“Meet me at the oasis! Send your camel to bed! …” Why does that long-ago song continue to echo in her head? Echoes? There are no echoes in the desert!

She imagined herself to be a mighty and beautiful princess. As she traveled the desert on her camel, she mused, “Ya know, maybe that ancient woman Jezebel, from the Bible, wasn’t really such a bad person. If she were alive today, she’d probably be an ‘influencer’, or maybe a TV evangel …”

Mmmm! A desert prince was licking her ear! She squirmed gently in pleasure and giggled softly. Now her Bedouin bedmate was tugging on her nightgown! She slowly opened her eyes to behold …

Oh! It was her dog, Nathaniel Spaniel, telling her he wanted to go outside! She patted him affectionately as she got out of bed. The dog excitedly ran ahead of her to the door. In the dawn’s early light, he relished the chill of a September morn.

Rachel returned to her chamber to get dressed. Jeans, a flannel shirt, and running shoes. She paused [pawsed?] for a moment and gazed out the oriel window. Wow! That was quite a dream! And yet, wasn’t life better with a canine companion? Loyal, playful, affectionate! Trusting and trustworthy! Like a U.S. Marine, Semper fidelis! No man from a romance novel could measure up to a dog!

The raven-haired damsel grabbed a ball and went to join Nathaniel. They chased each other, played fetch, and simply reveled in the crisp morning air as they ran about. The cascabel on the dog’s collar jingled as he chased a squirrel. Rachel noticed the pimpernel flowers growing beneath the laurel bushes that lined the gravel carriageway. Although many gardeners considered these flowers to be weeds, the lass enjoyed their vibrant colors –not just scarlet, but blue and deep purple and even orange.

When they grew tired of their play, they returned to the house for breakfast. The dog eagerly ate his kibble; as he emptied his bowl, Rachel thought she really ought to buy the stuff by the barrel. The young woman enjoyed her bagel with a schmear and lox, along with freshly brewed Columbian coffee.

After their meal, Nathaniel, the vigilant sentinel, took his position at the oriel window, where he could watch the birds. Rachel glanced at the unfinished painting on her easel, then decided to take up a new romance novel.

Later that morning, when Rachel was immersed in a tale of dashing pirates, she was interrupted by Nathaniel’s whining. The dog put his front paws on her knee, he whimpered and tugged on her pant leg. She absentmindedly patted him and resumed her reading. He ran about the room, to the door, back tohis mistress, and to the door again. Rachel finally comprehended what he wanted; she let him out and then returned to her maritime adventure.

It wasn’t long before she finished her steamy-hot, ‘bodice-ripping’ romance novel. She set the book down and looked about the room. She spotted the empty bowl which this morning had been full of caramel candies. Hey, here’s another snack bowl with a few pretzel crumbs. And an empty highball glass. She sniffed the glass. When had she fixed herself a ‘Fuzzy Navel’ cocktail? And where’s Nathaniel?

She felt dazed and confused. Had she had more than one cocktail? She had to clear her head. She couldn’t continue stumbling around her chambers, wide-eyed, short of breath, and with her heart racing. Damn, that book was hot!! Time for a cold shower! Then a long, hot, relaxing one! Oh, she just wanted to wrap herself in a large, plush Turkish towel and lie down for a nap! “To sleep, perchance to dream!”

Rachel felt more like herself again after her shower. She even skipped her nap! In a little while, she became aware of some whining and of something scratching at the bottom panel of the front door. OMG, she had forgotten her dog! Nathaniel gave her a puzzled, hurt look and rushed to his water bowl.

That evening, Rachel battered and fried two mackerel fillets and ate them with falafel. Nathaniel dined on canned dog food. Then the two of them sat together while Rachel watched a movie on the telly.

Rachel slept soundly that night, with no erotic dreams of camels and desert princes. In the morning, she and Nathaniel followed their usual routine of some play time on the lawn followed by kibble and a bagel for brekkie. Then Rachel continued her work on an oil painting, a portrait of Nathaniel asleep by the oriel window. As she painted, she snacked on hazel nuts; she recalled the ancient Celtic tradition that these nuts gave one wisdom and inspiration.

Nathaniel stirred and leaped to his sentry post at the window. He gave a short bark, not of fear or of warning, but merely an announcement that someone was approaching the house. Rachel peered out the window. She saw a white van coming up the carriageway. Oh, it’s Daniel, the fishmonger. He stopped at the kitchen door and unloaded two baskets, one bushel of cockles and one bushel of mussels, alive, alive. OH!

Rachel decided to deal with dinner preparations later. Now, it was time for a walk with Nathaniel. She ambled down the hill to where the garden gnomes had been busy with a special landscaping project. Her dog stayed by her side or bounded ahead or lagged behind, displaying all the spirited energy of a young, untrained hunting dog. As she walked, she watched a kestrel hover at treetop height and then dive to capture a mouse or other small prey animal.

Rachel set the two baskets on the counter. Cockles in one basket, mussels in the other, alive, alive-oh, just as the old song promised. She hummed the tune under her breath, then caught herself: enough with the songs that got stuck in her head and dragged her off into strange dreams. Tonight, no camels. Tonight, just dinner.

She filled the sink with cold water and began sorting through the mussels, tapping each shell against the counter. Any that refused to close, she set aside; her grandmother had taught her that trick, along with a dozen others as Nathaniel sniffed at her heel.

She hadn't wanted a dog, but after the divorce, the house had gone so quiet she could hear the mantel clock ticking from two rooms away. Her sister had insisted, practically shoved the leash into her hand outside the shelter. "You need something that needs you," she'd said, which had struck Rachel at the time as either very wise or very cruel, she couldn't decide which.

Nathaniel had been the runt of a litter nobody wanted, all ears and no dignity, and he'd looked up at her with an expression so devoid of judgment that she'd started crying right there in the parking lot. It was a precious, small thing, those two round black eyes so wet and animal, devoid of the simpering niceties of the lawyers, or friend's well-meaning questions about how she was "really" doing. Nathaniel was just a small brown dog who didn't know or care what a divorce was, who only wanted his belly rubbed and his dinner on time.

She'd spent that first winter mostly on the sofa, a shawl around her shoulders, staring at nothing in particular, and Nathaniel would climb up beside her, rest his chin on her knee, and simply wait. He waited through the crying jags and the silent ones, through the nights she couldn't sleep and the mornings she couldn't get up. By spring she was walking him every morning without having to talk herself into it. By summer she'd taken up her paintbrush again, and the first thing she painted, badly, was him: asleep in a patch of light by the oriel window, one ear turned inside out. She still had that painting. It hung, slightly crooked, in the front hall, and every time she passed it she thought: there he is, the little fellow who fixed me.

Now she rinsed the mussels a final time and set a heavy pot on the stove. Butter, a chopped shallot, a splash of white wine, a scatter of parsley. She let it simmer until the kitchen filled with a bright, briny steam that had nothing whatsoever to do with deserts or princes or Fuzzy Navels. Nathaniel lay under the table, chin on his paws, keeping his usual watch, though there was never anything to guard against.

When the shells finally yawned open, she ladled the mussels into a wide bowl, tore off a heel of crusty bread for sopping up the broth, and glanced down at Nathaniel, who thumped his tail once against the floor.

"Good boy," she said. "Best decision I ever made."