The Walk-Alongs

By Anne Ruby

Shaken-up by a twelve-animal crew of opinionated Walk-Alongs in the Changeover-Zone between life and death, a misfit Death-Angel botches her assignment to escort a WWII medic into death in 1945. Now, after eighty years, she must make things right before her superiors find out and Death erases all traces of existence of the former-medic — now a centenarian veterinarian — and the ways he touched others along the way.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Judie Gerber
• Release date: Oct 4, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223899105

Book preview

COPYRIGHT

Copyright©2023 by Dr. Judie Gerber

All rights reserved.

Published in the United States of America.

DEDICATION

To Rudi. I wish I’d met you in this life.

CHAPTER ONE: THE CREW GATHERS

Emerging from the exotic forest with an ancient papyrus scroll in hand, a tall Glowing Being stops before the wide stone staircase-bridge that serpentines skyward, above a lake framed with waterfalls, to a light beacon amid the prismatic clouds.

As birds and butterflies flutter about, dozens of animals — wild and domesticated — approach the bridge from all directions and solemnly climb its stairs, paying no mind to the Being.

Wearing a gleaming cord with knots evenly-spaced around his neck, a regal golden Pharoah Hound hastens down the steps against the upward flow of animal-traffic. Reaching the base, he stands before the Being and bows respectfully. What riveting news brings you here to Animal Heaven, Guardian? he queries in his kingly voice.

The Master of Light — your Master — is returning to life, the Being replies, then unrolls the scroll to reveal the hieroglyph of two lightning bolts striking an Egyptian noble’s chest as he lies in a sarcophagus surrounded by twelve animals — a pony, a goat, three cats, and seven dogs, with one resembling the Hound.

When? the Hound inquires.

Nine months.

Trembling with excitement, the Hound’s erect ears redden. How long after that will his twin souls merge?

Only a blink compared to the five-thousand years they’ve been apart, the Being answers. You all must renew your bond with him in his childhood years for he will die young this time too.

The Hound’s soulful eyes shine with joy.

Five-thousand years ago, he chose you all as his Walk-Alongs because he never questioned your loyalty, the Glowing Being confides. He knew that animals are true to their nature and always walk close to the light.

I shall tell the others, the Hound states with a nod farewell, then races up the steps, maneuvering around animals to the upper section where the stones are bathed in light. He sprints past the ANIMAL HEAVEN sign and into the beacon in the clouds, where the stairs finally end in a stunning paradise of meadows, forests, lakes, mountains, desert, tundra, and animals galore.

A ginger kitten leaps from a tree onto the Hound’s head. She cranes her neck down to peer into his eyes. He nods. She twirls. I’ll miss Heaven, she chimes in her sing-song voice. But I’ve missed life and our Master even more.

Let’s round up the twelve, the Hound rallies.

With the kitten riding on his neck gripping the cord, the Hound trots across a meadow of tall grass as they sing,

"Come walk-along, come talk-along,

Come travel across great realms,

Come walk-along, come talk-along,

With a Light Master at our helms."

The Hound runs around a perfectly circular pond of fish, snails, and turtles, still serenading, "Twelve symbolizes a full circle,

Completeness and perfection,

Harmony and cosmic order,

And Nature’s favorite confection."

The Hound reaches a big barn’s barnyard where an elderly chestnut Shetland Pony and a young black-with-white-spots Lop-Ear Goat play a game of cards with chickens. They spy the Hound and kitten, throw their cards up in the air, and croon along with them,

"Twelve main gods of Egypt,

Twelve Olympian Greek gods of fable,

Twelve of anything makes a dozen,

Twelve Knights of the Round Table."

The pony and goat follow the Hound and his kitten passenger along a path to a cozy quaint village. Outside a bistro, an entertaining Irish Setter juggles a dozen cookies while taking bites of them. Seeing the four animals, he prances excitedly on his hind legs and joins in their song,

"Twelve Sanskrit names for the sun,

Music has twelve keys,

Twelve basic hues in the color wheel,

Twelve DNA strands if you please."

The four animals follow the Setter into the bistro, where they line-dance around the diners while belting out,

"Twelve main subatomic particles in quantum,

Twelve months in all of our years,

Twelve stars in the halos of saints,

Twelve jurors in a jury of peers."

A grey Standard Poodle sitting at the counter looks up from his newspaper and beams. He joins in the song and harmonizes,

"Twelve cranial nerves serve our bodies,

Twelve cakes do make  a nice stew,

Twelve lions stand guard at Solomon’s throne,

Twelve Walk-Alongs make a full crew."

A brown-and-black tabby Maine Coon cat holds court at a table of tom cat philosophers. He stops mid-speech. Close-by, a silky white Persian cat sleeping on the windowsill in the sun opens one sulky eye, then opens her other eye wide. Fully awake, she sits up. Both cats join the choir, "Twelve archetypes and signs of the Zodiac,

The Tree of Life bears twelve fruits,

The twelfth dimension is not-far-away,

And embedded in our roots."

The poodle and two cats follow the songsters out to the street. The eight animals parade past doghouses with landscaped yards, fancy cat treehouses, and friendly shops, their melody delighting animal onlookers,

"Come walk-along, come talk-along,

Come travel across great realms,

Come walk-along, come talk-along,

With a Light Master at our helms."

The street gets increasingly sandy until they’re at the edge of a vast desert. They stop before the endless dunes, their eyes on the shimmering structure in the distance, then dash toward it. As they do, the structure becomes clearer — an ancient stone pyramid. Outside of it, a stocky black-and-white Pit Bull stands guard near the entrance. As they approach, her fierce expression melts into joy. Wagging, she eagerly guides them inside, then down and up through narrow passages to a tomb room.

The hieroglyph on the human sarcophagus in the center of the space is the same as the one on the Glowing Being’s ancient papyrus scroll, except in this one, two glorious balls of celestial light emerge from the noble’s chest where the two lightning bolts strike it.

There are twelve animal sarcophagi of various sizes around the perimeter, each with their own hieroglyph of the animal within. Nine of them depict the animals present. The three others have a collie on them. The animals open these three, and inside each is a stuffed toy sable and white collie pup — a small girl with a pink nose, a medium boy with one ear upright and one down, and a blue-eyed tall boy. The toys are placed on the human sarcophagus over its chest location.

The sacred cord around the Hound’s neck gleams brighter. The awed animals stand back as the sarcophagus glows faintly below the toys, who gradually stir to life.

The magic is still alive, the Hound declares.

The collies open their eyes. They’re real pups now. The animals gather around them. The light in the sarcophagus chest glows stronger until its explosion of white light fills the room.

More than twelve dimensions away on Earth, in the night sky above Egypt, the explosion of white light trickles down to a remote pyramid. The familiar entry and hallways lead to the same tomb, but this one is a ravaged ruin with the sarcophagi and their contents scorched.

Shimmering spirals of time overlay the tomb and take us back to its desecration five-thousand years ago, in which robbers with torches and weapons of destruction hack away, led by a hulking, pockmarked brute slashing artifacts with a bone-handled knife carved with an ouroboros — a serpent forming a circle with its tail in its mouth.

CHAPTER TWO: LIFE AND DEATH PREPARE FOR A BIRTH

Acoiled rope on a ferry is released to men on the dock below as our view of 1919 San Francisco broadens to include the entire Paris of the West, also known as the Wettest City in the West. No bridges yet cross its busy bay filled with all styles of boats, but on dry land, its sophisticated borders expand in all directions.

In Lower Pacific Heights, a half-acre fenced property of gardens and pine trees contains an elegant Victorian-Italianate home, water tower-windmill, carriage house, and small stable. In a corner of the yard, one-year-old Freckles the Lop-Ear Goat bleats chattily to cynical fifteen-year-old Nigel the Shetland Pony, about the nosy black-and-white pup, Buddha-Momma the Pit Bull, in the neighbor’s yard poking her head under their shared fence.

On the front porch of the house, two-year-old Porter the Pharoah Hound rests one of his large upright ears on the pregnant belly of Mom, mid-twenties, sitting in a rocking chair surrounded by five rambunctious girls — seven-year-old Mary, five-year-old triplets Evelyn, Anna, and Dorothy, and three-year-old Ruthie. Each triplet holds a stuffed toy sable and white collie pup — Blue, the tall pup with blue eyes; Oswald, the medium