spaz?"
"I lost him dad, I'm so sorry, but I lost him."
"What do you mean you lost him
"I was fishing and he wandered off into the underbrush. I looked for him for so long, but I couldn't find him." Jon-Paul said through fresh tears.
"Where did you go fishing that you lost him."
At first, Jon-Paul didn't want to say, knowing he should not have ventured that he should not have ventured that far upstream. However, he couldn't lie to his father, so he came clean.
"I went further upstream, than you and mom wanted me to."
"How much further upstream?" his dad asked.
"A mile up past where you told me not to go any further."
"Come on, let's go look for him. Maybe we might find him, if we look together."
Jon-Paul laid his fishing gear down on the porch, and followed his father to the family car.
As they drove back to where he had been fishing, his father firmly lectured his son about not listing to his mother and him. Coming to the area where he last saw Spaz, he pointed out the spot to his father. Pulling over to the shoulder to the road, the two got out of the car, and Jon-Paul led his father down to the creek. Over the course of the next hour, the two called out for Spaz, as they searched the area for the dog. Again, there was no sign nor answer from the dog. His father decided to go downstream on the off chance Spaz returned to where Jon-Paul said he originally sat. After another hour of searching, his father decided to call off the search.
"We'll make up some missing posters. Don't worry son, we'll find Spaz." his father said, as they got back into the car.
The following day, they sat at the computer, and made up a single missing dog poster, using a recent photograph of Spaz. The flyer included the most recent photograph of Spaz, along with his father's and mother's email addresses. They would take it to Kinko's, located in town. with a hundred copies of the poster, they began plastering them in high foot traffic areas, supermarkets, the collage campus, a number of street lights, anywhere where they might draw attention. With the last of the posters stapled to a few telephone poles, they went home and waited to see if their efforts would turn up anything about Spaz's whereabouts.
Yet days turned into weeks, and Jon-Paul's hopes of finding his beloved Spaz began to dwindle. Two months after that fateful fishing trip, he knew he would never see Spaz ever again. During that time, he moped around the house, and his parents tried to raise his spirits to no avail. At the end of summer, he decided to try and convince his parents to get him another dog, but they wouldn't allow it. He wasn't responsible enough they told him.
"Besides, your mother and I need to talk to you about something. Come, and sit down." his father said.
"What is it dad?"
"We're going to be moving soon."
"We're moving, where to dad?"
"To a town called Hamlin, I've been relocated. I'm starting a new position at my job. The apartment we're moving to, doesn't allow pets." his father said.
"But what about my friend Joshua, I won't be able to see him anymore." Jon-Paul said.
"You can make new friends in Hamlin." his mother said.
"Besides, we're not too far from Hamlin. I can occasionally drive you to Josua's house, maybe spend to weekend with him." his father said.
"But I want to stay here, what if Spaz finds his way home?"
"I don't think that will happen son."
"But I do dad."
"I'm sorry son, but it's out of my hands. We have to move."
Jon-Paul realized there was nothing he could do to convince his parents not to move. He understood what his parents were telling him, he went to his bedroom, and sat on his bed. He truly believed that if they stayed here long enough, Spaz would make his way home to him, and they could be together again.
"I'm sorry Spaz, I tried my best." Jon-Paul said to himself.
The following week, he found himself in the back seat of the family car, as they drove to Hamlin New York. He was leaving behind not just his only real best friend, but also his beloved dog, and his favorite fishing holes.
"Dad?"
"Yes son."
"Are there any creeks close to where we'll be living?"
"Yes, in fact there's two of them in walking distance from our apartment."
At least he would still be able to fish. He would have to try and make new friends in town, but he knew he would have a tough go of the matter. The whole thing would take time for him to adjust to, and his parents reassured him he'd be fine once they got settled into a new routine.
He would spend any free time he had before moving to his new home, returning to the section of the creek where he lost Spaz, calling out to him without any results. Knowing he would not be able to bring his beloved dog with him to where he was moving to, at least he would be able to turn him in to the local chapter of the S.P.C.A., knowing at least Spaz would have a new home. Jon-Paul would also ask his father and mother if anyone sent them an email, and was disappointed to find that they didn't receive any emails about Spaz.
When the day came for them to move, Jon-Paul disappointingly climbed into the back seat of the car, not wanting to leave without knowing what became of Spaz. He sat quietly during the entire forty-five minute drive there. His parents tried to reassure him that someone would eventually find Spaz and he would be all right. It did little to comfort him.
Time rolled onward, and Jon-Paul settled into his new home and school, the best he could. His father kept his promise, driving him to Joshua's house on several occasions, where he would stay the weekend, while other times Joshua would come and spend the weekend at their new house.
After graduating from high school, he went on to learn how to fix computers, and returned to his hometown. It had been a few years since he had stepped into Pike Township proper. He set up shop along what served as the town's main strip.
In his off hours, he would spend time fishing, or occasionally going into the local watering hole; where he would sit off to one end of the bar, away from the other costumers. He wouldn't address anyone there, only talking when talked to. Like most of his life, he kept to himself, and never established any true friendships, only the rare acquaintances. He was comfortable with such an idea. Maybe it was for the best.
One particular Sunday, the only day where the computer shop was closed, he decided to take a fishing trip, down to a spot where he hadn't been to in years. There was no reason for him to go to the spot where he had lost Spaz on that late afternoon. However, he found himself casting out along its bank. This section of the creek hadn't changed much since he was here last so many years ago. As he sat patiently waiting to hook into one of the pan fish that swam and fed in this part of the creek, the sound of a snapping twig off to his right, him caught his attention. Looking over his shoulder, he saw nothing, and returned his attention back to fishing.
Out of the Japanese Knotwood, several yards upstream, came a Burmese Mountain Dog. It's appearance seemed to suggest it had seen better days. One of its ears looked ragged, injured by some long forgotten adversary. A pink badly healed scar ran the length of its inside. Its right eye blinded by a cataract. He seemed slightly malnourished, as its rib cage was starting to show. Its hindquarters had the beginning stages of mange. Jon-Paul couldn't believe what he was seeing. Could this dog be who he thought it was? Was this Spaz?
"Oh my God, it is Spaz." Jon-Paul thought to himself.
The dog slowly made his way over to him, then sat down in front of him, and gazed at him. Jon-Paul couldn't believe what was sitting in front of him. Reaching out to pet him, the dog lowered his head and began growling low.
"Spaz, what happened to you?" Jon-Paul asked, not expecting a response.
"I've had a rough go at it Jon-Paul."
"It's really is you, isn't it?"
"Yes, I am Spaz."
"I'm so sorry Spaz, I never meant to lose you."
Jon-Paul's eyes began to well up with tears, and they found release, falling down his cheeks for his lost dog, for his beloved Spaz.
"I forgive you. I have been waiting here for you, to see you again."
"My father and I tried to find you, but we couldn't, we even handed out missing dog posters."
"Where have you been for all these years?"
"My parents and I moved out of town, I just moved back here a few months ago. Let me take you home, so I can take care of you."
"No, this is my place now, and I am not long for this world."
"What do you mean Spaz?"
"I'm dying. I don't know what it is, but I can smell death upon me."
"Please come home with me. Let me make it up to you for losing you." Jon-Paul pleaded.
"This is where I am meant to be Jon-Paul, I have grown used to living this life given to me." Spaz said.
"Then let me take care of you here, for however long you have left. I'll do whatever I can to make whatever is left of your life as comfortable as I can. Please?"
"Okay."
The thought of Jon-Paul doing so brought some measure of comfort to Spaz, as he realized Jon-Paul never meant to to abandon him to the life he had led. Spaz got up from his haunches, and moved over to Jon-Paul's left side, and sat back down, just as he did so long ago. After doing so, he began telling Jon-Paul about the life he had led so far.
"How did you survive for all these years?"
"I scrounged for food whenever I could, and I learned to hunt as well. Lately, I haven't been able to hunt as well from being so sick, it slows me down. I had been found shortly after you lost me, by what I thought would be a kind person. But it didn't turn out that way. I was abused for the six months that I lived with him. He was an older man. I gotten away from him one day, after he put me into the backyard, and forgotten to put the latch down. I was able to open the gate with my paw, and I came back here."
"Was there anyone else who took care of you?" Jon-Paul asked.
"No, it's only been me taking care of myself ever since." Spaz replied.
"What happened to your ear?"
"I tried joining a pack of stray dogs, they they refused me for reasons I still don't know or understand. The alpha male tore into me, ripping my ear. It pained me for some time before healing." Spaz answered.
Jon-Paul noticed something had taken the bait, and began reeling in his line. On the hook was a rather large Small-Mouth Bass. After unhooking it, he saw Spaz looking at it hungrily.
"When was the last time you had something to eat Spaz?"
"Two days ago."
"I have my filleting knife; let me cook this up for you."
After filleting the fish, he set about gathering up some firewood, and set up a homemade grill, he used to cook up along the creeks he fished. There was a ban on setting a campfire from the New York State D.E.C., but he knew a number of spots, this one included, that would allow him to bend such bans. After a few minutes the fire was going well enough, and Jon-Paul placed both fillets on the fire. After the fish were cooked well enough, he pulled a plate from his backpack, and after placing both of them upon it, laid it down in front of Spaz.
"Will you eat something yourself Jon-Paul?"
"If I catch something else I will." he answered.
Spaz ate hungrily, and as the fish filled his stomach, Jon-Paul watched him eat. He would catch two more fish, one of which he gave to Spaz, and kept one for himself. As they sat eating, Spaz asked,
In the coming weeks, this would be a regular routine. He would go to work, and afterward he would come here to fish, bringing along other food that he would feed Spaz, mostly deer meat from the hunting trips he took. He had taken up hunting recently to augment his being an outdoorsman. Presently, they had just finished up eating, and were sitting by the campfire.
"I remember a friend that would come fishing with you when you were just a kid, Joshua his name was if I remember correctly. Whatever happened to him?"
"He was killed in a head on collision when we were in high school. I went to the funeral which was hard for me to take, and it took me a long time for me to get over." Jon-Paul answered.
"I'm sorry to hear that Jon-Paul."
"Thank you Spaz."
"I'm glad you've come back, your presence here had made things easier for me." Spaz said.
"I'm glad too, though I was surprised to see you here the first time, when you came out of all this Japanese Knotwood."
It was the last week of June; Jon-Paul climbed down the embankment and made his way to where he would meet up with his beloved dog. In the time he had come across Spaz after so many years, he had bonded with him once again.
"Spaz, are you here?" he called out.
After a few moments, Spaz slowly came out of the Japanese Knotwood, slower than what Jon-Paul was accustomed to seeing him move. Setting down his fishing gear, he sat down upon the rocky creek bank, and waited for Spaz to come to him.
"Are you okay Spaz?"
"My time has come Jon-Paul. I don't think I'll be around for too much longer. If I see tomorrow's sunrise, I'll be blessed." Spaz replied.
Jon-Paul didn't have the words to respond to what he just heard. He began petting Spaz gently, and his eyes welled up with tears once again.
"I'm so sorry Spaz, I should've been more careful with you back then."
"There is no need for such words. My life is what it was, and now it's time for me to cross the Rainbow Bridge. We will meet again, for I will wait for you there. I will feel no pain or suffer any more. You have taken care of me the best you could these last few weeks, and it has brought me great comfort. But I have something to ask of you." Spaz said.
"Whatever it is Spaz, I'll do it for you."
"If you will, can you cuddle with me, on my final day here on Earth? Also, could you come visit me here when I'm gone?"
"Yes Spaz, I'll do that for you."
Jon-Paul pulled his legs into the Indian style position, and helped Spaz crawl into his lap. The dog laid his head on Jon-Paul's thigh, and Jon-Paul continued sobbing softly, as he gently stroked Spaz's neck. He noticed the dog's breathing began to become shallow, and knew it wouldn't be too long, before he crossed the Rainbow Bridge, and his sobbing became stronger.
"I love you Spaz, I always have and always will." he said.
"I love you too Jon-Paul." Spaz said, laying his head back down upon Jon-Paul's thigh.
Shortly after, Spaz took his last breath. Jon-Paul hugged him tightly, and had himself a good cry over his long lost beloved dog. After calming down, and regaining control over himself, he gently laid Spaz on the creek bank, and went to his backpack. Inside, was a small gardening shovel, which he carried to dig up worms. Over the next hour, he dug Spaz a grave, inside the Japanese Knotwood. Going back to his backpack, he dug out some twine, and after finding two small twigs, used it to fashion a small cross, which he planted just above where Spaz's head would be resting. With that done, Jon-Paul sat down, and began sobbing again. The only comfort he had, was knowing his beloved Spaz, would no longer suffer from whatever illness took his life. The urge to fish left him, instead, he sat next to the grave, talking to his beloved dog.
Afterward, he stood up and gathering up his fishing gear, he looked back at the grave. Though it had been many years since losing Spaz, he still carried a sense of loss, the loss of a dog without a loving home, the loss of a chance to take care of him during his life, things would've been different had he not lost Spaz.
"I love you Spaz, I'll come back again, like I promised." Jon-Paul said.
As time passed, he would keep his promise, by visiting Spaz's grave site as often as possible. It came to the point where, this fishing hole became the only one he would visit. He began occasionally camping in the area, removing a large swath of Japanese Knotwood to make the campsite, which included Spaz's grave site. This area was so secluded that a person could camp here for extended periods of time, without anybody coming across them. Jon-Paul could not remember ever seeing anyone else other than himself down here, which made it one of his favorite spots.
Years would pass, and Jon-Paul continued keeping the promise he made so long ago. Yet there are times when one could no longer keep promises made.
He hadn't been feeling well, and a visit to the doctor revealed he had cancer, and had very little time left. Now he could make the trip down the embankment to fish and visit Spaz. Yet, how long would he be able to do so, only God knew. This was at the end of May, when the weather began to break, and things started warming up around Western New York.
"I'm sick Spaz; the doctor said I don't have much time left. I'll continue coming here for as long as I can, but I don't know how much longer I'll be able to do so." Jon-Paul said, sitting at Spaz's grave.
Taking a flask of whiskey from his back pocket, he unscrewed the cap, and took a strong pull from the bottle. Replacing it, he took his fishing rod, and cast out to the other side of the creek, where the deeper water flowed. Within a few minutes, he had lunch on his hook.
When evening came, he went to his campsite, and turned on his shortwave radio, tuning it to a ruby match. He would sit in his fishing chair until the sun went down, at which point he turned off his radio, and climbed into his tent, where he would lay for a half hour, before drifting off to sleep. The following morning, he broke down his tent, saying good-bye to Spaz before leaving for home.
In the following two weeks, Jon-Paul had been unable; his cancer had gotten the better of him, and spent most of that time bed ridden. Nevertheless, today, he felt well enough to make another trip down to the fishing site.
"Good afternoon Spaz, how are you?" he asked, as he went about setting up his campsite.
with that done, he set about doing some fishing, working his way upstream a bit. As the day progressed, his energy seemed to drain from him, and he made his way back to the campsite to rest. Something inside him, said that this would be the last time he would find himself here. There he went to Spaz's grave site.
"Spaz, I'm not feeling so well now. Today started out good for me. Now I feel too tired. I couldn't climb that embankment even if I had too. Listen boy, I don't think I'll be coming back any more after this trip. I've kept my promise to you for as long as I could. I think all these years is a long enough time to keep a promise. But, I simply cannot do this anymore. So after tonight, I won't be coming back to visit or fish. I'm sorry boy. But just remember, I love you, and will always love you." Jon-Paul said.
He sat quietly in his fishing chair, finishing off the second of two flask of whiskey he brought with him. Soon he would climb into his tent for some sleep, on his final night at Spaz's grave site. Tomorrow, he would leave, and would call the police on his cell phone, if he needed help climbing up the embankment.
However, there would be no tomorrow for Jon-Paul, just as there had been no tomorrow for the dog he lost so long ago. Sometime during the night, Jon-Paul had taken his terminal breath. There he would rest in peace, if that is what it was, a life of regret now ending.
This being an area so isolated, no one would ever find his body. Not having any sibling, and his parenting both passing away years prior, there would be no one to report him missing. No one would ever know his story. The story no one wanted, and a dog no cared about but him, sharing for eternity, a site no one would ever visit.
YOU ARE READING
The Long Journey Home.
General Fictiona young boy losses his dog when he goes fishing, and meets him years later, only to face his childhood regrets.
