The fog was extremely thick outside this morning as I woke up. Bear was laying next to me on the floor. I had passed out on the couch. Twenty beers will do that to you. But it was Saturday night, and I was enjoying the fellowship of friends on the internet, and from my Dad sitting across the table from me.
The fog appeared outside early yesterday afternoon. Driving over the bridge to get to Mt. Zion, you couldn’t see the lake we were crossing. It’s a bit surreal, knowing something is there … but not being able to see it. Its a bit jolting, in fact.
Something that was there, being gone.
I let Bear outside, and he roamed the back yard as he does first thing in the morning. We’ve been doing this routine for the last six years. He’ll roam, sniff, stop, look at me and then run wild to the back yard. He doesn’t do his business in front of people, he’ll go behind the garage for privacy.
On this particular morning, I grabbed a folding chair and sat outside while I drank my morning Coke. Never been a coffee drinker – a fact my dad finds interesting. None of us boys drank coffee … its funny the things you pick up from your parents and the things you don’t.
Bear got done and noticed i was sitting on the folding chair. He slowly walked towards me … then barked. He doesn’t bark a lot. In fact, when we first brought him home from the pound he didn’t bark at all. We thought maybe he was mute.
It would be a week and a half before we heard his beautiful voice in the house. And we laughed. Such a big dog, his first bark was less menacing and more sweet – he was barking for attention.
He sat next to me outside, and we just sat there. He knows when I have a lot on my mind, and he’s the best listener … because he doesn’t expect words out of me. He just sits there, and from time to time, will glance up at me, to make sure I’m still there. As I do the same. Eventually, he won’t be here … or I won’t be here. Eventually neither of us will be here.
Eventually we both will be something that was there, now gone.
