seems like old times
i pulled the old truck up to near the front of safeway and jumped out, leaving the windows open, but the dog to scare off any intruders. he was a good dog that way -- a large hound dog with a brilliant bark that didn't really have the desire to leave the cab at all.
it must have been a weekend or something. thinking back, i am sure of that because it was one of those grocery stores with the bank in the front, and i had to wade through the massive lines that marked a common payday. but also, it had seemed like ken had grown up.
the man didn't drink more than one night a week -- an agreement he had struck with his girlfriend, who had become increasingly annoyed by his now-weekly treks through a time when there was no tomorrow, and nothing to worry about. now everything had to be planned and thought out.
but nonetheless, i managed to get a couple nights in where we could sit down and take shots of vodka and talk shit into the night. and this night was looking good. i had landed a date with some 20-something vixen that assured me she could drink with the best of them.
i grabbed a couple of bottles of vodka -- absolut and some russian top-shelf that i couldn't even pronounce the name if i had wanted. when drinking vodka straight, you want to go with a bottle that will give you the ambiance of old russia, and the absolut was if you wanted to mix. so i guess i thought things out from time to time too.
when i made my way out of the store, there was a hobo looking just about my age standing outside the passenger's side of the truck talking to my dog. the dog didn't bark, he was getting old and preferred to save his energy for what he considered to be threatening ... i think. you never can know with dogs.
"it seems just like old times, elmer," was just about all i overheard as i approached the scene.
my dog didn't have a name. i guess i just figured that he never felt the need to tell me what to call him, so i never really felt the need to name him. for fourteen years, "hey" or "stop" or "come on" and a few other common sense words had done the job just fine. maybe this guy could sense that he didn't have a name.
it's always the same thing if you have a dog without a name. the first question someone asks when they bend down to pet your dog is "what's his name?" i don't know if that's because they took the time to look for a penis before engaging the dog, or if they just always assume that dogs are men and cats are women ... i am yet to make up my mind.
usually they will ask how old they are next, but not when you tell them the dog doesn't have a name. that usually shakes up their world -- especially when it's a dog as old as this one. they always ask why, and i would usually just say, "i don't know his name." so needless to say, many a person has named my old dog. but i don't recall anyone ever foregoing this cookie cutter conversation. ... but i still went ahead and jumped in.
"why elmer?"
"that's what he says his name is, man. but he says it's not your fault, he's never been able to tell you."
"do you know my dog?"
"i don't know, man. i seem to feel like i do. i think i was a dog in another life. he called me from over there," he said pointing out to the cross-street that he must have been standing at when i first pulled up.
"i know you too," he added. "and i know what you are doing. you are lying to everyone. there is no light outside for them to see. you don't know what you are talking about. nothing has really changed for you. you are a sad, sad man, who doesn't even know what to call his dog. you may think you are different. but you are still one of society's whores. that's all any of us can ever be."
he had worked himself up into a full roar by the end of his tirade. but when he was done, he just turned and walked away from the truck.
i didn't know what to say. i lit a cigarette and got in the cab. the dog looked back at me, as if to say that the dude was crazy, but that he didn't care. and just then, i saw him standing at the truck behind mine, where there was a st. bernard crosstied in the bed.
"seems like old times, elmer," i heard him say as i drove off.
it must have been a weekend or something. thinking back, i am sure of that because it was one of those grocery stores with the bank in the front, and i had to wade through the massive lines that marked a common payday. but also, it had seemed like ken had grown up.
the man didn't drink more than one night a week -- an agreement he had struck with his girlfriend, who had become increasingly annoyed by his now-weekly treks through a time when there was no tomorrow, and nothing to worry about. now everything had to be planned and thought out.
but nonetheless, i managed to get a couple nights in where we could sit down and take shots of vodka and talk shit into the night. and this night was looking good. i had landed a date with some 20-something vixen that assured me she could drink with the best of them.
i grabbed a couple of bottles of vodka -- absolut and some russian top-shelf that i couldn't even pronounce the name if i had wanted. when drinking vodka straight, you want to go with a bottle that will give you the ambiance of old russia, and the absolut was if you wanted to mix. so i guess i thought things out from time to time too.
when i made my way out of the store, there was a hobo looking just about my age standing outside the passenger's side of the truck talking to my dog. the dog didn't bark, he was getting old and preferred to save his energy for what he considered to be threatening ... i think. you never can know with dogs.
"it seems just like old times, elmer," was just about all i overheard as i approached the scene.
my dog didn't have a name. i guess i just figured that he never felt the need to tell me what to call him, so i never really felt the need to name him. for fourteen years, "hey" or "stop" or "come on" and a few other common sense words had done the job just fine. maybe this guy could sense that he didn't have a name.
it's always the same thing if you have a dog without a name. the first question someone asks when they bend down to pet your dog is "what's his name?" i don't know if that's because they took the time to look for a penis before engaging the dog, or if they just always assume that dogs are men and cats are women ... i am yet to make up my mind.
usually they will ask how old they are next, but not when you tell them the dog doesn't have a name. that usually shakes up their world -- especially when it's a dog as old as this one. they always ask why, and i would usually just say, "i don't know his name." so needless to say, many a person has named my old dog. but i don't recall anyone ever foregoing this cookie cutter conversation. ... but i still went ahead and jumped in.
"why elmer?"
"that's what he says his name is, man. but he says it's not your fault, he's never been able to tell you."
"do you know my dog?"
"i don't know, man. i seem to feel like i do. i think i was a dog in another life. he called me from over there," he said pointing out to the cross-street that he must have been standing at when i first pulled up.
"i know you too," he added. "and i know what you are doing. you are lying to everyone. there is no light outside for them to see. you don't know what you are talking about. nothing has really changed for you. you are a sad, sad man, who doesn't even know what to call his dog. you may think you are different. but you are still one of society's whores. that's all any of us can ever be."
he had worked himself up into a full roar by the end of his tirade. but when he was done, he just turned and walked away from the truck.
i didn't know what to say. i lit a cigarette and got in the cab. the dog looked back at me, as if to say that the dude was crazy, but that he didn't care. and just then, i saw him standing at the truck behind mine, where there was a st. bernard crosstied in the bed.
"seems like old times, elmer," i heard him say as i drove off.
posted by jeames morgan at
03:03
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