The Dry Spell by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview
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Chapter 12
February 25, 2009: Cold light through leafless braches provides excellent ground level views. Will anything rise again? Calendars say Easter is coming, but for who?
I don’t know how people can live in Greenland. It must be cheap and serve as one last try before suicide. The long New Mexico winter has taken its toll and will still be moving forward for the foreseeable future, whatever that means.
Daisy and I make our regular trip to the Bosque. She’s impervious to the cold and doesn’t mind in the least, until she’s surprised by the closed gate on Romero Road, marking the first demonstration of winter fire fear in the desert. She finds that she can navigate it as easily as the other and her concern ends. As we near the next gate, I see Nora on the southern ditch path which parallels the Bosque without the cachet. It’s the first time I’ve seen her there and consider it an omen. It was, as when I walk over to meet her I can see that she is upset and may have been crying. I insightfully say; “Hi, what’s wrong?”
“Cody died this morning.” I knew that he had been sick and had not wanted to walk for more than a month. So, she had time to prepare, but the finality must have been devastating. I went through the same thing with my dachshund, Willy.
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“I’m so sorry. He was a special dog.”
She repeats, with emphasis on the second word; “He was a special dog.” It looks as if she is ready to again burst into tears, something she refuses to do in public. I put my hand on her shoulder and she violently pulls away. I hoped that she didn’t think I was being sarcastic, especially considering the subject matter. I don’t know what to say. I’d like to know what others respond to “My dog died,” after they say “I’m sorry.” But, I’d like her to know that I wasn’t making light of the matter. Later in the day I decided to get her a sympathy card and write a lot of nice things on it and sign it “Daisy.”
I just walk quietly with her the half mile to her car and say
“Goodbye.”
I may have inadvertently confused Daisy, as we now were walking in the direction of home and she does me a real favor continuing on, rather than doubling back to the Bosque, as I feel drained.
Today I notice the plethora of American flags extending from the flat roofed Southwestern houses we pass. I say “thank you” to each, as otherwise I might have thought I was in Afghanistan. When I see decals saying; “Support our troops,” I wonder if this is intended to also mean; “Support our war,” as I can easily make a distinction between troops and war, but think that many people don’t hear the precise words. Personally, I’d
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support our troops by having them come home, neither dismembered nor dead.
I recall the 1962 Cuban missile crisis and one of its tenets that “the communists were coming to get us.” I believed it. Of course, I was 12 or 13, but they were close enough to cause alarm. Then a bit later Vietnam because a place where we had to go get the communists because it’s better that we fight them over there than over here. I don’t really care what any official document or testimony says, as it’s clear to me that we lost that war, but I don’t recall many communists subsequently invading our shores. So now we’re fighting terrorists over there before we have to fight them here, yet officials say that they have already been here, some radicals would say with our co-operation. Do I incorrectly perceive some similarity? I recall one 1960’s slogan; “Sure, it’s a dirty little war, but it’s the only one we’ve got.”
If we really want to fight the terrorists and communists, I understand that there are a few of the latter in China, but in this case, we prefer to do business with them. Using the seemingly same approach why not do business with the
“terrorists”? They have some oil for sale and need the money.
My overly simplistic approach could be countered some way by career politicians, military men, intelligence agencies and
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right wing radio pundits, but I really don’t care to hear the confusion they create so adeptly.
Let them bankrupt the country with perennial military overspending and arms purchases. I’m not young and therefore don’t have long to live in the economic mess which happened under the Monarchy of Bush II, a “reservist” with a cloudy attendance record. It was a military man and Republican named Eisenhower who said; “Beware the military industrial complex.”
I hope I’m not getting political in my decrepitude, as
“business as usual” is done on both sides of the aisle, at least until they fully believe that the people are going to do something about it. That doesn’t seem likely in the foreseeable future, whatever that means.
A few snowflakes fall as we get back to the small wooded area bordering our development, in memory of Cody. The sky is still gray and threatening and I’m very cold and can’t feel my fingertips or toes, so I’m glad we’re close to home.
“Uh oh,” I said. Daisy stopped and looked back at me fearfully, as she knows those words. “B.J.” is out with her three small furry white dogs and when they catch up to us, each little one barks at Daisy, fangs drooling, scaring her while B.J. is openly and extremely amused by the entertainment. B.J.
is about 250 pounds and 5’2”, the size my father’s generation referred to as five by fives. When she first introduced herself
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to me, she told me her name, did a pause and then said; “Do you know what word association you can use to remember it?” While her type of entrée normally stimulates enlightening male-female conversation I really didn’t want to make any reply, considering her penchant for enjoying intimidation, but was afraid that in the absence of one from me, she might have a follow up. So, I said; “No, no. That’s quite all right. I’m better with letters. Tell me, what are your dogs’ names?” I couldn’t help but stare at her mounds; one where her stomach should be, one at upper thigh and the third above the knee, closing in on her higher companion.
Mission accomplished. She of course told me and I have indeed forgotten their names other than Vicious, Vicious and Vicious. Whenever we cross paths, the three, maybe four, but I watch the dogs, all bark at Daisy showing their teeth, scaring her. B.J. gets a real charge out of this and when her dog walking coincides with mine, she’ll make a 180 degree turn and catch up to us in order to let the three do their thing, as Daisy cowers and B.J. laughs as if she were watching a “reality”
TV show. This got to be a regular event in my “friendly”
neighborhood. I suppose after ten or more times of this ritual, Daisy started to think that they were frolicking as the leashed dogs never were allowed to attack or bite her, so she playfully put her paw on one of them, knocking him over, at which point
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B.J. yelled at me; “You keep your dog away from mine.” I started to say that it wasn’t me following her, but she cut me off yelling; “Keep her away” and did her best to move quickly away. I got a rear view of the rippling mounds. Too bad she’s so mean.
I guess she’s more bored or boring than usual today, as this is the first time we’ve seen the foursome in months. She stops 100 feet away and Daisy follows suit. Not wanting to feast my eyes on the sights I turn my back to the exciting neighborhood activity of the day. I heard her call out; “Which way are you going?” as if we were required to move in her honor.
I point out the obvious to some; “What does it look like?
“Well, I’m passing. Hold onto that dog.”
I bowed and gestured graciously with my right hand.
As she shlumped past she said; “You know it’s your dog that’s the problem,” in an assertive tone, to which I quickly and wittingly replied; “**** you, fat ***,” the capping of another great morning in the “friendly” neighborhood. I wished Cody and Mr. Rogers were here.
Actually, Nora and Cody did live here when I first moved in, possibly taking that as a sign of deteriorating property values. We only overlapped six months. She told me that she was bitten three times, while walking here. I guess the dogs know something sweet when they get a whiff and on good days
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don’t break the surface. When we got back in I had to hear my favorite artist sing “Waiting Underground.”
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