A Lesson From James

‘That’s why I don’t get attached to no animal,’ James said.

          We stood outside my shop in the light from the open door. James was on his way to the Lodge. His truck was still running. He had heard about my dog, knew how I cared for him and just wanted to stop in quick and check on me.

          ‘I had a dog I kindly loved like that when I was a kid,’ he said. ‘She had pups and run off and got herself killed. I ain’t got close to an animal since.’

          James looked through the darkness at his house in the bend above mine, perhaps to see if the porch light was on, which it was.  

          ‘Well, I better git,’ he said. ‘Just wanted to see how you were.’

          He climbed inside his truck.

          ‘Thanks,’ I said.

          I didn’t think any more of James’s condolences until the next day. I was doing some menial task, sanding, my mind wandering over all the little joys my dog, my friend, had brought me, the love we had shared, moments I would never have again but in memory. There were tears. Through them though, I thought of what James had said.

          Why would anyone, I asked myself, deprive themselves of this kind of happiness, this much love, just so they would never have to loose it?

          How silly. How sad. You loose everything eventually. There are so many creatures—animals, people—in the world, any one of which could bring new love and happiness into your life. If you moved from love, to love, to love, without a moment’s hesitation, you could, in theory, live a life free from sorrow, be in constant joy. Love could actually conquer all. Is this not Heaven?

          And I said, ‘Get up. Make more love.’

Nothing you don't know.

          Life moves on around empty spaces, we skirt them, turn away our wet glances, to avoid another scene, up bootstraps and step into the glare of another day, numb with wonder at what comes and what goes.    

I had to put Doggers down yesterday. A car hit him and broke his little spine, just above his tail. Fixing him was possible, but iffy, and he was old. Yes, I cried, and cried and cried. I am still crying. No, you don’t understand. You would have to have learned to love as a dog does: pure, relentless, regardless—to be loved that way in return. You would have to take away your wife, your husband, your sons, your daughters, grandkids, best friends—every creature you know and care for, who fills your every day, gives you purpose and reason to keep on. You would have to be alone, in a quiet, empty house, far, far away from the people who are doing their very best to understand.

Thank you for trying.  

Jesus. My heart. My big, stupid heart. 

Doggers is gone.

Damn Stephanie, You Have Some Pull.

I used to be in a band,

that much I think you know.

We did all right... success wise.
That is to say, there were lots of chicks around.

On rare occasions, one of those chicks will find me, sequestered as I am.

On even rarer occasions, I will care.

This is one of those occasions.

Out of the Blue Clear Sky

Yesterday evening I was bringing wood up to the house, mulling over my bills, my lack of finances to cover them, and how I could use a little side work to pad my checking account, when Mike Lloyd stops out in the road and asks if I have a ratchet strap.

          Behind his Explorer, Mike has a small trailer in tow, on top of which is the twenty-foot flagpole (keep in mind, I live in a secluded, rural area and you can do stupid things like this), that he has been saying he was going to steal for several weeks now. 

         
          No, Mike did not steal the flagpole. Miracle of miracles, it was given to him out of the blue. Problem was, all he had in the truck  at the time was two decrepit bunge cords to hold it down with. Apparently, he had been creeping from house to house in search of somebody home to lend him a couple of decent tie-downs.

         
          ‘Yes, I have a ratchet strap,’ I tell him, ‘pull back to the shop.’

          Well, no sooner does Mike get in the drive, but some truck I don’t recognize pulls in behind him. I’m on the passenger side of the vehicles, trying to keep senile Doggers from getting run over in the commotion. The truck stops, and I poke my head in the window to see who it is; what they want.

          It’s some guy from over at Jackie’s, I know, but don’t know.

          ‘Jackie tells me you build cabinets,’ he says.

          ‘Yes, as a matter of fact, I do.’

          ‘Well I need a few.’

          Perfect.

                                                                                                                  

                                                                               Now if only Cupid was as efficient as the Job Fairy.