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Chapter 1
Did you hearthat?”
I listened for a moment and said, “What?”
Mary Catherine said, “It sounded like a growl.”
I stifled a laugh. “You mean like a wolf or a bear?”
“It certainly wasn’t a poodle in a purse like we’d see in Manhattan.”
“They haven’t had predators like that in Ireland for hundreds of years. Maybe it’s the hound of the Baskervilles. Like in the movie where Basil Rathbone played Sherlock Holmes. A Great Dane. Ha.”
We were near the top of Howth Head, a short drive from Dublin. My wife of nine days was hearing the calls of imaginary wildlife. Or was she? I froze for a moment and heard the low, guttural growl of a large animal.
As I pulled myself up the last incline, I saw it. I slowly stood up and held both my hands out. I said in a soft voice, “Hey there.” I was staring into the eyes of a black Rottweiler that had to be at least 120 pounds. I tried to signal to Mary Catherine to stay on the lower part of the path. I heard her quick intake of air and knew she saw the dog too.
It dipped its head and growled again. The muscles in its shoulders and back popped as it moved slowly from side to side. The hair on its back stiffened. I wanted to tell Mary Catherine to run, but that might attract the dog’s attention.
Our eyes met. I assessed the risk of facing down a dangerous animal. Then I noticed something. Just a hint of a movement. In the stub of its tail. On a whim I said, “Who’s a good boy?”
The tail started wagging, fast, like a metronome trying to beat out the rhythm to “Flight of the Bumblebee.” I stood up straight. The dog waddled toward me, tail still shooting back and forth. The dog’s thick fur felt nice between my fingers. The dog rubbed against my leg, looking for more attention.
Mary Catherine climbed the few steps up to me and said, “You make friends wherever you go. You think it’s lost?”
I shook my head as I rubbed the dog’s back. It was well cared for. I kneeled to get a look at the tag on the collar.
Just then, a boy, about seven, appeared on the path in front of us. He called out, “C’mere, Lulubell.” The dog turned and followed the boy. They trotted away together without another look back.
Mary Catherine said, “Lulubell. Of course a female found Michael Bennett charming.” She wrapped her arms around me from behind and kissed me on the shoulder in relief. I had to turn around and give her a kiss on the lips.
I couldn’t believe how great this trip had been, how different it was from my everyday life. It was the first time we’d ever been able to let go together. No work, no kids, and no responsibilities.
It was the last full day of our honeymoon in Ireland. I couldn’t have wanted to accomplish any more. We had connected with some of Mary Catherine’s family and even met a few of my grandfather’s cousins. Their favorite saying was that everyone in Ireland had a cousin in New York City.
As we were starting our hike back to the car, Mary Catherine said she wanted to play a game. Name one of our children, she said, softening her command with a smile, and their most obvious attribute. Quick as I could.
Mary Catherine started by saying, “Juliana, talented. Jane, smart. Brian, determined. Ricky, funny. Trent, thoughtful.”
When she paused for breath, I jumped in. “Eddie, spontaneous. Fiona, clever. Bridget, serene. Shawna, loving. Chrissy, sweet.” I took a quick breath and said, “Great game—I win.”
Mary Catherine went to give me a playful shove, but I turned so she fell into my embrace. Then we exchanged a long, loving kiss until we found ourselves lying in clover, making out like teenagers.
I had to whisper to her, “I’ve never been this happy, and you’ve never looked so beautiful.”
