Episode 3: Who Owns the Ocean?

Buddy’s been with Ronwen for just over a month, and both dog and woman are happy with each other as housemates.

Their morning routine includes a ramble outside (or a dash, if the weather is unconducive to rambling), breakfast, and then a quiet session at the little table by the window. Ronwen works on a puzzle, or reads, her iPad perched against a lamp to free one hand for her mug of coffee or tea, and the other to reach down, periodically, to pat Buddy. When she’s in a reading rather than puzzle-making mood, she reads aloud for Buddy’s enjoyment. Genevieve’s funny asides in the Bulletin, a scary bit from a T. Kingfisher novel, a meditation from Thich Nhat Hanh, or a few lines from a Matt Moberg poem:

We want our stories to be gritty, our paintings to be abstract, and our songs to be full of clever, cynical ironies. We’ve become so used to the dark that when someone hands us a lantern,
we check it for a hidden camera.

I can’t change that. But let me say this:

I’ve never met a drunk who fell in love with a gutter
because the concrete was authentic.
I’ve never met a freezing man who prayed for a sharper frost. 1

How can a man she’s never met see right into the very center of her? Know that what she longs for is not gritty or cynical but the soft glow of a lantern-lit window?

Sometimes she shares her ponderings with Buddy, other times she keeps them to herself.

Just now, her concerns are more practical than philosophical. Earlier today she’d discovered they are almost out of dog food, and her car is on the fritz again, which means after their morning routine she and Buddy will need to walk to the store for something to tide them over until Missy delivers their next order.

Their walk to the Apple Cart will take them past the apartments, and thus the protests mentioned in yesterday’s Bulletin. She hopes she’ll be able to wave in solidarity and then continue with her errands. She is sympathetic to the tenants’ plight, but she has no desire to get involved or weigh in on the situation.

Reminders: Find links to the Episodes in order in the Table of Contents here (new episodes added within a day or two of posting). Find the Cast of Characters here. Both links and Cast of Characters are also available on The Dogs of Looser Island website www.alaughingdog.com.

Recap: Ronwen continues to monitor the Looser Island Bulletin, hoping to discover she’s entitled to keep the $500,000 in the boat that washed ashore. Buddy’s good company, but Ronwen could certainly use the money. So far, the only information in the Bulletin has been an article about eviction notices at the Maple Lane Apartments, and the tenants’ protests to the notices.

© Shari Lane 2026 All Rights Reserved

The clouds lie heavy, ponderous, pressing down upon a sea as still as stone. No rain is forecast, but having spent her entire life on Looser Island, Ronwen knows the drill, and she has dressed for all eventualities: sturdy, waterproof hiking boots; a parka with a fake-fur-lined hood; a pair of rain pants tucked into her shabby red backpack, to be hastily donned if her hopes for a dry walk are dashed. It’s about two miles from her house to the Apple Cart, and Ronwen has just muttered a prayer to the rain gods to please, for once, let the forecast be true, let the chance of rain really be zero percent, when the sky opens up and pours.

When she arrives, thoroughly drenched, in the village, she is even less inclined to hang about and chat with the protesters. Her progress is stopped, however, when Jesus-the-dog breaks ranks to greet Buddy. After a month of regular trips from the cabin to the village, the two dogs have met several times, and at each encounter there has been the obligatory checking in with each other’s nether regions, followed by a kind of mutual benediction. (Ronwen and Genevieve also greet each other every time, of course, but in the human fashion, no sniffing required or offered.)

“They recognize each other as kindred spirits.”

Ronwen looks up and finds Eli smiling at her, blue eyes vivid under alarming white eyebrows.

“I didn’t realize you had blue eyes,” she says.

Buddy looks up at her, questioning.

“Since the day I was born,” Eli says, and gives a snort, a kind of monosyllabic chuckle.

Ronwen tries to keep walking, but Buddy moves to stand in front of her, and she trips, and falls into Eli. Hard.

“Buddy!” Ronwen says, extricating herself. Eli’s wet raincoat has added to her already sodden state, and whatever moment she had with Eli’s blue eyes is over. She just wants to finish her errand and get home. Then, too, she’s surprised and frustrated that Buddy was so careless. In their short acquaintance, she’s observed that Buddy is an expert in staying out of the way—presumably a skill he learned to avoid being yelled at or worse, and that thought makes Ronwen ashamed of her angry outburst just now. It’s her own damn fault she tripped, not the dog’s, after all.

“Sheriff Tom have any luck finding the owner of that money?” Eli asks, before she can turn to leave.

“Not yet,” Ronwen says, wiping raindrops (and possibly snot) from the end of her nose.

“Did you walk here?” Eli says, apparently just noticing how wet Ronwen is.

“Yes,” she says. “Car’s not working.”

“Let me give you a ride home,” he says. “I’ve done all the protesting I have in me for today, anyway.”

For a split-second that stretches on far longer due to some strange permutation of quantum physics, Ronwen hesitates. It’s a nice offer, but as an introvert, she has to reckon with the fact that time spent in close proximity with others has consequences.

Everyone assumes Ronwen is lonely, since losing both husband and dog, but—though she misses Nash and Theo desperately—the truth is that she likes her own company. Now that Buddy has come to live with her, she doesn’t even lack for conversation. In fact, Buddy’s started commenting on Ronwen’s musings and mutterings. Sometimes it’s just an expressive twitch of the whiskers, sometimes a sympathetic nuzzle, and sometimes a verbalized chuffing, like the pfft Steinbeck’s dog makes in Travels with Charlie. Once, Ronwen could have sworn Buddy said “I hear you,” but she later decided it was probably just the second glass of red wine she’d allowed herself that night.

To keep warm, of course.

“That’d be nice,” she says to Eli’s offer of a ride, thinking consequences be damned. “As long as you don’t mind stopping at the Apple Cart first. We came to town because Buddy’s out of food.”

“Your chariot awaits,” Eli says. “By which I mean my old farm truck.” He laughs, and Ronwen finds herself laughing with him, before wiping her nose on the back of her hand again. Like a damn school girl.

“I don’t suppose you have a handkerchief?” she asks.

“Mm. Um. I don’t suppose I’ve ever owned a handkerchief,” Eli says. “Sorry. There’s probably some napkins in the truck, from my last trip to the mainland. Don’t tell anyone,” he lowers his voice, “but I have a thing for McDonald’s french fries.”

A flash of lightning, followed by thunder. “God disapproves,” Ronwen says. “But your secret’s safe with me.”

An anonymous tip led to the discovery of a body in Unit 2 of the Maple Lane Apartments, hence this special issue. Rather than reinvent the wheel I’ll just let the Sheriff’s Log do the talking for me. (Sheriff Tom asked that I include all the entries thus far, even though the others are irrelevant to this story. It doesn’t do to annoy the sheriff, so I’ve complied!)

Sheriff’s Log

Speeding motorists. Two citations issued for speeding this week. Slow down, people! Remember you’re on an island that’s barely eight kilometers at its widest. It’s not like you have far to go.

Intruders. Doc Johnson called and said he thought there was an intruder in his garden. Upon investigation it was determined a couple of school kids who live further up the hill were using his yard as a shortcut. An offer was made to issue a verbal warning, but Doc Johnson said not to worry about it, now he knows who it is he doesn’t mind.

Maple Lane Apartments. On December 2, our office received an anonymous call about Unit 2 at the Maple Lane Apartments. Unit 2 belongs to the manager, Theresa Scowager. Ms. Scowager did not respond to calls so Undersheriff Nancy engaged in forcible entry and found an unknown male, deceased.

The coroner was summoned from the mainland. (As most people know, Looser Island is too small to have its own coroner. As most people also know, there’s almost never a need, so this was somewhat of a novelty for our office.)

Neither cause of death nor time of death have been determined, yet, but the coroner did tell Undersheriff Nancy that the cold weather likely slowed decomposition. Factoring in that fact, it appears from the preliminary examination that the person may have died as long as a month ago.

Initial interviews with tenants were performed.

Looser Island Bulletin publisher Genevieve Macy noted that the tenants had lodged a complaint, around mid-November, about a bad smell. Ms. Scowager was on island shortly before Thanksgiving to investigate the smell and issue eviction notices, Genevieve said, so she certainly would have noticed a body in her apartment if she’d entered. However, Genevieve also pointed out Ms. Scowager does not live in her apartment, and doesn’t even stay there when she comes to the island, preferring to stay at the Breckenridge Inn. Finally, Genevieve said Ms. Scowager told her (Genevieve) in an interview that she (Ms. Scowager) was quitting her job and moving to Florida.

The management company has confirmed Ms. Scowager put in her notice, effective November 30.

Anyone with information about the deceased man and/or Ms. Scowager’s whereabouts is urged to contact the sheriff’s office.

For the first time since Buddy’s arrival, “a reading from the Bulletin” brings fear rather than comfort.

“What if . . . ” Ronwen says to Buddy.

What if, indeed, Buddy thinks. Lacking the proper vocal chords, he can’t articulate it, and being a dog, he can’t even imagine the terrible things the future might hold (or wonderful, for that matter, though that’s not at issue just now).

He knows only that his human is unsettled, and it feels as though anything could happen—murder, mayhem, missed meals.

Anything.

Meet me here next week for Eli’s proposal . . .