Things we take for granted

I was whining yesterday about how I was going to sell something to buy a digital voice recorder and Steve, who humbles me regularly, in case anyone isn't hip to that yet, just looked up very matter-of-factly and said,

"Aintcha' got a pencil?"

"Well, yeah, fine," I said, feigning aggravation and reaching for the keyboard. Then as if that weren't enough, he agreed with me that it probably would be better hearing him tell it (which was the absolute truth and exactly my point). Here, in his words, is a story about a street dog he once knew called Buddy.

A lotta' people out there knew Buddy dog. I'd go out pickin' up cans and hit them motel dumpsters all along Murfreesboro Road there and he'd go right along with me. He'd go as far as Continental (Motel) with me, get his stomach full and lay down out there in the sunshine. When I got done and it was time to go, he'd look at me like I was crazy. So, I'd just say, I'll see you when you get home Buddy and go on. And he would be, sure enough. He'd be layin' right there in the yard by the time I made it back to camp.

I knowed him since he was a little bitty pup. He started out somebody else's dog. They abandoned him on the creek bank and that's when he took up with me. He wasn't like no regular dog. We go through them dumpsters and he didn't gobble up the bones or just anything because he always knew there was more to come. After everything was gone - then he wasn't shy of that bone but up til then, he'd pick little bites off a chicken or a pork chop and keep going.

Most people remember him because he run up and down the road there a lot of the time, with a quart bottle in his mouth. He was a labordaor retriever and all we had, down there to throw in the creek for him was quart bottles. He'd go out after 'em and then he wouldn't give'em back.

Went down to Spur one Sunday morning, get me some cigarettes and Buddy tagged along. We got there and there was a crackhead standin' in front of the air machine, he told me when I come up, he said,

"Get your dog."

I told him he wasn't my dog.

Then I looked over at Buddy and I told him, I said,

"Watch 'im Buddy."

Dog hunched down and stared in the man's eyes.
I went on in the store. I come out a few minutes later and him and that dude was still looking at each other. I figured it wasn't gonna' be til twelve o'clock I'd get back by and I hated to leave ol' Buddy standing there til' then, so when I got to the corner of the parking lot I looked back and I said,

"C'mon Buddy"

And we went on down the road.


(Note: The dog in the photo is used for illustrative purposes only. He's a lot dog as opposed to a street dog and his name is Chopper. That was terribly amusing three months ago, when he was a puppy. Thanks to Barney, he is occasionally seen sporting a four-dollar rawhide bone.)