Ransom

I saw a black & white French bulldog with no leash standing on the sidewalk ahead. I walked over to see him. A big freckled woman with tiny orange curls came out of the convenience store. It was Hilda. I gave her a hug. She wore a big silk-screened Bob Marley T-shirt and plastic chartreuse thongs on her feet. She had dark green iridescent paint on her toenails and three gold toe-rings stacked up on the second toe of each foot. Wow look at that, so cool, like a beetle, I said, touching her big toe's polish.

The last time I saw her she was covered head-to-toe in an army-green hunting jacket with only her eyes showing. A military burka. She was in disguise but I recognized her green eyes. I'm hiding because everyone knows me, she said, terrified. We chatted on the sidewalk for a while in the cold sunshine.

 

His name is Harry, she said. Harry wandered toward the curb. Harry, Harry, I called. Hilda had simply piled the unattached leash onto the sidewalk outside the convenience store, along with a toy rag-doll, which Harry ignored. This street is crazy. I'm worried, I said. I wouldn't want him to get hit. She finally put the leash back on him.

 

Two detectives in dress shirts drove by. I recognized the unmarked car. Hey, there go the local police! I said.

Hilda was alarmed. Why are they here? What are they doing? 

Oh, they have work all over the city, I tried to say casually.

 

We talked about Hilda's new dog. I bought two dogs on my trip to Ohio, she said, but my friend saw that I was overwhelmed and so I only took one home.

What's the name of the second dog?

Gertrude. I call her Gertie.

That's a good friend who noticed you were overwhelmed.

She's my supervisor.

I thought your company was in California.

Hilda seemed alarmed that I remembered this detail. She waved her hand. Oh we work all over. My supervisor lives in Lexington. Anyway we drove together and she bought a dog too. Now I need to find a home for Gertie but it's going to be expensive.

Why? Is there something wrong with the dog?

No. I didn't say that.

She was not amused. She scrolled on her phone to show me photos of the supervisor's dog and of Gertie.

Gertie will be artificially inseminated and then need a cesarean to give birth. I'll need to find a surrogate caretaker nearby.

And make them pay for all of this, I thought. This woman is truly insane. And she would remain the owner? So she can control the situation. What a mess. This is how her whole life goes.

Gertie is going to be Harry's mate. I plan to breed them.

Have you ever done that before?

No.

It's quite an ordeal. You're overwhelmed by one dog but you want half a dozen dogs, I thought. What are you going to do with the puppies?

Sell them, but keep one.

 

She wanted to know about the Oak Hill Cemetery across the street, who owns it, who runs it, and I told her to ask at City Hall. Talk to Sue, I suggested.

I don't like Sue.

Then talk to Mike.

No, I can do my own research.

She's trashing my peeps, I thought. We're done here. Alright, I gotta go, I said, and started walking away, smiling, waving goodbye.

 

Twenty minutes later I received a scathing 200 word essay via email with bullet points about how I had failed to sufficiently notice her and I had no regard for her personal space. Do not ever talk to me or my dog again, she wrote.

Wow, Just like my mother! Poison pen! She's nuts!

 

But what a relief, I said to my husband. Perhaps after I get over the ego bruise I'll have a story to tell.