The First Dog There Was

(rerun from Feb. 7, 2017. Willow The Best Dog There Is™ left us last year, so the photo is of Dejah and Summer.)

It was the evening of Feb. 7, 1959. Dad took me and my two brothers for a ride in the car. I don’t remember the pretext or where we went. I just remember when we got home, Mom was sitting in the living room and a dog was sitting in front of her.

Lady was a good dog – a medium-sized, brown and white mutt with maybe a beagle’s face but a stub of a tail. She ran like the wind playing keep-away with a dishpan of all things. For most of the next 10 years she was an integral part of the family, joined eventually by a succession of cats.

There was only the one dog while we were growing up, but the three boys became men and keepers of other dogs.

When I write and share photos of our lovely companions, Willow The Best Dog There Is™ and Dejah Thoris, Princess of Mars, I sometimes remember Lady, the patient and loving canine who introduced my family to the joy of dogs.

Three dogs through the years have especially seized my heart – Poppins, the little collie mix who appeared, abandoned, at the door of the radio station one summer day; Tucker, the undersized German shepherd who arrived in my arms (hands, really) as a tiny puppy; and Willow, who melts my heart daily (Yes, Dejah, you’re a special dog, too, but Willow got there first).

It all began with Lady, though, whose coming was so momentous that it’s the first event in my lifetime to which I ever affixed the exact date.

Barnaby Capsis, continued

(The other day I presented six paragraphs and relished the range of possibilities about what comes next. Now we’re beyond 600 words and still not quite sure what’s going on. Ain’t this fun?!)

“When my brain is clear, the pathways feel so snappy!” Barnaby Capsis cried not long after he awoke one morning, to no one in particular, as he lived alone.

Barnaby woke that day with all his synapses snapping like firecrackers. He could feel his mind snap-crackling and popping as if anything could happen, and, of course, it did.

As he was walking down the street, a woman he thought he’d never seen before called, “Barnaby Capsis!” He watched as she walked up to him as if she had a purpose, which, of course, she did.

“Barnaby, you’re just the man I’m looking for,” she said.

“Oh,” he replied, not quite snappily. “What can I do for you?”

And the answer to that question changed everything. Answers always change something, but in this case it changed everything, because of the wonderful whiz he was.

Now, you may ask, why the woman could possibly need Barnaby, and how helping her could possibly change not anything but everything.

“Changing everything” could mean that they are destined to live happily ever after together, but perhaps that’s too much a cliche. On another hand, “changing everything” could mean that she needs him to go on a hero’s journey that will change not just Barnaby but the whole world he lives in, but then it’s a big story and not just a bit of fluff.

As it happens, when Barnaby asked, “What can I do for you?” she smiled slyly, one of those smiles that says how delighted the smiler is to be asked that precise question, while also suggesting that the smilee may not realize how big a question that is.

And, the smile still in her eyes, she frowned and answered his question.

“That’s all, in point of fact,” she said. “I wanted to tell you you’re just the man I’m looking for.”

“Yes,” Barnaby said, a tad confused, “but why were you looking for me?”

“Do I need a reason to be looking for a man?”

“Ah! But then, why have you decided I am that man?”

The frown that disguised the sly smile now broke into a full grin.

“I knew you were the man I needed,” she laughed. “Your synapses are surely snapping today, aren’t they?”

He rose up a bit at that. “I’m not sure the condition of my synapses are any of your business, but yes, I do feel a bit snappy today.”

“Snappy in a good way, of course?”

“Of course.”

“Good! Then come with me.”

She turned with a flourish, took his hand, and stepped away, but he did not step with her.

“Hang on! Where are we going?”

And she gave him that sly smile, which proved irresistible, and headed hand-in-hand down the street. He had to admit the warmth of her hand in his was comfortable, reassuring, and vaguely familiar, although he did not admit this out loud.

They walked that way for several blocks in silence, until they came to a city park, which should not be surprising because this was a very green city full of parks every few blocks, and the parks resembled each other in that they were full of grass and trees and sidewalks with benches and people who enjoyed a bit of greenery in their cities.

She detached her hand and walked slowly, less purposefully, by his side, still quiet for a few moments, so it was almost a surprise when she finally spoke.

“I need your help.”

“I see,” Barnaby said. “So when you said, ‘You’re just the man I’m looking for,’ you were being more specific after all?”

She laughed, and he decided then and there that he liked her laugh and, indeed, was on his way to liking her.

Perspective and all

I was taking Summer for a walk in our front yard (That reminds me, after I write this I need to deal with picking up after Summer) and we watched the highway traffic pass, 100 feet or so up the hill and across the frontage road from our yard.

A semi-truck emblazoned with a beer logo swept by, and I began to sing the old song, “Blue Moon, you saw me standing alone —” when I noticed a pickup truck close behind it, tailgating it seemed, for whatever reason.

OMG, I thought as the two trucks raced by, is this some sort of road-rage incident? I feared for both drivers’ lives.

Then, as they passed further downhill, I realized, no, the two trucks were in different lanes. When I first was examined for glasses, the optometrist realized I was allowing my stronger eye to do all the work, so he installed a prism that coaxed my eyes into working together. The three-dimensional world opened up to me as I discovered at last what this concept of “depth perception” was all about.

What I had perceived as tailgating was simply my eyes falling into their ancient lazy habits and not letting me see that the pickup truck was really a few feet more distant, in the left lane, and not directly behind the semi.

Once I saw from the correct perspective, I understood that neither driver was raging and I was simply watching the smaller truck pass the other, a happily mundane event.

Proper perspective makes a huge difference, hmm?