Dog Days

Where the Sunbeams End: Chapter 17

Photo by Chris Cooper on Unsplash

I was jobless, floundering in a sea of video games and pornography when Lucy came into our lives. 

Judith was working at the 7-11 off Route 7. For years it had been a mom and pop gas station and convenience store known simply as Triple J. In the minds of many who inhabit Clarke County, that corner will always be known as the Trip J. 

Judith mostly worked mornings while I stayed at home trying to come to terms with the reality of my life. I’d mostly recovered from my latest psychotic break. The mania had ended finally, but now I had to try to pick up the pieces. However, most days I just wasn’t up to facing reality. Thus the video games and mid-day jerk session. I was depressed and drifting. 

Judith was pretty amazing though. Just sticking with me was a huge ask. It was the little things, like bringing home Jamaican beef patties and listening intently to me go on about my current season on the Xbox 360. Judith kept me a float. 

She came home excited one day, going on and on about puppies that needed a home. A regular at the Trip J had brought one of the puppies in. ‘That damn bastard,’ I thought. Initially I wasn’t sure I was ready to love another dog, or take on the responsibility of raising a pup. But she was already absolutely in love. I couldn’t say yes or no, so I told her to ask Dad. 

We’ve always had dogs. Cats too, but personally I’ve always bonded more with the dogs. At the time we had Pongo and Buddy running around. They were brothers. Jack Russel Terriers. Little white and brown spotted pups. Dad always called Buddy a little bitch, mostly because he was a bit temperamental. Pongo loved life and loved everyone. 

We called it kitchen tabling it. Really it was just spending quality time together, it didn’t have to be at the kitchen table, but for us it often was. Sharing music, stories, and countless laughs, while often enjoying cold beer. Pongo was always there with us it seemed. He’d hop into a chair, often leaving someone standing against the counter. As the conversation would drift from person to person, Pongo’s head would turn to each of us, following along with the story. 

I kinda knew Dad would say yes to Judith’s desire for our own pup. But, putting it in his hands was easier for some reason, plus it bought me a little time to prepare myself. In the days leading up to Lucy’s arrival I couldn’t help but think about all the dogs who had left such a huge imprint on my life. 

Of course I thought of Rundgren, our family’s first dog. After Rundgren died there was a bit of a gap between dogs. 

As a kid my brother worked at a chicken farm. There was talk of cock fights going on and let’s be honest, my brother and his friends were far too young to be working. They got paid next to nothing to water and feed the large swath of chickens. However, a job does teach you quite a bit about life. And at least the wage was enough to pay for Pokemon cards. 

There were dogs on the farm as well. Their duty was simple. Protect the chickens. 

Oliver came to be ours because he kept killing the chickens. He was not fulfilling his duty. I don’t blame him though, some of those chickens were assholes. Oliver was white with black spots all over. He was a playful pup, maybe not the smartest, but we took him in and he filled our home with that energy that was missing. 

We didn’t have him long. I remember wrestling with him in our room and feeling my heart open to this good boy. The next day he was gone. 

It was my sister’s birthday party and the whole family was at our country home. All the cousins, aunts, uncles, and grandparents. I ran out through the garage to find him, when I saw the truck with the long trailer attached stopped in the road at the end of our driveway. I knew right away that he was dead. 

I tried to sneak off to cry, but the house was so full that there was no place to go. The man in the truck felt terrible. He came up to the house and explained to my father that Oliver had run after the truck and the trailing trailer had caught his neck. The tears finally came pouring out although I tried my best to contain them. We buried him next to Rundgren in the flower bed out front. 

It must have been the very next week that Dad took us to the pound to pick up a new dog. There was a black lab puppy that I had my eye on. Everyone loves puppies, but especially kids. Dad expertly averted our attention to an older black lab mix. He wasn’t really old, but was certainly not a puppy. I think Dad knew the puppy had a great chance of finding another home, and his heart went out to Bone as we would call him. Bone was my idea for a name. Not because dogs love a good bone, but because of a comic that Dad enjoyed reading. 

Bone nearly got away from us the moment we took him from the pound. It was obvious why he had ended up there in the first place. He went wherever his nose took him. 

Dad worked with him and worked with him. Trying to get him to listen and follow instructions. Bone was fine in the house. He would come when you would call for him, he never ever messed in the house, and he knew that he wasn’t supposed to be up on the furniture. We’d come home from work and school and you’d hear a thump as he quickly fell off the couch. It was just when he would get free roam outside that he seemed to turn off everything except that nose of his. Eventually Dad sort of gave up training him after an incident with a junkyard dog. 

My father was taking him for a long walk through the countryside, stopping every so often to call him over. The reward was fresh bacon, a whole crumbled handful filled Dad’s pocket. Mostly Dad was letting Bone lead the way, but the bacon seemed to keep him relatively close, at first. 

Then his nose took over. 

Dad followed Bone up the road, whistling and calling after him. Eventually the road turned to gravel and then the gravel gave way to grass. My father walked on and continued calling as he saw Bone barreling down the hill just ahead. 

“All that bacon in my pocket, and he’d rather get his ass chewed up by that junkyard dog,” said my father upon his return home. 

Dad seems to think Bone was dimwitted or slow, but I knew that dog. He lived life on his own terms. Who am I to judge? 

But we didn’t really have a choice but to tie him up on the clothesline out back. We’d still take him for walks on the leash, but probably not enough. It would have been nice if he could focus, but he was a true wanderer. When I think of Bone’s overall spirit, I can’t help but think of Goldmund, from Hesse’s Narcissus and Goldmund. Wandering the countryside in search of the true meaning of life. I loved that dog. 

Bone was with us for a while. He was there when Pongo and Buddy were just little puppies. I was heartbroken when he suddenly got sick during college. I was too busy to make the trek back home. I regret not putting everything aside and going home anyways. I’m grateful Ray was still in high school. He stayed home that last day. It got bad. Bone couldn’t really move, Pongo and Buddy were trying to hump him. Ray would push and kick them off and help Bone outside to the bathroom. Ray says Bone tried to walk away, to go off and die alone. Obviously Dad was gonna take him the next day, but he didn’t make it through the night. 

Just to have been there to bury him myself would have been enough. It’s so strange this world we live in. Always so busy with whatever. Maybe it was an excuse though. I could have been home, but could I bury another dog? 

So when Lucy came home I was unsure how attached I wanted to allow myself to be. Maybe this dog would be Judith’s and I could take a side role?

I can’t help but give Judith some credit. I think she knew what she was doing. I was depressed, drifting, and Lucy turned into my guiding light.