Post Script

I didn't think I'd miss Jack. 

I mean, I knew that I would feel his absence, but our time together had run it's course, and I was sure things would be fine.  They're not.  I'm not crying, but I just went on a road trip, and Jack may have been one of the best companions I have ever had the pleasure of spending time with.  I just got back from a four day trip to Southern Carolina, and -I hate to say this- my traveling companions were boring.

Think of it: open road for more than two thousand miles, stretching through some of the most beautiful landscapes, cresting mountains in National Forests.  All of it was nothing.  Ten thousand idiots behind the wheels of killing machines, gas stations manned by an army of locals, and there was no response.  The conversation consisted of the sound of my voice and minimal answers.  

Good Lord: what went wrong?

We had a car.  We had a direction.  We had music, caffeine, sugar, camera, and a common goal.  We even had a sharpie to make adolescent signs with sophomoric references to breasts or penises.  Why didn't we have a blast?

Jack and I would have.  He would have been as much conversation, but genuinely entertained by my wit.  He would have taken in the scenery.  He would have entertained other drivers.  These girls didn't do anything of the sort.  One dreamt of her (this is not a lie) goat farmer fiance.  The other seemed to be hypnotized or asleep at any given moment.  While I managed to wake the latter, the former only responded badly and went back to sleep.  I am horrified.

I will take this with a grain of salt.  I am, after all, an adventurer, and very experienced in the art of travel.  I cannot expect these two armatures to compare to me.  I can however be amazed.  Have we gone so far down the toilet that college girls can't figure out how to have a good time? Am I the last of my kind?  Is this the harbinger of days to come where the only aspirations of youth are to remain secure and sedated by their ordered lives?  Have we become so insipid that the geography of our great nation is dull compared to the high definition flashes of corporate controlled television?

It may be.  

I have been asked why I wish to go to Africa.  Why I would go to South America.  Why I withdraw from our society- a recoil of shock and near-disgust.  One need only sit in a car as it crests the smokey mountains, beginning decent, and see a bored young woman:  she is beautiful, facing a new world (today forever), and carrying the promise of untapped possibility.  You will know her: she is looking down into her phone as she types a message to someone equally bored in an equally beautiful place.  Once done, she will flip it closed and go to sleep, and the silence of the car will be complete. 

I hate to end it on a sad note, but there it is.  At least we know someone like Jack is still smiling, and that, at least, can give us hope. 

No end in sight...

This is the last day.   

I do not mean to imply the end, only the passing of a phase, and, the inevitability of a beginning of a new phase: passing on, is after all, the passing into.  This evening, a few hundred miles from my city, Jack will pass from what has been our time into a new time.   It is fitting that a moment from now Alaina will end her time in the desert.    Ah, change: the only constant.

It is hard for me to think of this apart from the rest of my life.  This, for me, is the year of change.  I will be leaving the service in January, turn thirty only days later, graduate college in May, and begin what I suppose should be termed my adult life.  I will need to work, or whatever, and think about how I am not getting any younger.  I will need a good wife, and a place for us to have children.  I will need to think about a decent car and the cost of insurance and property taxes.  I will need to be responsible for someone other than me, imparting unto the future the sum of my experiences and knowledge and how my children will get along once I am not there to guide them.  I will tell the stories of my life as parables and fables....and they will listen....and they will learn of a brief time when I had a partner named Jack.

Jack, I will say, lived with me for a while.  He was a good looking boy who had led a sheltered life and was a little timid.  At the time, I was living like a fugitive college student in a Mexican ghetto.  I will tell of our adventures, and how Jack learned about the ways of a proper adventurer.  About guns, booze, broads, and the pleasures of a bachelor's life.  And I will tell them of what I learned.

About how a little dog can teach you the value of company.  The worth of a trusted friend, even if you see each other for the briefest of moments.  Of comfort, spontaneous play, and the ever-present need to be loved and cared for.  About simple pleasures and forgiveness for wrongs which truly don't matter.  That floors can be cleaned in an instant, but feelings take time to heal.  Mostly, I will tell about how it is important to have someone to care for: that the act of giving care to those who need it will always trump our own needs.  That I suppose is the Tao of Jack: to be loved, you must love.  

Thanks for reading.

like sand through the hourglass

In three weeks (roughly) Jack will be finished with his training, and I will be sending him off to a future of solo adventure.  It's a big day, and important time, and he has no idea it's going to happen.  

Oh, I tried to tell him, but the elections are all he can think about.  Every time we talk, it's about girls and politics.  Needless to say, we disagree.  Our views are just not the same.  He sees everything from the bottom up, and I see it from the top down.  I have had more privileges, and have greater access to the top of society, but I have had to work.  Jack may be limited in access, but he has all of his needs taken care of by benefactors.  

We couldn't be more different.  

Personally, I just want it over.  This is a historical moment in American history, and I am very interested in what happens (I bet Jack $20 that McCain wins, and he has blown it on stupid shirts that say, "the guy on the other end of this leash is an idiot").  However, I am also interested in having discussions about other things.  Recently I was questioned about my take on fatherhood, and that merits some thought.  I have ex-lovers with children, good friends in marriage crisis, and this year has the potential to be the biggest yet.  But everyone wants to talk politics. 

Instead of questions on how my life is, or what is happening, I get conspiracy theory and other people's rhetoric.  Partisan dogma, unoriginal ideas, and a depressing lack of genuine passion seem to be the norm.  Do these people know I'm working on a couple of screenplays, or that I am about to end my tenure with the military?  Do they know my senior thesis is one of the most ambitious possible?  Do they know of my plans to walk across Africa and climb Kilimanjaro?  I think they are missing the important part of human conversation.

Really: for as much as people talk, we don't seem to say much.  Jack and I have an agreement on this.  So, what I am going to spend my time doing now, is enjoying Jack.  He leaves me soon, and while I will be glad I don't have to run home from an exciting time at work, or fear for my stuff, or have my little rubber balls covered in dog slobber every time I want to use them, I will miss the company.  

When I took Jack, it was a beautiful day in Chicago.  I had come down to the Paramount Room to meet Alaina, and pick the little guy up.  I didn't know what to expect, but I would do anything for Alaina, and I was looking for a change anyway.  What I didn't count on was seeing her cry.  

Watching her give me Jack -temporary though it might be - was heartbreaking.  I won't cry when I hand Jack over (at least not where I will be seen) but I understand why Alaina did.  He's a heck of a cool guy to know, and he's welcome at my house any time.     

Less the boy, now see the man

This weekend, Jack found something he didn't know existed (get your minds out of the gutter, he knows that is there- he licks it every five minutes just to show off).  No, I mean he found himself a girlfriend.

Ah, country life.  Is it the closeness to nature, the clean air, or our basic genetic makeup which calls so strongly upon the libido when we finally escape the confines of asphalt, concrete, and steel?  Perhaps it is the freedom of being alone with our thoughts and feeling the blood stir at the seasonal changes.  Who could say?  Yet I will vouch for the effect, if not the affect: I took Jack to the country this last weekend, and he

 transformed.

I had my friend Gary come out to help 

me do a roof.  With this, he brought his wife Nico and two dogs to stay for a couple of days.  No big deal, and actually a good thing to have some company.  I know Jack likes these dogs since he sees them every drill weekend, and I know Gary and Nicole enjoy getting outside with the dogs.  Everybody wins.

Gary and I used all of Saturday to do a roof, but finished it to our pleasant surprise.  That left all of Sunday to fool around: four wheeling, trails, walks, beer, guns, archery... and so on.  The possibilities are limitless.  We took the dogs for a walk over to a near-by pond.  Aries (Gary's big dog) loves the water and was dying to swim.  His other smaller dog -who I will call Anna, since her real name is made up and impossible to spell- is a girl and was having fun wading and playing with Jack.  

I met some of the people from town who use the pond, and we talked briefly.  It was good, since I don't have much contact with the locals since I moved out.  It is good to make sure everybody knows who everybody is when you could run into them at an inconvenient time (read:

 hunters should be aware of other people in the area since we may cross paths with guns in the dusk).

Anyway, Jack enjoyed the swim.

So, we went back home and relaxed a bit on the porch before starting to make some new trails in the back acreage.  And then, well, Jack was overcome with his affection for Anna.  I am proud of him.  Granted, it could have gone better.

Both are fixed, but he didn't seem to care.  She's a bit bigger than him (twice his size, I would say), but attractive.  He didn't quite get it all figured out, but she didn't seem to mind.  In fact, the indifference with which she regarded his advances reminded me of many of my ex-girlfriends, and his indifference to all of this reminded me of me.  

He will see her again this weekend, so let's all wish him well.  I know I'm pulling for him.

fleeting, part 2.

Today is the first day of Autumn.  It is the season of ending, when we reap the harvest, admire the last blaze of summer's foliage, and think about the long hibernation of winter.  

For people in other climates, this is alternately the season of birth, and so I find it fitting that today I am given the ending to Jack and I.  The end was inevitable, but the story which is the ending was always missing.   Today, though, Jack and I came back to the city from a productive-yet-relaxing weekend in the country (I earned enough money to pay rent, went squirrel hunting, and saw my family) and learned that Alaina and Jack would be off to Sydney, Australia.  This is a great moment, and, like all great things, carries a certain amount of sadness with the joy.  To top it off, I type this in my apartment while listening to Peter Gabriel's Salisbury Hill.

A week ago, I wrote a poem about the Fall season:

Autumn has come to the midwest

on the fading brilliance 

of Summer's coattails

Gilding the emerald mosaic

Ushering the harvest.

It is the season

of the hunt

of the rut

of slaughter

the life giving end of life.

Soon the snow will come

vertical strands of wood-smoke

bare trees 

stubble fields

joining the low, gray sky.

The aroma of Earth and dried leaves

quicken my heart

sharpen my senses:

I long for the November wood

the rush of prey.

So, now, we have and ending.  It is the work of the same authors which send me to Africa, and to the challenges of an interesting life.  The dewey-eyed youth will be off to join the World with new found skills, yet unprepared for what will come.  Still: the adventure of what will happen is more than anyone can imagine.  Our dreams are ill-equipped to contend with the joy of true adventure.  Even I could not begin to see a future of such grander. And such is life:

For those who would live life, to {as is written) not find, when they come to die, that they had not truly lived, but instead to have savored all the flavors of our mortal gift: that sorrow had been drunk as deeply as love; suffering with joy; salvation mingled with the sweet wine of the damned.  It is the human condition to walk the edges of razors and to see -should we be aware, vigilant and true- the grandiose scene of creation but for a moment.  And, what is more, to share all that we have been with our friends.  

Jack and I have adventures left, and stories untold, but tonight I raise a glass to Alaina for her courage to pursue the most elusive of prey: her dreams.

fleeting, part 1.

I am writing this entry from my apartment -a small, leaning one bedroom on 18th street, which has become home to Jack and I.  Jack is next to me, acting confused and bewildered by the recent loss of a rubber ball, while I enjoy a can of beer (which I can't afford) and a cigar (which is why I can't afford the beer).  

I have been stood up, and it is raining the rain of a hurricane which reaches us all the way from the Atlantic coast or the gulf (I am not sure which), thinking about Jack.  What a funny thing to have a dog as your friend, but how much more odd to know that he is only on loan.  Perhaps it is the atmosphere of expensive smoke and cheap beer surrounded by books and the artifacts of an interesting life, but I see in Jack a new way of looking at people.  I wouldn't go so far as to put this in the category of philosophy -it is more the idle musing of a man spending a quiet evening immersed in solitude than a well-thought ideology- but I feel free to be honest with Jack, and why not?  He is, after all, my friend as much as anyone.  I invest in him my emotions: looking out for him, taking an interest in his likes (rubber balls, discarded bones from my kitchen, walks around the neighborhood), and simply spending time with him.   He travels with me, meets my friends, spends just as much time with me as I do with him.  But what of our future?

I know that Jack and I are friends, but he will leave eventually.  Thinking about this inevitability, I know that I will miss his company, but I also know that I am fortunate to have had this time.  And so it is with all of us: we are all eventually going to experience loss on some level.  It may be at the same level as Jack and his rubber ball (which has been lost during a game of fetch somewhere in the vicinity of my kitchen table and a mass of shoes), or it may be on a deeper and more permanent level, but it will happen.  What I am remembering -since I am no stranger to loss, or the sadness resulting from- is that the foreknowledge is part of what gives it value.  To use someone else's perspective: the pain then is part of the pleasure now.  If it lasted forever, I think it would become cheap.  That it ends, is the source of it's value.  Such is life, no?  

Homecoming

Well, Jack is back, and sporting a fresh fade.  I think it is supposed to make him look like a lion and cut down on the heat, but I am afraid it does neither.  He is simply a little disjointed looking -no flow over the whole body- and he still pants like me at a women's volleyball tournament.  

Of course I don't tell him this.  I, actually, didn't say anything about it.  I know how sensitive he can be about his looks.  I suppose it stems from his size.  You spend your whole life looking up to people, and it's hard not to think of them as looking down on you.  

All the more reason for me to resume the "man-up" training.  I think hi smother spoils him, so I try to help him get his self esteem up.  Help him learn to do "man things":  

1) shooting

2) drinking

3) auto-mechanics

4) cooking

5) crime fighting

6) drinking  

That is phase one actually.  Phase two is:

1) fighting

2) drinking

3) motorcycles

4) poetry

5) painting

6) hunting  

He is not ready for phase two.

Take last weekend for example.  

I finally got the time and money to put a bicycle together.  My boss/associate/professor/friend Scott gave me a frame and most of the components to a really good road bike in addition to the tools and technical expertise.  So, I went out and spent part of my school grant money (I get grants for being either really cool or really poor) on the missing pieces and a case of beer, and Jack and I went to the shop.

I am worried about Jack.  Not only did he not really dig the bicycle build up, but he complained the entire time about not having any fun.  How could he not have fun?  I offered to let him use the table saw or the lathe, but, no, he didn't want to.  I let him listen to XRT, but nothing good was on.  It was crazy.  In a shop where he could have done anything, he did nothing.  I built a bike.  Thinking back to the earlier list, I think Jack needs to work on his mechanical skills.

Oh, and when my friend broke into my apartment via the kitchen window, all Jack did was look up and then snuggle closer to me.  I'm pretty sure my reaction of simply walking toward the unknown perp. in nothing but a blanket with a confused look on my face was better than going back to sleep.  So much for crime fighting.  Maybe I should take him to some dark alleys around town (last time we just drank with some homeless guy, who was really nice) and try to look vulnerable.  That may work: a six three, two-hundred pound white guy walking a Tibetan Wolfhound through a dark alley saying things like, "Gosh Jack, I hope nobody mugs us and takes the huge roll of bills."

Anyway, I am glad Jack is back, and all of the feed back on the blog has been positive.  Don't hesitate to respond via post.  Adios. 

submissive

Jack is on vacation this week, spending some quality time with his family, and no doubt enjoying a serious pampering.  I am left to unpack and set up the adventure headquarters.  So, there were no real adventures this week.  I did some wild partying in Pekin, and spent some time with my own family, but this isn't about me.   Jack is having a good time, I'm sure, and I did get info on a new haircut, so we will have to see when he gets back.  

In the meantime, I wanted to ask that I get some comments.  I know there are quite a few of you who read this, and I know that several wish to remain anonymous -either for personal or legal reasons- and that is fine.  However, like Will did, you can simply go in and anonymously post and sign whatever name you want.  It would make Jack feel better if he saw that other people were reading this.   

Drill

Jack can't help that he's pretty.

It's not really a bad thing, but still, he can't help it.  It's a problem many of us face -if, like Jack and I, you are really good looking- where people force some idea on you.  As if what I look like is any indication of who I am.  For Jack, it's an issue of gender, where as most people think I am just a good looking playboy.

I don't know how many times people have to be told that it's a male dog.   No: I don't care what he looks like or what you thought.  Jack is a male.  

Anyway, I digress....

I wanted to write about Jack and my recent trip and our more important move.  That's right: we have a new address.  We were there for all of fifteen minutes before we left, but have now spent a night there and have found it acceptable.  Jack doesn't care much for the height of the ceilings (14ft) and the new floor (no traction when he practices his kung-fu), but he thinks it's funny that I am il-equipped to live alone.  Yesterday he was helping me put in the fridge and stove (just like camping and hobo-ing: first thing to do is set up the kitchen) and he couldn't believe I didn't own a broom, trash can, or basic cleaning utensils.  He also found it funny that a guy who spends hours in the bathtub wouldn't have a shower curtain.  

Still, it is a good place.    Last night we got a huge storm and had no issue with water coming in through the windows. Both Jack and I love to watch storms, which is cool cause the one we had last night couldn't have been ignored.   

Over the weekend I took Jack down to meet my extended family and leave him there while I did my military thing.  It was a good drill, and when I returned Saturday, Jack was having fun with my family.  The kids all love to play with him, and he loves to run.  It was a good time: little sleep, good company, and an early day.   

The trip home was a good one for Jack to experience: we left late and slept on a wayside for a couple of hours.  A hot night, but sleep overtook us.  I needed the rest, and spent the brief break in the arms of a beautiful girl, soft with dark hair, before I was awakened to the panting of my sidekick.  He was ready to go, and while I wanted no more than to return to the arms of my dream lover, a quick check showed we were only an hour or so from sunrise and a new day. Back on the road.  Jack went back to sleep, and I let the memory of her fade.  

I should have gotten her name, but I think I may know her...

Hero Shot

Finally, here is a picture of the star of the show.  Jack's a hard guy to photograph, especially when your photographer has been drinking bathtub vodka for two hours prior to the shoot.  

This photo was actually taken an hour or so after Jack's first motorcycle ride.  He now has forty miles under his belt and I think he really likes it.  Initially he want to get off, but once we got moving, he started to really like it.  Of course everyone around us thought it was great, and we fell into our usual roll as the most entertaining thing on the planet.  Every driver, passenger, and pedestrian had to smile at the guy with the wolfhound riding bitch (quick note: don't tell Jack he was riding bitch, he is sensitive about the whole gender roll thing).  

That was a pleasant night though.  I took Jack to meet Will at Juvenile Hall (what we call his apartment).  I was feeling self destructive, and I needed to get out and move a bit.  I knew Jack would enjoy a change so off we went.  This was also a good opportunity to tell Will about my plan for next spring, which is to graduate and then walk across Africa and climb Kilimanjaro in Tanzania.  Then -part two- I think I will go to Canada and live in a cabin for the remainder of the year until I begin Grad school or succumb to my injuries and leave a legacy of tragedy and sad laughter along with journals which will be published and make me instantly -if unfortunately posthumously- a hero to millions.  Jack thinks this is perhaps too much to hope for and likes his ideas for a happy existence, which largely have to do with a big yard, a rubber ball (which lights up and makes noise upon impact), and the occasional stroll through the park. He may be on to something.

Saturday I had to work, but I took Jack to the lake for Venetian Night.  This was the fifty-first run, and Jack loves fireworks.  I love boats and being outside.  So, with a pinot noir, a good cigar, and my walking shoes, we went.  It was pretty fun.  Jack drew a lot of attention by a boy who chased us for two blocks -parents in tow- so he could pet Jack.  His mother was out of breath, but appreciated that I let him pet Jack.  She asked that I pass along her prayers to Alaina for a safe return.  

I also saw an opportunity to use Jack for good instead of evil: 

Walking home I saw this autistic boy being carried by his mother.  They were just walking along and as soon as the boy saw Jack, he locked on.  I was a bit behind them, but after a block of this I snatched up Jack and asked the woman if her son could pet my dog.  That boy loved it, and the mother seemed genuinely taken back by such a thing.  It was nice to have enhanced the boy's day with such a simple thing.

The adventure continues later with a new headquarters for Jack and I.

Take care.

The Tibetan Wolfhound and Beetoven's Seventh

Jack, it turns out is not a Pomeranian.  No.  He has been mislabelled and is actually a Tibetan Wolfhound or possibly a Romanian Desert Fox.  He could even be an African Snake Hunter.  Yes, he could be any of these things, but he cannot be a Pomeranian.  Why?  Because I can not have a Pomeranian.  Whatever he was thought to be, he is no longer.  So now, here is how the conversations go:

"Hey, that's a great looking dog."

"Thanks."

"What kind is he?"

"Tibetan Wolfhound."

"Looks like a Pomeranian."

"That's cause you don't know what a Tibetan Wolfhound looks like."

"Is he dangerous?"

"Only if he thinks you're a wolf.....or rubber ball."

See? So much better than before with the sly laughter.  Oh, but if I happen to run into a attractive woman it sounds like this:

"Oh! He's so cute!"

"Want to touch it?"

"Can I?" 

(She bends down and Jack moves away)

"I have to hold him, he's kinda shy."

"What kind is he?"

"Tibetan Wolfhound?"

"Is he dangerous?"

"Terribly.  He killed a pack of wolves this morning before breakfast."

"He's so cute.  He doesn't look dangerous."

"Trust me, he would kill us all if he got the chance."

"You are terribly brave and strong to take care of such a beast."

"I don't like to brag, but, yes, I am both strong and brave.... and dynamite in the sack."

"I believe it.  Is it getting hotter?"

"Why yes."

"Should we go inside?  My place is right over there."

"Don't mind if I do."

(We go to her place and the story continues, but I will put the rest in a different blog)

Okay, on with the story.....

I rushed home the other day from my super-cool design internship so that I could get Jack and take him to the symphony.  I didn't know if he was into classical -he listens to rock and roll all day, and old country when we drink- but I figured it is always good to get exposure to different culture.  Anyway, I rushed home (a speedy thirty miles per hour since they tore up the Edens) and got Jack and we walked from my place on 16th to Millennium park.  The Grant Park Symphony puts on free shows at the amphitheatre once in a  while, and I wanted to go.  We were a little late, but it was Beethoven's seventh symphony and it sounded really good, so we grabbed a spot on the crowded lawn and settled in to listen. 

Wouldn't you know as soon as we get settled and Jack gets into the second movement with genuine interest (ears up, eyes bright, head bobbling) the fuzz came by to hassle us.

No dogs on the great lawn.

Fine.  I moved.

Just then, some Segway riding guy comes by and kicks us out.  

No dogs in the park: period.

I explain that there are no signs, that Jack is just a music fan like everybody else, and that I am actually a disabled veteran and Jack is my prosthetic brain -something like I lost my mind and all I got was this dog to think for me- but it was no use.  I took Jack for a walk.  I bet he would have been a lot less smug if he wasn't riding some of the coolest wheeled technology, sporting a badge, and especially if he knew what a Tibetan Wolfhound is capable of, but these things didn't occur to me until later. 

Instead, we walked up the lake for a ways and then I took my disappointed little sidekick to Dick's Last Resort.  The waiter there let me have Jack with me out on the patio and even gave him service.  The customers going in and out liked him, and I think the attention bolstered his mood.  The waiter -and I'm sorry I didn't get his name- was bored since nobody was on the patio, and he joined me in conspiring against the park staff.  Both of us agree: there is nothing intimidating about a cop on a segway, and it really just makes me want to push them over.  The guy -let's call him Ted- Well, Ted could juggle knives and he gave Jack some match books with nude women on them (I will post them when I get them scanned and figure out how to post photos).  

We walked back, and sat with a chick who was playing guitar.  She was from Michigan and needed money for some sort of fine.  She didn't go into detail, but it seemed like she needed to get home and the fine was serious.  I donated to the cause and played guitar with her and gave her a bag of peanuts.  I considered offering her a place to stay, but decided against it.  On we went.  

I played chess on the street, and won, but Jack was impatient.  I always wanted to do that, so it was nice to finally get around to it.  It's neat, that there are still enough people who play for someone to make any money on the street.

Overall, it was fun.  I think Jack had fun and I look forward to doing it again.  Now that I am in the process of signing on a home, we should have more time for this business.

I still have to get him on the back of my motorcycle, so stay tuned.

the weight of a pomeranian

A great July afternoon in Chicago: the sun is out, the breeze is nice, and the temperature is well above comfortable.  This is the heat which we will use to sustain ourselves through winter.  A collected and stored solar battery in the soul which can be used to thaw our hearts as the harsh northern wind howls through the streets of concrete and glass.  I will rest in this afternoon some time in January of February when I have decided that I should have moved to the delta of Mississippi and opened a junk yard or juke joint instead of this infernal design career.  It will keep me from leaving.  

I digress.  This is actually about the effects of a small dog on what was already an interesting life.  I need a place to live, and have been looking as much as I can (not much considering I work from ten to six and commute thirty minutes each way) and have found out two very important things:

1) I have never found my own apartment, so am il-equipped, and 2) Jack is changing the shape of my life.  

This came as a shock to me, but perhaps you will understand that not everyone wants Jack around.  I have been looking for a place to live and some people won't let me bring Jack.  I am sure it has nothing to do with his personality, but I still haven't told him because I don't want him getting upset.  Also: Jack kept me out of trouble the other night when I got a tad rowdy.   Let me explain....(ahem)

I had a rough day at work.  It's rare, but I made a mistake and my boss was disappointed with me (sound stupid? I would rather he shouted at me, but he just seems disappointed and tells me it's okay.  I hate it more than anything, and worse: he's an incredible guy) so I had a drink.  And then several more. 

I don't remember what happened next, but I found myself walking with Jack down Halstead St. where I ran into some people from school.  We joked around and then went to the closest dive bar (which has no name, just a beer sign for Old Style).  Jack seemed hesitant, but he stayed with me and kept me from getting stupid.  The bar let him in (probably to keep an eye on me) and everyone loved him.  I shot pool with some strangers and danced with some women I didn't know -and which Jack laughed at me for- and then I woke up.  All I got out of Jack was a disappointed look, and then I went off to an appointment and a day where my head would not stop pounding.  I did discover evidence that I had gotten quite involved in some festivities which I was not invited to, and used fireworks to gain entrance, but I have no other facts.  I did get the bike running, so now I just have to get Jack a way to ride.  

Next post: Jack turns out to not be a Pomeranian, and we get kicked out of Millennium Park, but end up drinking at a nice place downtown.

Right now, I gotta go see if I can find a place to live....

Oh, and Jack says Hi.

I.D.

Independence should be celebrated, and to me, nothing says independence like cars, beer, guns, fireworks, and a pomeranian.  I had to amend the list and add the last part, but it still works.

So, for the fourth my older brother brought the family all the way from Canada.  He has a wife and three kids.  Sam is American born, but his kids are Canadian and therefore have no idea what Independence Day is.  

Like Jack said, "As your lawyer, I recommend you drive fast and demonstrate your own brand of freedom."

Actually he just looked at me and gave me his happy but puzzled expression.  I took that to mean he agreed.  If I was wrong, he would surely have said something to me when we were buying $90 worth of fireworks in Indiana from a man with a pistol in his belt (belt being a loose term since he was wearing sweat pants).  

I had a great plan for an entrance so great the kids would have peed their pants:

I would ride in in my purple station wagon, radio blasting, dog barking, and shooting fireworks out of the window.  I would come in through the hedge so as to really take them by surprise.  

It would have been beautiful.  But, since my Dad had just gone into the hospital quite unexpectedly that afternoon, I felt as though a smoky barking purple streak of fun may have been seen as inappropriate.  I came in late, had a drink, and went to bed.

Dad turned out to be fine.  Bladder infection and some hospital time and everything went alright.

Jack, it turns out is quite an animal.  He made friends with everyone, rode the four-wheeler with me and my nephew, swam in a pond, and is unafraid of fireworks or gunfire.  He even managed to fight a little with my parents' puppy and not look like a pansy.

All in all, I think he had a good time.  He slept the whole way home alternating between my lap and his seat.  I could have used some help with the driving, but what can ya do?

How did I get here?

Let's be clear: were I to choose a pet, it would be a dog.  It would not be a Pomeranian.  I don't care how nice they are, it just does not fit.

Think about it.  Here I am, the last free American Man.  A tragic folk hero in the vein of Edward Abbey and Jack Kerouac and John Henry.  I drive an old, overpowered pickup that I built myself.  I drink straight whiskey, smoke cigars, hunt, fish, shoot guns, drink beer, and sleep outside without a tent.  Don't think of this as bragging, it's just the way things are.  To balance it all, I am loyal and helpful.... much like a dog without all the drool (though I have humped a few legs in my day).  

So, when my friend Alaina mentioned that someone would need to watch her dog, I volunteered.  I had to, it's what heroes (tragic or otherwise) do.  

I met Jack.  He's tall for a Pomeranian, and seems smart.  He has had some training, and understands three commands ("sit," "stay," and "gimmie a paw").  He is sweet and housebroken.  He is a chick-magnet.  

All in all, I figured it would be fun to have a little friend for a while.  A little reordering of my life, and it would be like a game.  

Man was I misguided.  

I have reordered my life quite a bit.  Jack won't let me oversleep.  He needs food and so on and I have to give it to him.   I take him with me everywhere I can.  I walk him twice a day.  He curls up in my lap at random, and likes to steer the car, though he is too short to reach the pedals.   

So, I guess he is fun.  What I didn't count on, and what is going to be a problem later, is that I really like him.  He's fun to have around.  

So I guess I can make peace with people instantly referring to him as "she" just because he's cute.  The ladies like him, and he isn't a bad companion.  We already went on a trip and we had fun.  

A little contradiction keeps things interesting.... right?

stand by

Stand by, I'm realigning this thing......