You know what’s crazy? I’ll tell you what’s crazy™
The big black dog.
It’s dawn. The light in the room is feint. The big black dog is sleeping by the window. I know he’s sleeping because he snores loudly like an old man with a sinus condition.
The old black dog likes this spot on the floor. He leans against the wall, under the window. The wall is cool to the touch and there is a trace of outside air seeping in. The window is frosty, the cool night still stuck to the pane of glass.
The big black dog is 12 years old and he has a touch of arthritis. I imagine the cold floor makes his joints feel good after a day of chasing tennis balls and swimming in the lake.
The big black dog’s hearing is diminished. After 12 years, and who knows how many shot gun blasts hunting ducks in Arkansas, he doesn’t hear everything going on. If you want his attention, you have to get right up in his face and let him read your lips before he’ll respond to your presence.
As I walk in, I can tell the big black dog is asleep. He is slumbering, his paws twitching, dreaming a lab’s dream of running in a grassy field full of lady dog scents and milk bone biscuits.
As I approach, the carpet absorbs my foot steps in a quiet hush.
I look down at the big black dog. He is a gentle creature. I have never heard him snarl or bark an angry bark. He is playful and wishes to please. In his day he was a stud. He hunted ducks and often collected all the neighbors Sunday newspapers in the Memphis neighborhood where he grew up.
He is 85 pounds of solid muscle. If big black dog was a human, he’d be that 80 year old man on the vitamin supplement commercial pulling off his shirt showing his washboard abs. Girl labs half his age still take notice when he is stepping by, chasing a tennis ball or a random scent at the dog park.
As I move to him, he looks up. His black fur is full of white scruff, and distinctions of age.
Big Black Dog’s nose still works acutely. He sniffs and groans a morning groan and raises an eye lid. He takes a moment and spies me in the shadows. He cocks his head to the side, looking at me from the corner of his eye. He has a cataract and I don’t think he sees well straight on.
Suddenly he catches a glimpse of me. His big black dog face turns upward in a smile. He is so happy.
“Scratch my head,” he says with an impish dog grin.
I put my hand on the wall for balance and then place my bare foot on his skull. I begin scratching his head. He is ecstatic. If I could bottle ecstasy, it would look like this.
He moans a happy dog moan as his left rear leg begins vibrating. It’s as if he is trying to kick over a dirt bike.
Vroom. Vroom
His back leg is a whir as it rotates gleefully scratching his own belly.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
His powerful paws bang the carpet, shaking the room.
It’s a morning percussion that shakes birds from their nests outside the window sill.
I laugh as the big black dog pushes his mastodon sized skull into my foot trying to increase the pressure on his head.
After a few moments, I stop.
Big Black Dog is grinning ear to ear.
If an 80 year old man could coo, this would be the equivalent.
He cocks his head to the side and stares at me.
He winks, as if to say thanks, and good morning to you too.
I step back and watch as the big black dog pushes up against the cool wall.
The frost is beginning to melt on the glass as the warming rays of the sun rise over the horizon.
Big Black Dog closes his eyes and goes back to sleep, dreaming of a tennis ball rolling forever in a green field.
Life’s Crazy™