Autumn by Iris Rosewater

Linus Hopper was a creature of habit. It had been years since he had tried anything new… a new brand of toothpaste, a new outfit, a new food. When he turned 70, he decided to retire from change. He never much liked it, anyway. Now that Else had passed on, there was no one to bother him about it. So, he stayed safely and contentedly in his small life day in and day out, with every decision having been made years and years before. It was a gentle rhythm you could fall asleep to. Every morning, he woke without an alarm at exactly 7:05 a.m. He had one cup of Postum with his Newspaper. He put on his cap and grey wool sweater and headed out, walking just around the corner to the bakery, where he purchased one raspberry turnover. He held the pastry up to his nose, careful not to get any sweet on the grey bristles of his moustache, and smelled the warm fruit inside before taking a bite. Licking his fingers, he walked down the street to his place of business: an antique bookstore which he bought after retiring as a kind of hobby. It wasn’t terribly busy. Usually, he sat all day in his wingchair just next to the front counter and read. It smelled of old wood and tobacco smoke. It was quiet. It was predictable. It was perfect.

The autumn was an irritating season for Linus. It was a changing season. The weather was fickle. He did like the trees, though, despite himself – and he watched from his window as a surprisingly strong wind stripped the boughs naked, filling the air with fiery orange and red leaves. The skeletons seemed undignified to him. And cold. As the light faded in the late afternoon, he watched the last of the November harvest swirl in the street. Soon he would walk home in the dark to the serenade of their thin bones crunching beneath his penny loafers. Mortality played out. Linus drew a long breath and turned the page in his book.

The following morning, Linus woke up at 7:05. He retrieved his newspaper from the front steps. He drank his postum. He put on his cap and sweater. But, as he stepped out into borders of his small world, he was met by an anomaly. A small, brown, wiry-haired dog blocked his way and looked up at him through what looked like overgrown eyebrows. Linus stood for a moment and stared back. And then, wordlessly, sidestepped the animal and continued his way to the bakery. The leaves were a thick blanket over the sidewalk and had dried in the crisp night air. It was a noisy trudge around the corner. A little too noisy. He turned around. The dog stopped too, and wagged its little brown tail expectantly behind him. Irritated now, Linus marched on for his turnover. The dog watched through the window and sniffed at the air as Linus took a delighted whiff. Linus watched back. This was going to be a problem.

All the way down the street to the bookshop the dog followed Linus, never daring to walk at his side, but dutifully keeping the same pace. That first day was really unnerving. The mutt parked itself right outside his shop and stayed there the whole day. Linus pretended not to pay it any attention, for fear of encouraging the thing, but it stayed in his peripheral vision all day long – sometimes sleeping, sometimes licking its untidy fur, but usually staring through the window right at him. The best thing, he decided, was to pay it no mind and it would grow bored of trying and go away. But, it didn’t. It followed him home that night and greeted him with a kind of doggy smile the next morning as he opened the front door for his newspaper. Linus sighed as he heard the steady crunch-crunch, crunch-crunch of the four paws behind him on the way to work. He felt a pang of guilt, which he tried to swallow, as he took his first delicious bite of raspberry turnover and caught the longing gaze of the dog waiting for him outside. He used a napkin instead of licking his fingers as he walked to work.

Linus’ only customer remarked at what a loyal pet he must have as he stepped into the shop. Not much for conversation, Linus gave a polite chuckle and nod before returning to his book. The dog must have seen and took it the wrong way, he decided as they walked together through the early night back to his apartment. Before turning in, he put bowl of water on the front stoop.

By the third day, both he and the dog had become used to this new routine. It had even started walking next to Linus instead of behind him… and, against his better judgment, he gave the little thing the last bite of his pastry as he left the bakery. He pondered over his predicament all that day, without the pretense of any book in his lap. The two of them stared each other down, having an unspoken conversation with their faces. ‘I’m boring,’ Linus’ face warned. ‘I don’t care,’ countered the mutt. ‘I’m old and irritable!’ he frowned. ‘I’ll survive,’ it reasoned back. ‘I eat all the same food and wear all the same clothes and I never go anyplace new at all…’ he chewed on his lip. ‘I know,’ smiled the dog, letting its tongue loll out playfully. So, that afternoon, they made their decision.

Linus’ fingers were cold as he twisted the old key in its lock to open his apartment. He patted Mitzy, who looked back up at him with her warm black eyes before trotting for the first time into their nice warm home.