A Man's Best Friend

I took Nameless for a long walk yesterday. I figured it’d do us good to get away from the house for a while. Course I took some whiskey to help us along. Yup, Nameless has a liking for whiskey. I learned that a couple of weeks back when I spilt some on my hand and he licked my fingers clean. I’ve taken to pouring some in his bowl since then, not too much though, or he slobbers and falls over. A bit like me, sometimes.

Out in the hills Nameless had a good sniff around and got acquainted with a tree or two. Almost caught a rabbit, too. Last time he tried that the rabbit ended up chasing him, but not this time. I sat on a rock and watched as he ran this way and that, till the rabbit disappeared down a burrow. There’s hope for that dog yet, I thought, as I rolled a cigarette.

Three miles, two hours and an empty bottle later, we passed by the creek on the way home.

‘C’mon Nameless, go fetch!’ I yelled, as I threw a stick in the water. 

Hell, what a disappointment. The clueless lummox just sat by the water’s edge with his tongue flapping. I tried every which way to coax him into the water, from clapping my hands and growling, to giving him a good shove. Then I got the bright idea of getting down on my hands and knees, like I was gonna race him. A big mistake that was, ‘cause I slipped and toppled head first into the creek.

Up to my thighs in water, I retrieved my soggy hat and cussed that darned dog. 

‘Nameless! I hate to hurt your feelings fella, but you are one sorry excuse for a dog. You’re just one miserable let down after another, and…’ 

And then it happened. Nameless suddenly sprang to attention… and I’ll be damned if he didn’t come splashing into the water and pass me by. Well, I couldn’t believe my eyes when I turned around and saw him swimming back with a fish in his mouth. Reckon I must have stunned it when I threw the stick. My, did I feel proud. My dog looked pretty darned pleased, too.

Nameless got the treat he deserved when we got home; a thick slice of smoked ham. Me, I figured I’d have a cigarette and a drink on the porch, and cook a fish supper later. Only one drink became two and when the sun went down and the air cooled, thoughts of a little lady snuck in on the breeze. Two drinks became a whole bottle, bringing the kind of melancholy that leads to anger and pain. I felt hate for a man I’ve never met; I remember yelling at the moon and I remember smashing my fist against the house. Maybe I slobbered and fell over too.

I don’t recall going to bed but when I woke up this morning I found a chewed fish under my pillow. And that ain’t all… 

Strange, huh? Now who do you suppose they belong to?