The Dog Who Loves to Dig

“Mick!” I shout, my voice reverberating across the yard. “Stop it!”

My dog, as usual, completely ignores me. His little paws churn furiously as he moves around the hole he’s digging, dirt flying out behind him. I groan, resigning myself to crossing our new backyard and dragging him into the house. I give another half-hearted yell of warning, but I know it’s futile—the dog loves to dig.

When I get closer I can see he’s unearthed part of what looks like a metal container. “What did you find, buddy?” I crouch down to get a closer look, praying my schnauzer hasn’t managed to dig up the body of someone’s beloved pet. Mick whines, then continues his digging as I go to grab a shovel. Pushing him out of the way I quickly finish removing the dirt from around the box, relieved when there are no signs it’s anyone’s final resting place.

“Should we open it?” Mick gives me a pointed look, insinuating he isn’t sure what he’s done to get stuck with such a moron of an owner. “Okay, okay, Jesus.” There’s no lock, so I cautiously unlatch it, leaning back slightly. When nothing pops out at me or releases any horrible odours I relax, lifting the lid open as Mick shoves his wet nose against my hands.

“Holy shit,” I breath. “Cash. Good dog!” I give his furry head a quick ruff, then turn my attention back to the box. Aside from the stacks of bills, there’s also a little black notebook, a pile of what appears to be letters, and an old black and white photograph. This shows a young couple, sitting in a large open field. On the back of it is written, “Lily and I, Shelter Cove, Spring 1939.”

The year Canada joined WW2.

I realize all of this was likely buried when the owner left to fight in the war. Opening the notebook, my assumption is confirmed.

Dear Lily.

If you’re reading this, it means I’m likely dead. I don’t know what will happen, and I don’t want to put you in the position of being responsible for these things for me. I will bury them here, and leave you a letter with the details. If something happens to me, I want you to take this money and build a life for yourself—hopefully our efforts in the war will make that possible. Know that my heart belongs to you, always and forever, and all that I wish for you is happiness. I will leave now, knowing you are taken care of, and praying I return to you so we can use this money to build a life of our own, together.

Yours always,

Joseph DeWitt

I put down the book, absently petting Mick as he flops down next to me, resting a heavy head on my thigh. Obviously Joseph had never made it back to retrieve his money, but what happened to Lily? He’d clearly intended to leave her with some sort of instructions to follow in the case of his death. Had she not received them?

Bringing the metal case into the house, I carefully count out the money, which adds up to twenty-thousand dollars. “We could buy a lot of dog food with this,” I tell Mick, whose stubby tail starts wagging at the mere mention of food. “Not to mention pay for a lot of the renovations we have planned.” A carpenter by trade, I bought the house with the intention of fixing it up myself and hopefully making a profit.

As I picture spending the money, I think of Joseph DeWitt. My own grandfather had fought in the war, running away from home and lying about his age so he could join the British Navy. He’d manned convoy ships, protecting other vessels from the much-feared German U-Boats. I imagine him leaving my grandmother money, feeling comforted that at least if he died she’d be provided for. A lump forms in my throat, and I know I will never spend this.

The photograph in the box was taken in the same small town I’m in now, so I grab Mick’s leash and manage to snag his collar as he prances around in excitement. The Royal Canadian Legion for Veterans is only a few blocks away, and we make it there within fifteen minutes. There’s a lot of peeing and sniffing—and one overly friendly female poodle—or we’d have likely have made it there sooner. When I open up the door I see a sign that reads, “No headgear will be worn past this point,” and am grateful I neglected to put a cap on this morning. I run my hands through my hair, then scoop Mick into my arms and hope no one here will take offense to a small, arrogant—and German—dog.

“Hello?” I knock on the door, and four men look up at me from where they’ve been playing some sort of card game. There are a few cans of beer on the table, the condensation dripping down the sides reminding me how hot the walk was, and how thirsty I am.

One of the guys waves me in, gesturing for me to sit down. “Sorry I have my dog,” I apologize, holding Mick tighter as he fights to get free. “I don’t trust him enough to leave him alone. He loves to dig.”

“No problem,” the man next to me says, leaning over to rub Mick’s head. He smells like the potato chips he’s eating, and my dog immediately jumps into his lap. Traitor. “I’m John,” he says, holding out one hand.

“Gabe,” I answer, offering a smile to each of the men as they all give me their names. After the introductions are out of the way, I tell them why I’m there. “I bought a house here in town, and found some things belonging to a man named Joseph DeWitt. There was a letter with them, and it said he wanted everything to be given to his girlfriend at the time, Lily. I was hoping someone here might have known Joseph, and might be able to help me?”

The men look at each other, then back at me. Then Gus gives an amused snort. “Joseph DeWitt isn’t dead. He went to the war sure, but he was one of the lucky ones.”

“He’s not dead?” Then why didn’t he come back for his money? Surely twenty-thousand would have been a huge amount of cash back in those days, especially after the war.

“He was injured. Took a bullet right through the skull.” Lenny, the third man, taps his own temple. “Took him years to recover, and I don’t think he ever regained all of his memories from prior to the war. Funny thing is though, he’s sharp as a tack now, even at eighty years old. The world works in mysterious ways.”

I quickly do the math in my head. It’s 2002 now, which means Joseph DeWitt was only seventeen when he fought in WW2. “Do you know how I can get a hold of him?”

“He should be here any minute now. He usually comes in around four.” John is still holding Mick, stroking his velvety ears. “There’s cold beer in the fridge if you're happy to wait.”

I happily take him up on his offer, grabbing a beer for me and a bowl of water for Mick. The guys are full of stories and after awhile I share my grandfather’s with them, feeling strangely proud when they react with awe. Just past four another man comes in, looking fit and trim in khaki shorts and a polo shirt. He looks closer to sixty than eighty, but John gives me a nudge and I know this must be Joseph.

“Mr. DeWitt?”

“That’s me.” He smiles at me, eyes clear and blue. “Joseph.”

“My name is Gabe, and I think I’ve found something that belongs to you.”

I hadn’t thought to bring the case with me, but I tell him everything, only leaving out the exact amount of cash, in the case he’d prefer it to be kept private.

“So what you’re telling me, is I hid something so well I managed to hide it from myself?” Those eyes twinkle with humour and I laugh, already knowing I made the right decision. “Lily.” He lets out a wistful sigh. “I haven’t thought of her in years. I wonder what ever happened to her.”

“She wasn’t here when you got home?”

“No.” The old man gives a sorrowful shake of his head. “I asked around, once I was recovered enough, but all anyone knew was her family had moved away to the city. Back then it wasn’t easy to find someone, especially with the war and all.”

“Have you ever tried to find her?” Frankie—another member of the old guard—leans forward in his chair. “My daughter told me a story about a couple who reunited after years apart. They found each other online.”

“Online? What do I know about online?” Joseph laughs. “I don’t even know how to use a cellphone!” He explains that his parents had been killed right before he left for the war, which was how he’d gotten the money. He’d never married, and over the years the Legion had become his family.

“I could help you,” I offer. “Look for her, I mean. I don’t know if it’s possible to find her, but we could try.”

Joseph hesitates. “I don’t know,” he says, looking skeptical. “It’s been a long time…”

“Oh come on,” John urges. “It doesn’t hurt to try. You never know, maybe she’s single.” Mick lets out a short, excited bark, and everyone laughs.

“Well if even the dog thinks we should try, then sure, why not?” Joseph grins at me, his dentures gleaming white. I have him tell me everything his memory still holds of Lily, and one of the other men remembers a friend of hers who still lives in town. A few days later we have her name, the names of her parents, and a birthdate.

It takes me hours of searching, but two weeks later I burst into the Legion, waving a piece of paper. “I found her! Lily Eleanor Parker. She married once, but it only lasted a few years and she went back to her maiden name.”

Joseph takes the piece of paper, his gnarled hands shaking. “You know where she lives?”

“That’s the best part.” I pause, making sure I have everyone’s attention. “She only lives three hours away!”

Joseph’s eyes fill with tears, and we all get busy getting out celebratory beers, allowing him time to compose himself. “Do you want to see her?” I ask him, keeping my tone low.

He looks like he wants to say something, but I can see his throat bobbing and in the end he just gives a silent nod.

Six months later…

The day Lily’s plane is due to land, Joseph is a bundle of nerves. “Calm down,” I advise, adjusting Mick’s bow-tie. “It’s going to be fine. You two have been exchanging emails for months now.”

The passengers from flight WJ432 begin to trickle through the doors, and I hear his sudden intake of breath as an older woman with a sleek silver bob comes into sight. She walks without aid, though an attractive blonde is glued to her side. I smile, feeling a little tingle in the back of my neck as she returns it. Mick whines and she laughs, bending down to pet him as her grandmother comes to a stop in front of us.

“Lily?” Joseph’s voice is faint as he steps forward.

“Joe.” Without hesitation she takes his hands, rising up to kiss his cheek. “You sure made me wait a long time.”