Passing of the Days

Three years ago today, Mrs. Orr and I looked outside and saw a dog standing at the end of our driveway. Spotted and hyperactive, he was romping around, amusing himself by chasing birds and sunbeams. He clearly belonged to someone, because he was wearing a collar.

“What a funny looking dog,” said my wife.

“Yeah, he is,” I replied.

We left the house to run some errands. When we returned, the funny-looking dog was sitting in the front yard, sunning himself. When we exited the car, the dog leapt and bounded and cavorted all around us, trying to jump on us and ignoring our shouted commands to get DOWN, GET DOWN! A few hours later, we left again, and the dog ran behind us, trying to catch the car. I sped up gradually and he stayed right with me, almost to the country road that leads to the highway. Then we lost him in a cloud of gravel dust.

When we returned home, Mrs. Orr had a good idea. “Why don’t we take the back way, loop around, and approach the farm from the other direction? Maybe he won’t see us, and he’ll go back to whoever owns him.” I agreed, and this is what we did. We went the long way around, came up along the ridge, dipped down to the holler near the spring, then up the steep climb to our place. When we got to our road, the dog was sitting there, calm as a country pond, grinning that dog-grin at us. He got up, fell in next to us, and loped alongside the car all the way to the farm.

And there he is over there, sleeping next to his sister and twitching in his dreams.

I love that spotted boy, that Baskervilles hound, that menace, that goofy diamondheaded doofus. I sure do love him, as does Mrs. Orr.

And the thing is neither of us wanted to love him. We didn’t want him. We didn’t want a funny looking dog like him.

Jinx had other plans. And they never ganged aft agley.

Here’s to you, Jinxiedawg. Sleep on, old boy, you and your sister. I’m enjoying the peace and quiet.

~ S.K Orr