"Sometimes I lie awake at night and I ask where have I gone wrong? Then a voice says to me - This is going to take more than one night... In the Book of life, the answers aren't in the back."...Charlie Brown
Saturday, November 22, 2014
Back in May, at the age of 71, my wife decided she wanted a puppy. Setting aside my own thoughts on the matter, I drove about a hundred miles to just outside Winchester and we came home with a small, white, six-week-old bundle of curls introduced to us as supposedly being a mixture between Peekapoo and Shitzu. I named him “Spook”. For a few days we questioned whether the tiny thing had been taken from his mother too soon; but suddenly, not just “life” came to this creature, but an exuberance to the point of energy just pouring out of his every move. From all appearances, he could have been on drugs. He ran in circles. He leaped. As reported in an earlier post, he climbed a sloped tree in my back yard. He barked at everything, was scared of anything, and, in exploring the outside world, would bring back “gifts”, the steps outside my front door always littered, after one of his excursions, nuts, sticks, somebody’s discarded paper cup, anything at all that two young boys across the road might have left outside overnight. Cute; but too much “surprise” underneath Beth’s feet, she dealing with osteoporosis, four fractures in her back, and the possibility of a fall too much of a threat for us to keep him, especially since his heritage, as reported, was very much in error. Mama had a blind date somewhere. Short and cuddly had quickly turned into something that more resembled a cross between Disney’s “Tramp” and a kangaroo, his back legs enabling him not only to run like a greyhound, but also to leap high into the air. We asked for takers, didn’t expect volunteers, but, surprisingly, an acquaintance, one of those lover of pets, fell in love with his picture and took him home yesterday. Strange story, though. Earlier that morning, upon letting him back in from his first call of nature, I looked down to discover two shred of what appeared to be a dollar bill, still frozen and obviously torn from wherever some patch of remaining snow yet held the rest in its grip. Beth laughed with me at such retrieval; and, a few hours later, in releasing him once more, jokingly encouraged him to bring back the rest. Obediently, he did! At least two more pieces, enough to reveal that somewhere out there, what he was collecting amounted to five bucks; and, as it turned out, one more excursion would give us all but a tiny sliver close to Lincoln’s face once we scotch-taped it all together. Kind of a parting “thank you”, I guess; and enough to make me wonder if, had we kept him, would there have been a twenty for us tomorrow?.....