Jinx
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Puppy No More
As best we can reckon, based on the paucity of the anecdotal information and veterinary opinion we’ve gathered, my wife and I believe Jinx was six months old when he came to live with us back in March. That means that September marks the month of his birth. We’ve chosen the first day of the month in which the r’s return to be his birthday. Jinx was not the dog we would have chosen. He was funny looking, ungainly, wild, roynish, runkledish, spastic, frenetic, a leaper, a roller, a destroyer of flower beds and digger of smooth lawns, a bringer of carcasses, a barker at phantoms, a serrated soul, a…
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Walking Up An Incline
Walking up to the mailbox today, I had an epiphany of sorts. I never leave myself alone. I am forever telling myself that I need to be doing x, y, or z. I am perpetually dissatisfied with how I spend my time. I sift through my past days, months, decades, and ignore the glittering flecks. Instead, I focus on the dark sludge along the bottom lip of the pan. There’s always some project that I should be doing. Some habit I need to break. Some improvement I need to make. Some shortcoming I need to fix. Such a mess. There are two of me, (And there are two of you,…
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Ascent Of A Dog
Jinx got skunked last night. I went out with him a bit before sundown for a post-supper walk. He left the road and loped across one of his favorite pastures, and I busied myself taking some photos and enjoying the cool breeze while awaiting his return. He was gone a few minutes longer than usual and when he returned, he threw himself to the ground at my feet and wallered around in the grass, apparently just enjoying himself. Then we turned for home. As soon as we walked in and Jinx walked past my wife, she cried out, “He’s been skunked!” I stood there gaping at her. I hadn’t smelled…
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The Fogs Of August
My mother and grandmother taught me to count the number of foggy mornings during the month of August. The number, they told me gravely, would correspond to the number of snows in the coming winter. I’ve tracked the August fogs more closely since we purchased our little farm here, and while never exact, the ratio of fogs to snows is fairly close. So far this month, we have had nine fogs out of twelve mornings. Last winter was quite mild, and the old-timers in these parts are already beginning to murmur about how “we’re due for a bad, bad winter.” We shall see. I recently re-watched one of my favorite…
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Gate Of Heaven
I worked from home today, an experience which was not as peaceful as I had anticipated. But I enjoyed the solitude very much, and in spite of my many mistakes and blind alleys, I had a productive day. It was also nice to be able to take the dogs outside and stretch my legs whenever I wanted. While wearing a t-shirt and shorts. And snacking on pork skins. In bare feet. With Jackie Gleason playing the background. How many of you know who Jackie Gleason was? Many have watched the old “The Honeymooners” sitcom on television. Some of you likely have seen Gleason’s masterful performance as Minnesota Fats in the…
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Undertakings
Jinx and I were up before the sun lifted above the fog, and the air was as cool as an August morning’s can be, full of mist and memories and murmurs, and we set out for our stroll. On the way back, the sun pierced the fog and clattered down upon us in arrows and spears, and the birds sensed the change and their cries grew more boisterous and they began to swoop from tree to fence to building to post to rock. The gravel crunched beneath my shoes and a chipmunk scampered across my path, his tail held straight up. Jinx was looking in the other direction and I…
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Mist Will Lift
A coworker who sits next to me at my office tested positive for the Covid-19 thingamajig, so I was required to be tested at a local hospital. It was interesting to note what a ghost town the hospital was. I was expecting squads of harried nurses and doctors to be running up and down the hallways, calling out orders and wheeling lifeless bodies on gurneys and asking for assistance. But the place was all but abandoned. A girl young enough to be my granddaughter performed my test, which, while not especially painful, was markedly unpleasant. She asked me if I was okay when she removed the fourteen foot swab from…
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Bandito
I stood out in the back yard this morning just before dawn, looking up at the gourd birdhouses and listening to the gradual crescendo of birdsong as the eastern sky brightened by degrees. I thought back to yesterday, a singularly grueling day, wasting my finite hours in the company of people with whom I have nothing in common, hours in which I was forced to work with my alleged “supervisor,” a younger woman so vapid, so mean-spirited, so coarse, so comprehensively ugly that I am tempted to think I live and breathe under God’s curse. But such thoughts make me recoil with that familiar jerking reflex action. You’re not…
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Will Find You Out
The weather in these mountains is very unusual these days. The heat is absolutely tropical, with moist, saturated air — still air, with no breeze at all — and the sun feeling closer to the earth, the way it feels in Texas. Thunderstorms every day and every night, and the insects are thriving and the frogs are practicing for their annual Dog Days oratorio. Speaking of frogs, this morning a fine specimen was perched atop the rail around the back deck. I’ve heard that when one sees a turtle on top of a fence post, one can be sure that someone put him there. The frog is probably a lot…
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The Lees Of July
Scuffling down the gravel road, head bowed to the sun-sliver across the ridge as day passes into twilight and draws all the shadows along the grass, I watch Jinx crisscross the road ahead, back and forth. He looks back at me every few moments, then trots on, tail curved over his back, his eyes scanning for something to nuzzle or chase or perhaps nibble. My shoes disturb the dust, and it lifts in small puffs behind me, as if a tiny battery of unseen artillery has a fix on my pos and is about to fire for effect. The dust hangs in the humid air, unwilling to settle back to…