Spoiler Alert: The following is the second sequel to an undying tale. See it stand alone, or click on: Part 1 and Part 2. Now, for Part 3…
I can’t stop thinking about the old man and that fluffy, little pooch. When the vet warned her days were numbered, the old man understood it was from the same epidemic that snuffed his older brother, 67 years ago. It didn’t hit him that tuberculosis doesn’t infect dogs because back in the killing fields of WW2, it buried legions of his Army pals before they could rise, armed at the crack of dawn, and put up a real fight.
I need more. In the sun-splattered kitchen, we pour over fading photos, searching for clues. Under the table, the dog sniffs our feet. My camera follows the rotation of the old man’s dawdling brain. Eddy. He looks up and smiles at his wife. Junya. She rouses him with her eyes. In the wake of a massive stroke, he tells me as much as the two of them can remember. Across the table, Polish flies.
It was a bitter winter, 1945, the endgame of the war. Eddy was trapped, starving in a Russian prison, while his big brother hid from sight in Poland’s occupied forests, his last breath in a frozen, unmarked grave. He didn’t get the news until much later when the Red Cross finally tracked him down in Canada with the message- his brother was dead, his mother wanted to know he was alive. He says, once, twice, three times, I still have the letter. Junya shakes her head.
The dog is at Eddy’s feet. I offer some dark chocolate, a bitter sweet. His name was Leonard. Lee-o-nard. We rode our bikes in the house. Mama would run after us with a… a… He turns to his wife. She smiles. He used to work as a medic. He would say: Like a diaper, life is short and full of shit.
Eddy and Junya crack up. They’ve long out-lived the joke. My nose screws up. The dog took a shit on the floor. His snowy-haired parents clean it up in a slow-motion pas-de-deux that trumpets their advancing years. As we age, memory clouds and we can never be really sure what is true. Or what becomes a dream.
Click here for Puppy Love 4: C’est La Vie.
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[...] Puppy Love 3: Never Say Die [...]
Pingback by Puppy Love 2: The Resurrection « burns the fire — September 17, 2012 @ 4:22 pm |
You on a roll girl. What are you going to do with this? What you’ve done is lovely – but we want more.
Anne Lewis
Comment by Anne Lewis — September 17, 2012 @ 4:37 pm |
Thank you. More is coming.
Comment by Brenda Keesal — September 17, 2012 @ 5:40 pm |
Heartbreaking and heartwarming, both.
Comment by catherine rebellati — September 19, 2012 @ 6:13 am |
hey brenda… this is really good…. you have a story by the scruff…. feels like the first baby steps of something way bigger….a novel? a fictionalized memoir? a collection of short stories? dunno…. but dig baby dig!!
ciao
rudy barichello
my single dad writer’s blog: http://www.daddyknowsless.org
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Comment by Rudy Barichello — September 19, 2012 @ 11:48 am |
You have jumped in with both feet. Your story is fascinating. I await the next instalment. I too wonder were you are going but of course that is part of the pleasure. I find your initiative inspiring.
Kathryn
Comment by wildgoosehoose — September 19, 2012 @ 2:26 pm |
Thanks, y’all! Your curiosity feeds my inspiration.
Comment by Burns the Fire — September 19, 2012 @ 3:36 pm |
[...] 1: Puppy Love, Part 2: The Resurrection, Part 3: Never Say Die, Part 4: C’est La [...]
Pingback by Puppy Love 5: I am not alone | burns the fire — March 27, 2013 @ 2:44 pm |