Dog E. Dog
I was driving all across New York State the other day and after visiting the site I decided to get a bit more comfortable for the long drive. I pulled into a parking area along Route 10 in a really small town.
Think a home every mile or so.
The driving area was quiet. There was just one other car there. I saw a guy about the same age as me working on putting down the canvas lid on the back of a broken down, red pick-up truck.
Think Fred G. Sanford's truck.
There were stickers all over the back of the truck.
Pro-gun, Anti-Obama deals.
I was rustling around the back of my truck looking for a pair of shorts I could change into when I felt something wet on my left arm. I looked down to see a hound dog looking like he wanted to jump into the back of my vehicle.
Dogs love me. I patted the top of his head and he wagged his tail.
"Come here, dog!" the guy called out.
"He's not bothering me," I said.
The dog sauntered away.
"Oh, he's limping," I said.
"He's 13," the guy said.
The dog stood between us. I reached my hand out and the dog came near again.
For the next five minutes we spoke of our dogs.
"His name is Dog E. Dog," the guy explained.
"The E stands for what?"
"Elvin. That's my name," the guy said. He extended his hand. We shook hands as the dog went off into the grass. The limp was horrible.
"I'm gonna' really miss him when he's gone," the guy said. "He is my best friend. My wife has been gone just about 13 years. He filled the void."
Normally I might have made a joke in such a situation but I glanced at the NRA sticker.
We chatted about life for a little while. Elvin was a good man. He told me about his struggle to work each day. He talked about his truck breaking down last week and how he fixed it himself. He bemoaned his wife having left.
"Thank God Dog was around."
Dog came back to me. I patted his head again and then watched as he walked around to the passenger side of the truck. Elvin opened the door and Dog's tired legs sprung to life and he jumped into the seat.
"He's a beautiful dog," I said.
"I hope I get ten more years out of him."
I shook Elvin's hand again and said 'so long'. As I drove away I thought about the heartache the man would feel when Dog E. Dog leaves him.
I enjoyed the moment when we connected.
All 3 of us.
Think a home every mile or so.
The driving area was quiet. There was just one other car there. I saw a guy about the same age as me working on putting down the canvas lid on the back of a broken down, red pick-up truck.
Think Fred G. Sanford's truck.
There were stickers all over the back of the truck.
Pro-gun, Anti-Obama deals.
I was rustling around the back of my truck looking for a pair of shorts I could change into when I felt something wet on my left arm. I looked down to see a hound dog looking like he wanted to jump into the back of my vehicle.
Dogs love me. I patted the top of his head and he wagged his tail.
"Come here, dog!" the guy called out.
"He's not bothering me," I said.
The dog sauntered away.
"Oh, he's limping," I said.
"He's 13," the guy said.
The dog stood between us. I reached my hand out and the dog came near again.
For the next five minutes we spoke of our dogs.
"His name is Dog E. Dog," the guy explained.
"The E stands for what?"
"Elvin. That's my name," the guy said. He extended his hand. We shook hands as the dog went off into the grass. The limp was horrible.
"I'm gonna' really miss him when he's gone," the guy said. "He is my best friend. My wife has been gone just about 13 years. He filled the void."
Normally I might have made a joke in such a situation but I glanced at the NRA sticker.
We chatted about life for a little while. Elvin was a good man. He told me about his struggle to work each day. He talked about his truck breaking down last week and how he fixed it himself. He bemoaned his wife having left.
"Thank God Dog was around."
Dog came back to me. I patted his head again and then watched as he walked around to the passenger side of the truck. Elvin opened the door and Dog's tired legs sprung to life and he jumped into the seat.
"He's a beautiful dog," I said.
"I hope I get ten more years out of him."
I shook Elvin's hand again and said 'so long'. As I drove away I thought about the heartache the man would feel when Dog E. Dog leaves him.
I enjoyed the moment when we connected.
All 3 of us.
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