64,58-59LastMilesum2010.qxd:_
• • • • • •
4/22/10
9:44 AM
Page 64
Last Mile
This will be the last...
Dear Airstream Life, I’ve often written your magazine for the free advertisement of some of my near-genius ideas, but this evening I’m penning this letter while sittin’ at our dinette to give a shout-out to some of the most solid friends I’ve ever known throughout my life. In our many years of trailerin’ around the country I’ve had both the fortune and misfortune of crossin’ paths with all types of characters. No doubt, many of ‘em that bumped into me over the years are probably still scratchin’ their heads as well, but one thing’s for certain: the most dependable, non-bragging, back-your-play kinda friends I’ve encountered is the faithful Trailer Dog. These hair sheddin’ flea scratchers never fuss about being cramped in a trailer, ridin’ in the back of the truck, movin’ from place to place or havin’ to sit next to us while we spin the same stories over and over on campouts. They’re just plain happy to be a part of the Airstream pack. Although most folks wouldn’t consider me a reader and thinker on things scientific, my favorite bathroom reading material is the Readers Digest and I recently read a story about how everything in the universe is connected like a string (which is why that feller that rolled up the worlds largest ball of twine is a prophet). Today’s events reminded me of that story and how everything in life is linked. The morning started with a dream I was having when thankfully I was awakened at just the right moment. It was one of those dreams that replays an event you’d forgotten about long enough to be able to deny it with a straight face to those that had witnessed it.
It was the unfortunate time at one of my first Hut family reunions when I was talked into competing in the annual bran flakes and prune juice eating competition. The rules were simple: the first goober that was able to eat three boxes of bran flakes and two quarts of prune juice was to ring a bell and be declared that years winner and be paid $10 by the losers. I needed the money to buy a nice leather collar to replace the rope I’d braided for my faithful black lab Dolly so I signed up, determined to win it for her. My cousins had set up several plywood dividers with a chair and a small wobbly table between each so that contestants couldn’t see how their competitors were doing and when we were all set they yelled “Go!” and go I did. By golly, it took me close to an hour, but I got all that bran and juice shoved down my gullet and proudly rang the bell while trying my best to stand up to be congratulated and admired. Instead of applause though, the whole clan let loose with belly laughs and guffaws as I stepped out of my little stall and observed that with no one else sittin’ at their table, I had been the sole contestant and was the victim of a dastardly practical joke. The rest of the day, holed up in the bathroom, I was reminded every couple of minutes why I don’t like reunions and I muttered repeatedly “This will be my last.” The only one that didn’t avoid me the rest of the day was my faithful trailer dog Dolly, although she did lay with her nose as close to the screen door as possible. I clearly remember thinking that that black lab was my only friend in the whole world at the time and how special these trailer dogs are. (Continued on page 58)
64
AIRSTREAM LIFE
SUMMER 2010
64,58-59LastMilesum2010.qxd:_
• • • • • •
4/22/10
Last Mile
AIRSTREAM LIFE
Page 58
(Continued from p. 64)
I was just reliving that moment when I was startled from my dream. Still groggy, I woke up thinking how unusual it was for Mrs. Hut to start the morning waking me up with a big wet kiss, especially before brushin’ her teeth. Frankly, I was a little put off when she started breathing heavy on my face and in my ear, especially with morning breath that smelled strangely like dog chow. I figured my safest tactic was to feign sleep, but when she put both hands on my chest and dug in her finger nails I had no option but to open my eyes and try to talk her out of what I thought she had in mind.
58
9:44 AM
Imagine my relief when after openin’ my peepers I looked up to see our old Golden Retriever, Chief, looking down at me with his dark brown eyes showing excitement about the new day as well as tellin’ me that he had business to take care of ASAP. I was surprised that the old fellow was able to stand on his his hind legs and reach up with his front paws like that since he hadn’t been able to walk too well for some time. Rollin’ out of bed I followed him down the narrow hallway while his tail wagged back and forth whacking the walls with a
SUMMER 2010
loud thump, thump thump as he passed the dinette. Then he started scratching on the inside of the aluminum door, sounding liked a drumstick on a washboard. I was impressed that he was so revved up, with a burst of energy he hadn’t shown for a couple of years and welcoming the day like it was his last. Reaching around him to put on his leash and unlock the door resulted in me stepping in his water bowl, getting’ my socks all wet and letting out a four letter bark of my own. From the far end of the trailer Mrs. Hut yelled at me wantin’ to know why I was makin’ so much noise, which of course caused me to add another comment to my first, although quiet enough not to get in hot water along with the cold I’d just stepped in. Although his tail was wagging 90 miles an hour, I still had to help lift him down the steps out of the trailer and hold onto him until he got his legs under him enough to walk. The grass was still wet with dew since it was so early and I unclipped Chief’s leash so he could roam on his own, which he enjoyed. This morning though, he took a few steps, stopped and turned around looking back at me with his gray chin whiskers as if he was waiting to walk me instead for a change. For the past few years Chief and I had been competing with each other to see who was the stiffest in the legs and least likely to get up and walk more than a few yards when necessary so I felt obliged to follow him this morning as he pushed himself to make the best of it. Hopefully, none of our fellow campers were lookin’ out their windows. Now I know that you ladies won’t understand, but when Chief and I are out for a walk in the woods (or in town if it’s dark) we both enjoy markin’ trees. I’m good for two or three, but have never beat his record, which was 17. I’m not sure why I can remember that number; I have a hard time rememberin’ my own phone number, always forget my anniversary, yet can remember every milestone of every dog I’ve ever owned. When Mrs. Hut and me were newlyweds we adopted our first retriever, Barney, and he loved to ride next to me in the front seat looking out the window and his ears flappin’ in the breeze. My favorite recollection of him was one hot August day stuck at a construction site where a road crew was trimming the limbs of a giant oak hanging
64,58-59LastMilesum2010.qxd:_
4/21/10
9:42 AM
over the roadway. While sitting in traffic waiting for the flag man to wave us through, some knucklehead in the car next to me tried to get Barney to bark by teasing him and mock barking. I tell ya, this kid fake barked for a good five minutes, but that dog was obviously more intelligent than the ingrate next to us, since he never took the bait and just sat there silently staring back. When Barney wouldn’t react to such behavior, this future parolee started mocking me instead. Of course, not having the self control of my canine friend I took the bait and was about to open my door to reach through his open window and throttle him when as God is my witness, a big wasp nest, coated with angry hornets from the tree limb being trimmed, fell right onto our windshield. I suppose this was an answer to a prayer not spoken ‘cause I immediately turned on my windshield wiper, which flung that wasp nest off my windshield into the open window of the youngster still flappin’ his lips. Rollin’ up my window we both watched in horror, then amazement, and finally amusement as the definition of “payback” was demonstrated right before our eyes. It was at that point, that Barney gave a single bark, which summed it up nicely. There’s somethin’ to be admired in a dog of few words, or a bark well-spoken. Following Barney we had a pug named Cecil Xifo according to his little birth certificate, but we just called him Cecil. He was short, wider than he was long, and quite the load, kinda like a bowling ball with paws. As a pup he fit in the trailer just fine and we fixed him up a little dog house under our dinette by laying a 5 gallon plastic bucket on its side and stuffin’ his favorite blanket in it. After a couple of years he couldn’t back into that bucket anymore ‘cause his eatin’ habits had made him too round. All my four legged friends had their own unique gift and his was bein’ a master at pickin’ up scraps during our campouts whenever an absent minded camper set their plate down for just a second. The problem with Cecil was that he’d not only eat the food, but the paper plate as well. Like a lion picking out the weakest link, he had a natural instinct about folks and when a bunch of us were outside eatin’ I would slowly look around until I’d spot him stealthily standing in the shadow under his chosen victim’s lawn chair. This made for some solid
Page 59
entertainment as I’d wait for the unsuspecting victim to sit his plate down to get a drink or somethin’, only to return and have his whole plate gone with just the fork sittin’ there. Part of the fun was hearin’ the argument break out when he’d accuse his neighbor of absconding with his dinner. Cecil had also learned that if he walked from trailer to trailer, stood at the front door and offered up a bark often the owner would open the door and give him a treat. One weekend we were at one of those formal Airstream club rallies and Cecil walked up to a motor home with a sign in its window announcing that a high falutin’ club officer lived there. When Cecil stopped at the door and barked, this beret-wearin’ Al Gore imitator opened the door and the automatic steps shot out and conked Cecil in the head. Although it didn’t faze Cecil much, the owner demanded I pay for the dented step caused by my dog. I listened to him bluster on for several minutes while his poodle yakked in the background. When he was finished, I told him to give me a few minutes to find my checkbook and I’d leave him an envelope on our front step so he could stop by and pick it up at his convenience. About 30 minutes later while peeking out my window I saw him head towards the door and just when he reached down to pick up the envelope I quickly opened the door and conked him on the head. Looking down at the small dent on my door I picked up the envelope and informed him that “It looks like we’re about even on this deal so I’ll be takin’ my check back.” That’s when I learned that loyalty is a two way street and some days you have to back them up, like old Dolly did for me many years ago. Truth be told Cecil also got his payback when I saw him romancing that fellow’s poodle; under the offending motorhome no less. Some of these tree sniffers have a tougher time adapting to life as a trailer dog, like a stray pup we took in that grew into a Great Dane and Newfoundland mix we named Bear. He was so tall, long and wide he couldn’t turn around in the trailer. Once he entered the door of the trailer he could only go forward or backwards. If he walked forward to the back of the trailer he’d have to walk backwards to get to the front. Folks found it amusing when we’d open our door and Bear would step out of the trailer butt first.
After a couple of years of living in the trailer I suppose Bear figured this was how a dog of his caliber walked naturally because when we’d be outside with him he’d still only go forward or back. If you were sittin’ under the awning with him and threw his ball he’d go get it, but then drooling, with ball in mouth, he’d look over his left shoulder and walk straight backwards hopin’ you’d throw it again. He was the canine equivalent of an Etch-a-Sketch...no curves, only straight lines. Although they’re all favorites during our brief time with them, this old fellow, Chief, who woke me up this morning was somethin’ special. After 14+ years he was a pretty big piece of each day and a purpose in our life. This morning after Chief turned the tables and took me for a walk instead, with both of us marking trees, we slowly made our way back to the trailer for a rest. While Chief laid down with a deep, long sigh next to my lawn chair, I reached into the trailer to get him a treat as is our morning routine. I sat down with a long sigh of my own next to him and reached down to give him his treat, and when he didn’t lift his head to take it I immediately understood why Chief started his day like it was his last … sadly, it was. It’s late evening now as I flip the pages on the memories of all the paws that pranced and tails that wagged in this trailer and reflect on today. Mrs. Hut has cried herself dry and just tucked herself in for the night while I remain sitting at the dinette staring at an old shoe box in front of me. Opening the plain, worn box, I stare for several minutes at a collection of nylon, rope, leather, and metal reminders of the inevitable, all strung together. Over the years, it’s not one circle, but many circles of life that has formed a chain grown slowly, one link at a time, each a symbol of unconditional love, each adorned with a name tag and all added with a heavy heart. As I add one more link to the chain, a weathered leather collar, with the name “Chief” engraved on its metal tag, I mouth the same promise that accompanied each of these: “This will be the last ...” In memory of Bear, Cecil, Lance, Freckles, Barney, Dolly, Buddy, Nanna, Otis, Jude, Sapphire, Pepper, Chief……….. •••
AIRSTREAM LIFE
SUMMER 2010
59