Tight Grip

Roanoke, VA – Jan. 13, 2010 – Nashville did not give up easily the grip it had on us. My schnauzer Bekka and I were originally going to leave Music City early. Seven-ish. Then a long coffee chat with Robert pushed it back to 8, maybe 9. Although I was pretty well packed, various little fiddle-faddles slowed us down. Then gassing up the pick-up at Kroger. And returning a library book.

It was finally 12:42 PM when we finally hit the road!

Walking a cute little dog like Bekka can be an instant friend-maker. Someplace around Knoxville, we stopped to “do our biz” at a big rest stop beside I-40. A grizzled truck driver, the kind you walk across the street to avoid, instantly warmed to the cute little dog. Turns out, he had his own little charmer, a Yorkie. I never knew the fellow’s name. He was one of those ”single-service” friends. But he did spill his life story. Sixty years old. Less than a year away from retiring from over-the-road truck driving. His wife’s about to become a CPA and he’s going to ride motorcycles the rest of his life. Or so he says.

This new-found ability of mine to warm up to people is kinda neat. Somewhat like discovering, late in life, that you have perfect pitch. (I don’t. That’s meant as an allegory.) And having Bekka along just amplifies the connect.

She’s a good traveling doggie. Although our other dogs logged thousands of miles, this is the longest she’s ever been inside a vehicle. I brought along her familiar little dog bed and placed it on the passenger seat. She curled right up, just like she was at home under the chest in the entryway.

Is she lonely? Does she yearn for Jan and Debbie’s place? Or does she miss playing with Bella, their schnauzer?

No!

I steadfastly maintain that it is folly to anthropomorphize dogs. That’s such a good word. I should make you look it up. But I won’t: “to attribute human form or personality to things not human”.

Like dogs. Now understand that I love the little darlings. Lois and I had dogs all our time together, a total of five of them. But I never really thought they could think. Or feel emotions like embarrassment when they try to jump up on the bed and hit their noses on the frame. That’s not embarrassment. That’s pain! They’ve bonked their sensitive little schnozzes.

But it is comforting to have a doggie sitting or lying beside you. They don’t talk. Don’t make demands on you or run up credit card bills. Don’t make suggestions about your writing. They just are. They’re the quintessential be-here-now existentialist. No distractions from the past. Or worries about the future. They don’t fret over whether they’re advancing their career or whether God loves them or if they should trim their beards.

They just are. I like that. I think I’ll become a dog.

Woof.
Copyright 2010 James C. Lewis