Who Do I Lean On? by Neta Jackson Page A

they’d formed! Lucy, the streetwise “bag lady,” and Martha Shepherd, my slightly demented mother, who had spent most of her life in a small town on the Western prairie. Both of them in their seventies—actually, that was a guess in Lucy’s case—but there the similarity ended.
    I brought my mother to Chicago when it was obvious she could no longer live alone. Brought her to work with me at the shelter so she didn’t have to stay alone at the penthouse. Until my husband gave his ultimatum: find another place for Grandma or send her home. According to Philip, the penthouse just wasn’t big enough for a family of four and a mother-in-law and her rambunctious mutt.
    For Lucy it was simple. Martha should stay at Manna House. “She homeless, ain’t she?”
    My mother became “Gramma Shep” to the other residents— happy to just sit in the multipurpose room while drama bustled around her, patiently listening to anyone who wanted to talk or vent, tickled to read a story to a whiny kid. Streetwise Lucy, who normally only came to the shelter when she had to (“Too many rules!”), took over care for Dandy, walking him every day, something my mother could no longer do—especially not in Chicago. A responsibility that bonded Lucy to my mother and Dandy in a special way I didn’t have the heart to break.
    Which is why I gave Dandy to Lucy when my mother died.
    Something I still needed to explain to my youngest son.
    I dumped my purse and tote bag on the desk. “You two doing all right?”
    â€œWe doin’ okay. Dandy makin’ friends with half the city. But I stopped by ta pick up some more dog food from that stash ya got here—ya know, when he was Hero Dog.”
    Oh yes, Hero Dog . The night Dandy had scared off a midnight intruder. When the media got hold of the story, Chicagoans smothered “Hero Dog” with bags of food, chew toys, and stuffed animals. And checks for the shelter. Which was how we got that big whale of a white passenger van the residents dubbed “Moby Van.” Most of the other stuff got donated to an organization that helped fixed-income seniors care for their pets, except for six months’ worth of dog food we kept stashed here for Dandy.
    â€œNo problem. You got room in your cart for a whole bag?” Lucy’s cart stood in a corner of my office, relatively empty, considering. “Uh, where’s all your stuff ?”
    â€œIn the wash. Didn’t have no quarters for the Laundromat. Angela said I could use the machines if nobody else had ’em signed up. That’s why I came early. Me an’ Dandy been here since breakfast.”
    â€œWell, I’m glad to see you both.” Definitely glad to see Dandy looking fit and healthy. I couldn’t help worrying how he’d fare as a “street dog.” Cold weather, though . . . that would be a different story, something we needed to talk about.
    But not now. “Hey, I know somebody upstairs who’d love to see Dandy. My boys are back, Lucy. I got them registered for school and everything. Paul’s here today. You mind taking Dandy upstairs to see him? I’ve got work to do before staff meeting anyway.”
    â€œOkay by me.” The old lady hefted herself out of my desk chair, dressed as usual in several layers of mismatched clothes. “If you think your kid’s nose ain’t gonna get outta joint ’cause Dandy’s with me.”
    Ah . Very astute. Maybe I should leave well enough alone. Paul was probably immersed in the Monopoly game by now, but if he saw Dandy . . .
    No. What if he found out Dandy had been here and he didn’t get to see him? He’d really feel like he’d been cut out of Dandy’s life.
    â€œMm. He might. But I still think he’d love to see Dandy. Go on . . . and thanks. You can leave your cart here if you want.”
    Lucy pondered. She rarely went anywhere without