The Following Tail

Well, as promised, Uncle Bubba is back with a follow-up to the previous ending to the Tail Of 2 Dogs. Under the shadow of an old oak tree behind his garage, Uncle Bubba told me that we can learn a lot from a dog and I’m hear to tell ya that that’s true, so let me relate Bubbie’s view of it. In the last tale we heard of 2 dogs, and to quote C.S. Lewis, "The dog barks at strangers who have never done it any harm and wags its tail for old acquaintances even if they never did it a good turn (The Four Loves).” Remember King, the working dog that fiercely protected his master’s property? And then there was Willie, who chose to spend his days hanging around the house of a man that claimed to not even like him. That’s because dogs are pretty simple minded creatures, they have no conditions for what they do. So as not to insult dogs, nothing could be farther from Uncle Bubba’s truth, listen to him describe his dog that currently lives with him.

Francis David, Frankie, is a bulldog. As breeds go, Uncle Bubba and Sweet Pea would have no other. Frankie only has one concern each day: “Where do I fit in my pack?” Other things that he should be concerned with are taken care of by his master: Will I eat today? Where will I find my food? Will I play and get some exercise? Will I have time to rest? All of these things he receives without concern because of the affection and care of his “owners”.

Uncle Bubba said that he likes to sit on the couch in the evening and pet Frankie who is usually laying across his lap. He can feel the relaxed spirit of the dog. In moments like this, to paraphrase Lewis, we take them (the mutual affection and spirit of goodwill) for granted which is proper up to a point; it fits the comfortable, quiet nature of the feeling. Uncle Bubba reflects this quiet energy and knows that his dog is a warm, furry lump of pure love. Frankie only wants to be with Bubbie because it’s his place as a member of the pack, the family. Frankie never gets mad at Uncle Bubba if he does something stupid. Sometimes Uncle Bubba or Sweet Pea have to do things that Francis does care for, like a righteous yet ruckus of a toenail clipping, and the torturous tubby, yet they are for his own good. As much as Frankie doesn't like the treatment at the time, it is forgotten the moment that it’s over. He doesn’t hold a grudge, he’s just always happy to see his friend and is content just to spend time with him. Nothing more is required. One day Frankie got tangled up under Bubbie’s feet and Bubbie lost his balance and fell hard to the floor. He tried to save himself and attempted in one swift, graceless move to not fall on Frankie at the same time. With a clunk he hit the floor and Frankie let out a yelp as he scrambled away from the pile of Bubbie. Uncle Bubba lay there for a moment, he had no idea if he or Frankie was hurt. Then Frankie came over and excitedly licked his face and the two play wrestled on the floor as Bubbie laughed heartily. He wasn’t mad at Frankie and Frankie can not be upset with Uncle Bubba, he has instant forgiveness.

A dog does not care about what people think of him. A dog does not concern himself with the neighbors' business. If it doesn’t move, make a noise, or smell a dog isn’t interested in it. And what a dog perceives with it’s physical senses is only taken superficially; is it something to eat, something to chase? No, a dog is just a dog. Frankie is content to be with his family, to be petted, to be played with, and as a bulldog he lives to eat. Who of us wouldn’t benefit from this absence of ego? When Uncle Bubba sees his dog, or any dog, but especially Frankie he is inspired to live in the moment and act in love. Yessir, I can learn a lot from my dog.

Couch Surfin’: A Big Bulldog YAWN!

A Tail Of 2 Dogs

I stopped by Uncle Bubba’s and found him under some trees out behind his garage sitting in the shade talking with his cousin Earl. Earl drove a dark green 1985 Monte Carlo that he fancied as a hotrod but it was far from the era of cool muscle cars and few of Earl's acquaintances seemed to carry his same enthusiasm. The afternoon sun was so hot that a half eaten bag of pork rinds on Earl’s dashboard combusted like a flash of sparklers on the Fourth of July. We watched in stunned amazement until Earl made a run for the car and thrashed at the smoking mess with an old t-shirt. Earl’s dog Max was laying under his car at the time and was unfazed by the fireworks display but panicked and scrambled out from under the car as his master excitedly attacked the car. Bubbie and I tried not to laugh but seriously, it was hilarious. Uncle Bubba watched the dogs reaction to Earl and it brought to mind a dog that he once had.

Willie was a good dog. He was a happy dog; he wore it, it showed. He trotted when he walked with his eyes lit up and his tail wagging. Uncle Bubba liked Willie but the doggone dog would run off all the time and he always ran to the same place, a farm that neighbored the backside of Uncle Bubba’s place. He told me about how cranky and cantankerous the farmer was that lived there. Whenever Uncle Bubba went there to retrieve Willie, he’d have to suffer a reprimand about Willie being a nuisance and a lecture about something, anything that the farmer could complain about. Willie didn’t just run off once in a while, but Bubbie would often comment emphatically that Willie was more the farmer’s dog than his own. He felt exacerbated that he fed and watered Willie and paid his vet bills only to have him happily disappear to live with someone else. He tried every nice thing he could think of to get his dog to like him and stick around yet Willie couldn’t be less interested. Where was the dad-gum loyalty of man’s best friend?

Well the truth of it was that the farmer had a dog too, and Willie and he were friends, buds, companions. They’d run together through the pastures and along trails through the woods. They’d cavort with the clueless cows and on occasion they’d scare the hens and chickens, never slowing down to do damage because there was some scent that they would have to chase after and investigate, and plenty of squirrels to chase up a tree. They would show up at Uncle Bubba’s from time to time for a rest, a drink, or a snack, or just to visit before darting off again. He never bothered mentioning this to the farmer because he knew it would fall on deaf ears. The fact was that the boys ran on the farm because there was more land and more to smell, chase and explore. Uncle Bubba would have liked to have Willie around more so he could just pet him once in a while and spend some time mulling over the issues of the day, but it wasn’t in Willie’s nature. In Bubbie’s view, he had to admit that though it was an empty relationship that he had with Willie, it made him smile when he thought about how happily Willie lived his life.

Now, another neighbor of Uncle Bubba, who happened to be a farmer, had a dog named King. King was a Belgium Shepard and a big one at that. He was black with a tan swatch on his barrel chest. He was appropriately named and a great protector of the farmer and all of the farmers possessions. If some poor, unsuspecting stranger happened to visit the farm without advanced notice, King was always near by to make sure to let the stranger know who was in charge and who was not welcome. He was also inclined to express this point with his teeth. This was true be it friend or foe. Uncle Bubba recalled on more than one occasion, where he swore that he’d seen King up on top of a yonder hill as he pulled into the drive. That dog would be no more than a black speck on the far end of the hay field and as Uncle Bubba opened his door to get out of the truck that dog would sink it’s teeth into his ankle. It was supernatural! Uncle Bubba would have to shuck him off of his boot and wait in the truck until the farmer appeared to call off the dog. All it took was a grunt from the old man’s tobacco stained mouth and the dog would back up and stand guard. The farmer would reach into his pocket and pull out a plug of tobacco and a pocket knife. He’d cut himself off a slice, one for his dog, and then offer one to Bubbie. Some days they’d walk to the artesian well for a drink. The farmer would grab an old tin ladle that hung on a post and dip it into the well and take a big ol’ sip, then he’d hold it down for King to get a drink, then pass it to Uncle Bubba. Out of respect he’d grin and bare the backwash of the tobacco chewing dog and have himself a sip. The farmer would grin with tobacco juice running down his chin and say, “Ain’t that the best tasting water you ever had?” Bubbie was never sure if that grin was because the farmer was truly proud of his well water or because Bubbie drank dog water.

Earl had cleaned up the dashboard of his car and Max had settled back down as he sat in the grass and watched his master with curiosity. Earl would cuss and mutter something as he thrashed around inside his car and Max would cock his head from one side to the other. Uncle Bubba and I watched with amusement as he continued on with his story of King. He told me how King only had three paws because he lost one in an accident with a piece of farm machinery. The old farmer ruefully told him of how when the accident happened, he jumped down from his tractor and grabbed King’s leg and used some rags to try and stop the bleeding. King tore into the farmer’s arm and bit him again and again, but the farmer didn’t blame him; he said that if it had been him he’d have done the same thing. Uncle Bubba took a drink from the cold can that was wearing in his hand. He paused and looked down and kicked at the dusty ground. He seemed to be contemplating if he would have done the same thing as the farmer said. Earl pulled up a seat in the shade and popped the top on a cold beer and told us that he thought that there was no real damage to the interior; he managed to mention that it certainly didn’t slow it down any. I spent a couple hours there as we swapped stories and shared opinions and laughs. As I drove away to finish some errands that I had set out to do I thought about Bubbie’s view, that we could all learn a lot from dogs; but that’s a tail for another day.

Is There Anything Better?

Is there anything better than pulling a cold slice of watermelon out of the fridge and sinking into a deep bite after working for several hours in the heat of a summer’s day?
Is there anything better than the abiding loyalty and unending affection from your dog?
Is there anything better than doing the things you like to do with a friend that likes to do them too?
Is there anything better than laying your head on your soft pillow at night with a clear conscience?
Is there anything better than God’s grace and understanding the act of forgiveness?
Is there anything better than holding a baby?
Is there anything better than a walk in the woods?
Is there anything better than waking to the sound of birds song?
Is there anything better than standing near the shore, feeling a breeze on your face and smelling the water? Is there anything better than singing along with a good song?
Is there anything better than picking ripe fruit from a tree or bush and popping into your mouth?
Is there anything better than gut laughter of a child, or witnessing the tears of joy from an old-timer?
Is there anything better than the scent of fresh cut grass; especially when someone else has mowed it?
Is there anything better than watching a honey bee dance from clover to clover?
Is there anything better than blowing a dandelion wish?
Is there anything better than a spectacular sunrise, sunbeams shining through the clouds, red skies at night, or a vivid rainbow?
Is there anything better than a long back rub?
Is there anything better than devouring a great book?
Is there anything better than a kiss?
In Bubbie’s view, there ain’t nothing better than all of this and more, and a life full of God, love, and family.