Every dog's day

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I had waited for Friday, for years. I had lived that day countless times before, like a recurring dream from which I’d never woken. But there I was, wide awake and finally on my way. I was nervous as a jack rabbit in a pound. At my side was that constant and undeniable force which I summon as needed, and today it was like an IV drip to which I strapped myself. My requests were peace and beauty. They are all that really matter once the day is done.
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Railing down Kitty Canyon hasn’t gotten much easier these last few months. Today I saw beautiful flowers pitted against the red rocks. “Enough.” It wasn’t too long before I was pulling into the parking lot.
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Armed with the ownership of the irrelevance of justice, wishes for “good karma,” and the peace which I had summoned, I glided through the metal detectors. I sat while waiting for my lawyer, re-living the heartache, heartbreak and horror that had brought me there. Last week I sent Satan's evil twin a letter reminding him of what we gave up for him and what we endured, and how he hurt us and then ran like a coward. I called him a coward. To this day and after losing love again, I still don’t understand why people give up on love. Why would someone throw it away and just leave? I asked him where his honor was. Then I asked him to use this opportunity to do the right thing while it was his choice to do so.
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Karma is one of those concepts that I’m not sure I buy into. I do believe that when you set “good” free into the universe, it multiplies and enriches, as badness defiles and festers unto itself. But really, does a “bad” person ever pay a price for what he does? How can he if he has no conscience? Isn’t the remorse that you feel your very penance? Isn’t the joy in giving or doing, your shining reward?
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He arrived and looked as slick as he knew how to. I was wearing some worn out pants and an old jacket. My heart sunk. Not because I missed him. Not because I didn’t have something spiffy to wear, and not because I was afraid to lose. There was that all too familiar knowledge that someone that I had loved so deeply, just didn’t care about me anymore.
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Just twenty minutes into this morning’s walk I started to shiver. I was soaked to the bone. The mist was so much thicker than it appeared from my balcony. The drops were as visible as rain. Looking down at Poochi who was drenched and wearing mud-colored boots, his sad and sweet eyes searched mine for an answer. Yanking his chain suddenly, I reminded him that we needed to keep going.
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A little while later we were closing in on home when the morning’s light began to awaken the brightness in the sea of white-faced weeds. These were the same “flowers” which I had admired on Kitty Canyon as they contrasted the moisture-drenched and deeply colored green of that morning. They were so starkly beautiful, making me wonder why weeds are so despised.
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Friday morning’s surprise came when he offered to make things right. It had been years since he looked into my eyes with anything other than disdain. But that morning his pale blue eyes were gray and his chin trembled as we spoke. He gave me what I had asked for, and then I gave some of it back.
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As the warmth of those weeds saw me through this morning, I was grateful beyond measure. All of the sudden Dave started wailing about hammering his final nail and leaning up against Jesus. So I danced with him. A rabbit ran across our path and Poochi went after it. I ran with him for as long as I could, but then I had to let him go. After a few minutes of uninhibited sniffing and chasing, he came back to me with no prize. I kissed his sopping muzzle and then he and I ran home.


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