Sunday, March 31, 2013




After a long hiatus I have accumulated a number of pieces from our creative writing class.  I shall present them with little or no introduction (not my usual approach.)

Preamble
I have drawn a complete blank looking for a story tied to “The one who loves the most will live the most”.  Therefore I have documented my thought process.
What does “love” mean?  Love equals the opportunity for great joy and great pain.  Exploring that thought leads to a Ben Franklin balance sheet for the act of loving:


_____Plus_____
Reciprocal love
Hugs and kisses
Sharing
Support


____Minus____
Detachment
Illness
Death
Arguments
Abandonment
Betrayal


I thought about chronicling the joys and pains of loving and living with my wife, Evelyn.  This did not work out for several reasons.  First, it is no where near a one page story.  Also, there is neither a crisp beginning nor end.

Then, because the first couple of entries in the plus column remind me of our dogs' response to any show of attention I considered constructing a story around the journey of one of our dogs into and through our lives.  A couple of stabs at this failed to produce the necessary inspiration.  There still may be something here.

Perhaps because I am an engineer-trained analytic individual, previous attempts to create a fictional story have been met immediately with a blank wall.  While it is not likely to help with this current homework assignment, if I can break through this hang-up, it might open the floodgates for posts to my neglected blog.

Let me tackle “The Life of Riley”.



The Life of Riley
Against my wishes my wife adopted a stray dog from the pound.  Riley (she came with that name) was a white Sheppard-mix bitch.  She had obviously been abused.  She had a large scar on her nose and did not take kindly to men and large women.  She always was “Evelyn’s dog”.

Riley and I coexisted under an uneasy truce for several years.  I tried to ignore her growling at me when I came home.  On occasion I lost it and chased her around the house.  Thanks to her agility I never did catch her.

Evelyn retired and it was time to move to our new home in Oregon.  Evelyn was going to drive our car, stopping to visit several friends along the way.  I was to drive our flatbed truck, loaded with furniture and other household stuff.  Riley and our cat, Luci, were to accompany me in the cab of the truck.  Evelyn’s last words to Riley were “Please behave or Daddy will leave you on the I5”.

Nineteen and one half hours later, after six hundred miles of driving rain and many stops to tie down the tarp covering the load and walking Riley, we arrived at our new home.  Riley and I had bonded!  She still was “Mama’s dog”, but we were buddies at last.

There followed summers when Riley barked at and chased, but never caught, chipmunks and squirrels, and winters when Riley romped in the snow.  She waited impatiently for me to dig out through six-foot high snow drifts so she could get out.  Those were happy times.

One Friday evening Riley started flopping around on the great room floor and ultimately fell down the stairs.  I suspected a stroke and called the vet.  Even though it was after seven o’clock on a Friday evening the vet said to bring Riley to the office.  I carried Riley to the car and drove the twenty three miles through snow-covered roads to the vet’s office.  The vet confirmed the diagnosis of a stroke and treated Riley with a sedative and cortisone.   After a few days all signs of the problem had disappeared and never returned.

When we sold our Oregon home and moved to the Coachella Valley, Riley was getting along in years.  A few months after the move, Riley developed difficulty with her hind legs.  Soon she could not stand by herself and often wet herself.  We had to bathe her twice a day, not a fun activity but something she had earned through nineteen years of loyalty.

When Riley lost all interest in eating it was time to have her put to sleep.  It was a very sad and tearful time.  We miss her greatly, but still enjoy pictures and memories of her.


Robert Niel Beatie – November 6, 2012