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A Dog Day Afternoon We were nearly finished with our stroll through Lake Lure Flowering Bridge, something we do at least once each year when staying at our modest time share in the area. But I had one important stop to make before we left. We turned at the gazebo and followed the narrow stepping stone path. A walkway flanked with a kaleidoscope of flowers and plants, a murmuring stream and a natural mixture of fragrances that would put any essential oils huckster to shame. And there the special spot loomed before us… So many years ago, I had a roommate. He never paid a damn dime toward the mortgage, offered to help with chores around the house and not once did he apologize for immediately destroying whatever cheap gift I would occasionally bring him. When I suddenly was left alone, he, too, was left behind. We became an odd couple. Sometimes, I would look at him lazily stretched out on the floor and I would mumble, “Look at ya - you’re uglier than a box of rocks and twice as dense.” He’d cock his head sideways and stare back at me quizzically for a moment then put his noggin back down. Guess it’s true: A soft answer turns away wrath, even that kind which is meant to be mirthful. When he was in top form, he’d leap my backyard fences like Jason Bourne fleeing the CIA and seeking new destinations in the neighborhood. As he made these getaways, there were only echoes of me screaming his name, always followed by my tagline, “Get your sorry raggedy ass back here!” To his credit, he made lasting friendships with virtually all of my visitors, particularly my grandkids. It did not take him long to win them over with whatever goofy charm he possessed. In fact, he was very protective in his own unique style. When Robyn entered the picture back in 2009, he took a particular interest in her gentle and soft-hearted nature. He responded to her in kind, proving once again to that Pavlov was on to something. He wasn’t all that picky about his eating. Good thing, too, because he ate virtually the same thing every day. Every now and then, he would shake his bulky self in a happy dance when I brought him a plain hamburger from McDonald’s. He’d devour that foul pseudo food in about two gulps. He had a stubborn yet adventurous nature. Occasionally, when outside, he’d get wanderlust and hop the fences faster than Jason Bourne fleeing the CIA. He would become a sleek black after-image. The neighborhood was use to my familiar yell, “Get your sorry raggedy-ass back here - and I mean now!” A frustrated Hoosier voice crying out in the suburban wilderness. Sometimes I could see him in a distant backyard, either renewing or making new friendships. Eventually, he would return and gaze curiously at me as if to say “Dude, what is your problem? You actually think I’d skip out on this gravy train of mine? Geez.” The years passed. Robyn and I were married. But changes were beginning to occur with our roommate. He was sprouting white clusters of hair, didn’t seem interested in leaving the backyard, his gait was getting more awkward as arthritis. Sometimes, he would stare at a wall for a long period of time. I suspect his eyesight was fading to black. He slept more often and longer, usually fitfully. In early spring 2015, we made the hard decision and made the appointment with the veterinarian. We’d put it off perhaps a little longer than we should have. But it was his time… We approached the Rainbow Bridge. A place flanked by plants and flowers, a murmuring stream and facing the granite Chimney Rock Mountain. A sign at the entrance to the bridge invites visitors to attach their pet's collars or tags to the Rainbow Bridge's rails. "A place to peacefully honor and remember our four-legged family members," says the sign. Colorful and dull collars and leashes dangled or were tied to the wood handrails. Name tags were aplenty and some coverings proclaimed titles of how, in life, they helped their ailing two-legged companions. We looked for the right spot. Robyn pointed at a post with some space. I knelt down and wrapped a Christmas scarf he had worn for brief intervals during the holiday season. He tolerated that and other neckwear when the situation called for it. But he was a Houdini in removing the annoying things. I tied a square knot and held up an end. Robyn followed suit. It was fastened next to “Skittles.” “There ya go, buddy. There’s lots of hills for you to explore around here. Rest easy whenever you’re a mind to.” He was our friend, you see. And his name was Patrick. We retraced our steps and left the Rainbow Bridge.

Celebratory Yet Serene A little Tito Puente seems appropriate for today’s solar eclipse. First, sunrise and adjusting the time on our sun dial then onward to Newfields. It was a spectacular day for celestial and terrestrial sightseeing. My bride got into the spirit and made her T-shirt in advance. The bonus was seeing Venus and Jupiter swaying nearby. How can you witness something as magnificent as this and not be moved?