Smitty! Smitty! Smitty!

chapter four.

To watch Lindsey Reynolds cross the campus of the University of Denver Sturm College of Law, one would have the immediate impression of a young woman purposeful in every way. And if the camera moved in for a close-up, the impression would go on to say that Lindsey was c.o.c.ky, bordering on arrogant. The truth was, she knew it, and it was also true that there was good reason for her self-absorbed opinion. Lindsey was great at everything she did and driven to fulfill her personal destiny with unswerving commitment.

As she crossed the campus on that beautiful fall evening, dressed in jeans, flip-flops, and a T-shirt that did not hide the beautiful figure beneath, Lindsey moved with an easy, flowing feminine grace that said she was completely secure in her natural beauty and the effect it had on most people who came in contact with her. Lindsey knew what she wanted and how she planned to get it.

She came to the University of Denver law school after graduating magna c.u.m laude from USC, where she was captain of the volleyball team and senior cla.s.s president as well as runner-up for homecoming queen-an honor she figured she hadn't won because most of the voters were jealous of her.

Now in her third year, she was sure she'd make law review and join a corporate firm with a starting salary of at least $85K. The cherry had been placed on the cake of her life plan when she met Brenden McCarthy.

Now here is someone ideal, she thought. He is a laid-back mountain boy who loves the outdoors, but he has the kind of brain that will make him a great surgeon and a terrific husband.

There was no question in Lindsey's mind that she loved Brenden, but it's hard to love another when you love yourself so much. At the moment she was a wee bit annoyed that she hadn't heard from her mountain-climbing fiance.

He should have been down a couple of hours ago, and waiting for him had put her behind on her evening's work at the library. It was around eight o'clock, the sun was beginning to set, and she remembered that Brenden always said that climbers should not stay up on a mountain after dark.

She decided to dial his cell phone again. She got his message unit.

"You've reached Brenden. If I don't return your call for a few hours, it's because I'm doing something fun-probably riding a bike or climbing, or, if there's snow on the mountain, skiing. So don't hold it against me if it takes me some time to call you back. Your message is important to me, but so is living."

"Late." Lindsey took a deep breath and waited for the beep. "You know, you've really got to change that message. People could start to think you don't love them. But not me. I know you can't get enough of your lady lawyer. So, when you get this message, call me. I'll be in the library."

It was on nights like this that Mora McCarthy missed her husband, Brian, the most. He had been a wonderful partner and a great father. They had both always been so proud of Brenden, but cancer took him before he had the chance to see his son graduate and become a doctor.

They had always been a wonderful family. Brian in the insurance business. Mora subst.i.tute teaching, just because she loved it. Brenden, the perfect son. And Bridget, happily married and now living in Washington with their two grandchildren and her political lobbyist husband.

Mora hated setting the table and eating alone on nights like this. She ached with the memories of wonderful conversations she and Brian used to enjoy while they ate a late dinner as the kids did their homework.

Death robs you of so many things, she thought, but it's the intimacy of love shared with another that is the cruelest part of loss.

Tonight she left the door to the deck open so that the warm June air could flow through the house. Like her son, she loved natural things. Even in her cooking, she used nothing but fresh ingredients. For this meal, she had prepared handmade linguine with clams in a white sauce, along with a pear salad with Stilton and lightly battered zucchini-all things she knew her son loved.

She was surprised he hadn't arrived for dinner, but she figured maybe he got confused and forgot it was Thursday night.

That's what love will do to you, she reminded herself. He's head over heels in love with Lindsey. I wish I could slow him down. She's a lot of wonderful things but not necessarily for my son.

Deciding that she might as well go ahead and eat alone, she sighed and seated herself at the table, feeling sorry enough to remember that her husband was dead, and her son-well, her son just hadn't shown up. She was alone, but not lonely, because Gus sat across from her.

Gus was an extraordinarily brilliant, enthusiastic, loving West Highland terrier who had the capacity to care for the entire family, with a special understanding that made everyone feel that he or she was the most important person in his life. He was Brenden's playmate when the young man was home, creating fun and diversion from the intensity of medical school. He was Mora's constant companion as she did her housework and tended her exceptional garden. And when Brian had become sick, spending most of his time in bed under hospice care, it was Gus who had never left his side.

Mora remembered the dog's black eyes, pleading that his master might get well. She recalled many things about those bad days, but two related specifically to Gus. How the night after the funeral the dog took his position sitting opposite her in Brian's chair, never trying to take any food from the table- just sitting upright, stoic, trying to fill the s.p.a.ce for his lonely mistress. And it was Gus who took possession of Brian's favorite sweater, the one he had worn so often while lounging at home on weekends. Mora had let him have it, and Gus never slept without it.

"Okay, Gus, I guess it's just you and me for dinner. Brenden must be having an exceptionally good day."

The telephone jarred her out of her reverie. Picking it up, she looked at the number and realized it wasn't Brenden.

"h.e.l.lo?"

"h.e.l.lo, Mrs. McCarthy? It's Spider, I mean, Charlie."

"I know who it is, Charlie." Mora laughed. "If you're looking for Brenden, he's not here."

"Oh, he told me he was having dinner with you tonight."

"He was supposed to. Have you spoken to Lindsey?"

"No, ma'am, but I'll call her. If he comes in, have him give me a call, would you, Mrs. McCarthy? I'd love to borrow his motorcycle tomorrow if I can. I have to be in Aspen for some dry-land training for ski patrol, and it's always fun to borrow Brenden's bike."

"That's where he went, Charlie. I mean, that's where he was today. Climbing the Bells."

There was the slightest pause on the other end of the line.

"And you mean he's not down yet?"

"I don't know. I don't know, Charlie. Should I be worried?" Mora asked, the tension rising slightly in her voice.

"Oh no. Oh no, ma'am," Charlie put in quickly. "He's probably just taking a little longer to get there with traffic and all. I'll call him later. Or have him call me when he comes in, okay?"

"All right, Charlie," Mora said. "I'll have him call."

Putting down the receiver, she felt a chill run down her spine. Mothers have instincts, she thought, and mine are sending me the wrong message.

Again, she picked up the phone and hit the speed-dial b.u.t.ton connecting her to Brenden's cell. Hearing the same message that Lindsey heard earlier, she simply said, "Brenden, it's your mother; call me." That usually was enough to make him respond right away. She hoped so. For some reason, she prayed so.

Charlie "Spider" Evans was also feeling instinctive pangs about his friend, Brenden McCarthy. They had been pals since high school, sharing everything from football to fantasies over cheerleaders. But it was in a mutual love of the outdoors that their friendship had taken on that special intimacy reserved for your lifetime best pal.

Spider knew that Brenden should be off the mountain. He knew it in his gut because he understood how respectful his friend was of the dangers that could confront any climber. And so, Charlie Evans made the call that would send climbers up North Maroon in search of a young man in trouble.

Charlie's first call was to 9-1-1, where he talked to a dispatcher who connected him to the deputy serving as the incident commander. In turn, the commander paged the team leader for Mountain Rescue Aspen, an all-volunteer group of outdoorsmen and women who give their time keeping climbing enthusiasts safe.

Since the rescue group was made up of volunteers, the calls and arrangements to adjust personal schedules took hours. It was four in the morning when fifteen climbers arrived at the staging area cabin on Main Street, Aspen. Charlie also joined them. He was known as a very capable climber and was easily accepted as one of the team searching for Brenden.

Charlie initially believed the fastest way to find his friend would be to do a helicopter drop on the top of the mountain, because he was sure Brenden would have signed the register, indicating his route.

"Sounds good," Commander Jeffries said, "but I've already made a bunch of calls, and we can't get a helicopter up here till around nine thirty or ten o'clock in the morning. By that time, we could already have climbers on the top. It sure would be a lot better if the National Guard birds weren't in Iraq-then we wouldn't have to draw from Denver to get help. So we'll do this the old-fashioned way. The hasty team will push off in about forty-five minutes. Think you can hang with them, Spider?"

Charlie nodded.

"They should be able to get to the top at around eight o'clock. By then, we'll have two search planes in the air with the helicopter joining and climbers staged at the bottom to search pattern their way up the route. Okay, everybody, check over your gear, get some coffee, and do what you've got to do to get ready."

Forty-five minutes later, five climbers were snaking their way up the mountain, not talking, just moving.

Charlie thought about his friend, and his mind went back to all the incredible memories that bonded them forever. It was Spider who caught the touchdown pa.s.ses delivered by Brenden's rocket arm. It was Brenden who got Charlie interested in Telemark skiing, that throwback to the original Norwegian downhill athletes. Brenden introduced Charlie to the girl he was going to marry, and Charlie had always been there to help Brenden study for tough exams during medical school.

How many days, he thought, had they climbed and shared the beauty of the Colorado fourteeners? He couldn't count. And now, his friend was somewhere up here, maybe hurt. Charlie's pace picked up even more as he considered the danger.

Arriving at the top, he found that he was right. Brenden had marked his route up the main couloir on the mountain manifest. That meant he may have fallen on the scree-slicked surface, and anything could have happened.

The team leader radioed down to base, and climbers began to work their way up as the hasty team started down, narrowing the field of possibility. The climbers began to hear the sound of the search planes and the helicopter as they worked their way down, their eyes scanning every nook and cranny, searching, ever searching.

The man on Charlie's left saw it first-a backpack Charlie quickly identified as Brenden's. It only took a few more minutes for the team to find the badly injured man. His breathing was shallow. He was unconscious, probably in a trauma-induced coma brought on by the bang on his head indicated by the broken climbing helmet.

At least a concussion, Charlie thought, maybe brain trauma.

Brenden's pulse fluttered, and his blood pressure was dropping. Though it was June, temperatures on the mountain were in the teens, and Brenden showed indications of early stages of hypothermia.

"We've got to get him down," the team leader said. "We've got to get him down in a hurry."

The call went out to the helicopter, but the pilot quickly decided that the angle was too difficult to risk a landing.

"We need the basket," the team leader radioed. "It's gonna be the hard way-climbing anchors and hand-over-hand-but we'll get him down to a flat area as quickly as we can. Then you Flight for Life guys can medevac him to Frisco, Denver, or Grand Junction."

"Grand Junction is standing by," the helicopter pilot radioed back. "Go easy. We're right here when you're ready."

Charlie grumbled. "IHOG rules. We're gonna waste a lot of time."

IHOG was the International Helicopter Operating Guidelines, and with all the accidents that occurred around the country, Flight for Life simply would not stretch the regulations. The team worked as fast as it could, with the paramedic a.s.signed to Brenden constantly checking the young man's vital signs.

Forty-five minutes later they found the flat spot, and five minutes after that Brenden and Charlie were on their way to St. Mary's Medical Center in Grand Junction. The paramedics on board were feverishly working to warm Brenden with thermal blankets and gentle ma.s.sage. Charlie took the time to call Brenden's mother and alert her that they had found her son and where they were going.

"Thank you, Charlie, thank you," she said. "I'll start driving to Grand Junction right now."

The pilot interrupted. "Tell the guy's mom that after we drop him off, we'll pick her up. My office will call her and tell her where to be."

"That's awesome," Charlie said, and he pa.s.sed the information on to Mora.

Over the next twenty minutes, Charlie alternated between watching his friend and praying, something he hadn't done a lot of, but something he very much hoped G.o.d would hear.

chapter five.

Smitty. Smitty. Smitty.

The black Lab stood in the backseat of the car, shaking as if he were on point, hunting birds. Then he began to turn in circles- off the seat to the floor, back up again, down again, back up. When the driver came around and opened the car door, the dog leaped forward, nearly taking the man holding the leash off his feet.

"Okay, Bart, okay." Dan laughed. "I know. That's your Smitty. Go ahead, boy. Go ahead."

By now, Harold Smith had reached the bottom of the stairs. He dropped to his knees, opening his arms to receive the animal, whose heart pounded so hard it could be felt through his skin. It was hard to tell at that moment who was happier-the man or the dog.

Neither of them expected this moment ever to happen. As his trainer, Smitty wanted Bart to succeed in the field, and the animal accepted his new life and responsibility in the fulfillment of his guide dog purpose not once, but twice. Now fate stepped in and brought these two friends back together in a reunion that was as deeply felt as could be imagined.

Smitty remembered that Bart had never really been a verbal animal-not a barker in the kennel or a dog that used his voice to express his feelings. But now the emotion poured out of the big black Lab, and he made high-pitched singing noises. He covered the man with kisses and tried desperately to climb into his arms. Failing that, he turned in circles, forcing Smitty to move his head out of the way every time the long tail whipped around. The dog rubbed his entire body against the man, and sounds of disbelief and excitement came from deep inside his chest.

Smitty was actually surprised when, despite himself, he became aware of a few tears falling from the corners of his own eyes.

"Do you want me to put him in the kennel, Smitty?"

"No, no, that's okay, Dan. I'll take care of it. Thanks for picking him up."

"What about the rest of the paperwork?" Dan asked. "Do you want me to fill it out?"

"Naw." Smitty laughed. "It's late. You've been driving all day I'll take care of that in the morning."

"Okeydokey," Dan said. "I'll head on home. That's one happy dog right there. I don't know if I've ever seen one so glad to see his trainer. Good night, Smitty."

"Good night, Dan."

As the car pulled away, Smitty thought about what Dan had just said. Sitting on the steps still hugging the big dog, Smitty knew that this was more than the usual dog/ex-trainer reunion. He really crossed the line with this animal. Oh sure, he loved all the dogs he worked with, but somehow this behaviorally challenged friend reached the part of his heart that made him willing to break every rule in order to make sure Bart would have a great life.

"Okay, pal," he said, rising. "Somehow we're going to have to figure out how to check you back into school, so I think I'll take you home for a few days while we think about it. How do you feel about that?"

The big dog nuzzled his hand, making it clear he didn't care what they did-he was with Trainer, so anything was just fine with him.

The man and the dog found Smitty's Camaro in the parking lot, and in a few minutes they were on the highway headed home.

Bart still trembled with excitement as he settled on the seat next to Smitty, within reach of his hand. He didn't take his eyes off the man, and the black tail thumped every time Smitty glanced his way. Bart didn't understand how all this had happened, and he didn't care.

For his part, the man was aware that he had a real problem.

There were many things that Smitty didn't know much about, but he had come to realize one thing. Although he could never admit it publicly, with very few exceptions he liked-no, loved- dogs more than he liked most people.

After fifty years on the planet, there were some basic truths he understood. A dog's love was absolute and did not require anything but love honestly given in return. He was convinced that there were no bad dogs, only those that were misunderstood or mishandled by the humans they interacted with. He knew the viable communication possible with these creatures simply by paying attention and learning to read their body language and tone of voice, just as they read his.

Smitty developed all of these feelings and many ingrained instincts over thirty years as a professional trainer, first in the air force, where he worked with rescue dogs, and later on a tenure with the Detroit PD with drug enforcement animals. It was good fortune that brought him into guide dog work, where he had placed over a thousand teams of dogs and blind people into the field. There was no question that Smitty loved what he did, and if he were really honest with himself, he would have to admit that he was obsessed with his work and the dogs that he trained.

This obsession, he knew, had cost him his marriage. He could even remember the night when it hit the fan. His wife accused him of loving animals more than he loved her, and in that moment of real candor, he realized that she was probably right.

Since then he had lived as a confirmed bachelor in a two-bedroom bas.e.m.e.nt apartment without much of a view. He slept in one of the bedrooms, and the other became his designated hall of fame with walls filled to bursting with pictures of dogs and people, the teams he was so proud of. His two indispensable possessions dominated his living room: a large La-Z-Boy chair and his one true luxury-a gigantic plasma screen TV that cost him a fortune.

Smitty was a sports junkie, and along with never missing a good game, he wasn't averse to betting on a few that he thought were stone-cold lead pipe locks. Thankfully he never bet a lot. He learned that he just couldn't pick 'em. In fact, there were some months when he cut back on his beer budget to pay off his losses.

This was his favorite time of year, when the Giants were getting ready for spring training, the NBAs Warriors were laboring in the middle of another losing season, and the 49ers prepared for the NFL draft in the hope that they would find the next Rice or Montana. He was thankful that ESPN covered the rest of the country, because a sports junkie never knew when he might wake up at three in the morning and just have to see the national highlights.

If home is where the heart is, Smitty's house was exactly where Bart wanted to be, even if it was the simple abode of a not-too-domestic bachelor.

The staccato beat of Bart's tail on the kitchen floor reflected the joy in his eyes as he watched Smitty moving about to build himself a big sandwich. The last few days had been the happiest in the dog's whole life. He was with Smitty. Not in a kennel, not in a house with people who didn't understand him, like Lady. He was here with the one he cared most about in the world, and that's all a dog really needed.