2 comments/ 8270 views/ 1 favorites Earth Day is the Name of My Dawg By: SuperHeroRalph This is a Earth Day contest story. Please vote. * A man and his dog have an Earth Day tale to tell, but now with a happy ending. This is my dawg, Earth Day. Yeah, I know, she's a little funny lookin', but I love her just the same. Man's best friend, I'm never without my dawg. She goes ev'rywhere I go. "Woof," barked Earth. "She's a good girl. She's a good dawg." She likes it when I rub her head like this and ev'ry time I lean down to pat her side, she licks my face. See? Oh, yeah, she's a face licker and if she was smaller than the 130 pounds that she weighs, she'd be a lap dog, too. She's always tryin' to get up on me, but she's just too dang heavy. Yep, Earth Day is her name and this is her story. It's a true story, but you don't have to like dawgs to like this story, no Sir. It helps if you like an'mals, though, whether it's dawgs, cats, or horses, it don't matter none. Likin' an'mals will help you to relate and to apprec'ate my story. With all them unwanted an'mals in the world, it's uncommon for an'mals to have a story with a happy endin' but this story has a good one. Score one for the an'mals over the humans who mistreat them. Ev'ry time people ask me 'bout my dawg, 'specially her name, I tell them it's Earth Day. Always, when I tell them her name, they ask me the same dang question. "Roy," being that's my name, "how'd your dawg get that name?" Even if I tell the story a hun'red times, they ask me to tell the story again. I reck'n they must really like my story. "Roy, tell them how Earth Day got her name," they ask me over and again. Then I tell them again how Earth Day got her name. Maybe 'cause it's such a good story, even if I told the story b'fore, they ask me to tell the story again, 'specially if we've had a few drafts at Big Bubba's Bar and Barbeque, and 'specially now that the story has a happy endin'. Yes, Sir, all folks love a story that has a happy endin'. Now that the story has a happy endin', those who haven't heard the happy endin' and who weren't in town to see the happy endin', when it happened, want me to retell them the whole dang story all over again, from the beginning, as if it just happened. Tarnation. We have a lot of an'mal lovers in town and they all love Earth Day's happy endin' and I do, too. The only one who likes the happy endin' more than me is Earth Day. She loves the story now with the happy endin' we have and she always listens to it, as if hearin' it for the first time. "Don't ya, girl. She's a good dawg. Okay, okay, I'll rub your belly, but I have to tell ev'ryone your story first." "Woof," barked Earth. "Good dawg. Good girl." See? She's waggin' her tail. She loves it when I call her a good girl, just as much as she loves it, when I rub her big ol' head. Always, she gives me a face full of dog spit, but I love the affection she gives me. I don't know what I'd do without her. She's my dawg. To be honest, I got so tired of tellin' the same dang story that I figured I'd put it to paper. Yet, no matter, even when I handed them my story to read, I still ended up tellin' the story anyway. They don't want to read the story, they want me to tell them the story. It's not the same, when they read the story, I guess, maybe 'cause most folks 'round here don't read so good and/or don't like to read. Besides, I left out some of the good parts, when I wrote it. Writin' doesn't come as nat'ral to me as talkin'. I reck'n, in the way that I get excited, when I'm tellin' the story, talkin' with my hands and with all my facial expressions adding to the story, my excitement doesn't show through when they're readin' the story, which may be why they'd rather I tell them the story. Besides, I'm better at tellin' somethin' than writin' somethin'. Like most folks 'round here, too busy with other things, than readin' and writin' and cipherin' for that matter, I don't rightly know how to write so good anyway. Yet, people love a good story 'specially one that has a happy endin' and 'specially people who love an'mals. No matter where I go, 'specially if I see someone who's heard me tell the story b'fore, but they're with someone who's never heard me tell the story, they stop and ask me to tell the story. "Roy," said Slo Joe. They call him Slo Joe 'cause he does ev'rythin' at slow speed, 'specially makin' love and the women love a man who has a slow hand and an easy touch. "This is my cousin Jasper from outta town," he said lookin' around, as if watchin' for his wife, which I reck'n he was. "Hi Jasper," I said shakin' hands with her and not believin' for a minute that this young, pretty, little thing was really his cousin or that her name was really Jasper. Knowin' what the rest of his kinfolk looks like, he'd have to think me a fool for me to think that he has such a pretty cousin. Besides, I've met all of Slo Joe's kinfolk and he never mentioned he had a cousin named Jasper, 'specially one so good lookin'. I wonder if his wife knows Slo Joe's kin is in town. The least he could do is come up with a better name than Jasper. Jasper is a man's name and not a name befittin' such a good lookin' woman. Ain't no one in town gonna believe that Jasper is his cousin, 'specially with Slo Joe's rep'tation for foolin' 'round with women and cheatin' on his wife, but don't get me started. That's another story for another time. "Tell us the story, Roy, 'bout how you and Earth came together," said Slo Joe. "I've been tellin' my cousin, Jasper, 'bout Earth but, now that she sees the dawg with her own two eyes, I wouldn't do the story justice comin' from me." Even Earth Day loves it when I tell her story, 'specially now that she has the happy endin'. Ev'ry time, I tell her story, she just lies at my feet and listens, as if this is her first time hearin' her story and as if she understands ev'ry word, which I think she does. She's a smart dawg. "She's a good dawg," I said rubbin' her big ol' head again and leanin' to pat her side, while gettin' ready for another face lickin'. They never tire of me tellin' that story and ev'ry time I tell it, the story gets longer and better. Tellin' someone the name of my dawg and how she got that name always gets me to talkin' and them to listenin', 'specially after I tell them that 'cause of my dawg, Earth Day is my favorite hol'day, too, even better than Chris'mas. Most folk 'round here don't even know that there's a hol'day called Earth Day. Well, maybe 'cause it's not a real hol'day, where we get the day off from work and go to our kinfolk's house to eat, drink, dance, fight, and eat and drink some more, b'fore we all pile in the back of the pickup and head home. Hol'days 'round here are always a good time. Not much else happens worth talkin' 'bout, 'cept for when that stranger came to town, which is now a big part of my dawg story and the reason for my happy endin'. Yes, Sir, b'fore that fella came to town, not knowin' how my dawg got in the predic'ment she was in, when I found her, I just had a story of how I found my dawg and why I named her Earth Day. My story always felt as if it was an unfinished story and a story that needed an endin', 'specially a happy endin'. I love a story that has happy endin'. Well, now, because of that stranger, my story is complete with a happy endin' and this is Earth Day's story. So, there I was mindin' my own business and sittin' out front of Harley's General Store, which is what I norm'lly do at this hour of the day. I'm a people watcher and being that Harley's store is in the center of town, I get to see people comin' and goin', mostly the same people, mind you, the town folk. Harley even built a wheelchair ramp, just for me, so that I can sit up here on his porch, instead of out in the street in front of his place, which is where me and Earth Day used to sit b'fore. For sure, now that I have the ramp and can get up on the porch myself, I see more sittin' up here, than I ever did sittin' down there. B'sides, a few times, I nearly got runned over with people not payin' attention and not seein' me and Earth Day sittin' there in the street in front of Harley's General Store, which is another reason why Harley built me this here ramp. Not to mention, he was tired of lugging my chair up the steps, ev'ry time I wanted to go in his store to buy whatever I was needin' and haulin' me down the steps, when I was fixin' to go home. "Hey, Harley, can you give me a lift up them steps?" Harley ain't as young as he used to be and now with his bad back, I guess he figured with all the handicap laws, even though I'm the only handicapped person in town, this was a good time as any to build a wheelchair ramp. He also put one of them handicap signs out front for me that he made himself on the computer. It's not an official city sign, of course, but it looks like the real McCoy and will do for now. The parkin' space is a blessin' on those rainy days, when I drive my truck to town. It's real conven'ent parkin' my truck in front of his store. To be honest, I hate crossin' busy Main Street. With all them trucks we've been gettin' in town lately, sometimes, they don't see me in my chair and Earth walkin' beside me crossin' the street. Trust me, I'd rather have somethin' happen to me than to my dawg. I'd be lost without my dawg. "She's a good dawg. She's a good girl, aren't you Earth?" She just loves it when I gives her attention and affection. We're too small of a town to have a traffic light. The town council is takin' that up for another vote at their next meetin', but it always gets turned down with somethin' else more important that needs fixin'. Like ev'rything else, it will take for someone to get runned over, b'fore they install a traffic light. Now, with my wheelchair ramp, my handicapped parkin' space, and my handicapped parkin' sign, there's less of a chance that it will be me and Earth gettin' runned over. Still, since I knowed ev'ryone in this small town, I'd hate to see anyone get runned over. The old folks in town would never think to park in a handicap spot just 'cause they're old. The old folk 'round here don't think of themselves as being handicapped, just 'cause they're old, in the way that people who live in the cities think themselves handicapped, just cause they're fat. The old folks in our town are doers, not sitters, talkers, and thinkers. After they've finished their chores, there's always plenty of time left for sittin', talkin', and thinkin'. Even old man McGregor, over 80-years-old, doesn't consider himself handicapped and his Dad, elder McGregor, who's over 100-years-old, would never think to park in my handicap spot, whenever he drives his truck to town. No siree. By lookin' at him, you'd never think he was over 100-years-old. He looks 80-years-old and his son looks 60-years-old but it's interestin' to listen to them talk about how better the town used to be way back then, a time when there were more horses than cars. Actually, we all knowed diff'rent, that the town is better now, but old folk don't like change much. Sometimes Earl parks his truck in my handicapped spot and, even though no one uses the space but me, Harley gets all riled up about Earl parkin' in my handicapped space, when the only handicap he has is that he's as dumb as a stump. "Okay, okay, Harley. I'll move my dang truck. I forgot you put up that dang sign just for Roy. Tarnation, it doesn't seem fair. I don't rightly know, why he gets a special place to park, when the rest of us don't. I buy more stuff in a day from you than he buys from you in a month." "Because Roy's in a wheelchair, you fool," said Harley. Even though they're best of friends, they have the same dang argument ev'rytime Earl comes to town. Anyway, I was relaxin' there with Earth, the nickname I gave to my dawg, so's I don't have to be so formal with her and call her Earth Day ev'ry time I refer to her and/or call her, when a wind blew up a big cloud of dust and dirt. I've been 'round long enough to know that nothin' good ever comes from the wind blowin' up a dirt cloud, prob'bly where the sayin' came from 'Look what the wind blew in'. The wind scared a cat and she scampered by us. It was a good thing I had a hold of Earth's leash and had my hand brake set on my chair, otherwise she would have bolted and tore off after that dang cat, while draggin' my wheelchair behind her. Oh, let me tell ya, she's done that b'fore, 'specially when she sees a cat. She's a big, strong dawg and for a big dawg, she's fast. Without doubt, she would have caught that cat and gnawed on her some, before I'd have to tell her to let go of the cat. Ev'ry time she catches a cat, I tell her the same dang thing. It's just a silly game she plays with cats. I don't want Earth to hear me say this, but I think she secretly likes cats. "Ya can't be gnawin' on cats, Earth. That cat is someone's pet," I said. Cat people wouldn't take kindly to a big dawg gnawin' on and slobberin' all over their cat. It's okay. You're still a good dawg." I always rub her head and pat her, after I scold her to let her know that she's still a good dawg. Then, she licks my face to let me know that we're still best friends. With the retriever in her, she more likes chasin', catchin', and fetchin' things and bringin' them back to me, rather than eatin' them. Don't get me wrong, she'll chow down on somethin', if I tell her it's okay to chow down, but she won't chow down, 'til I tell her to chow down. See, now that I said them words, chow down, she's lookin' at me thinkin' I'm gonna give her somethin' to chow down on. Good thing I have a big dawg cookie in my pocket to give her. "She's a good dawg. She's a good girl. Wanna cookie, Earth? Sit. Good girl. Speak." "Woof!" "Good girl. Watch this. Here ya go, Earth. Here's your cookie." Okay, you can eat it. Go ahead. It's okay. See that? She takes it, holds it in her mouth, and looks at me. No matter what I say, she won't bite down on that cookie, 'til I give her the chow down command. "Okay, Earth, chow down." "Woof!" See that? It's gone in one bite. Now what dawg would hold a cookie in her mouth and not eat it, 'til I give her the chow down command? I've seen a dawg balancing a cookie on their snout, but never one holdin' a cookie in their mouth and not eatin' it, while waitin' for the chow down command. "Woof!" "She's a good dawg." I always rub her head and pat her, after I tell her she's a good dawg, while waiting for her to give me a lick. It's a game we play. Never mind all that, the truth of the matter is that she hates cats, as much as I distrust strangers. I closed my eyes and put my hand over Earth's eyes, too, 'til the wind passed. When the dust and dirt cleared is when I saw that stranger pullin' up in his truck. Just as the sayin' goes, 'Look what the wind blew in', I thought of the sayin' 'Look at what the cat dragged in', after that spooked cat ran by us and that stranger appeared out of the dust cloud, almost at the same time. He pulled up in an ol', Dodge, white pickup truck that was all dented and rusted. Since I hang around Harley's most ev'ry day, 'cept for those days when I'm feelin' poorly or the weather is foul, I'm good at readin' people and their cars and trucks. It's what I do. I read people. Part of readin' people is by the veh'cles they drive and by how they treat an'mals, cats, dawgs, horses, and chil'ren. Sorry, I don't mean to insult an'mals by callin' chil'ren an'mals. As you can see, never havin' had a child of my own because of my industr'al accident, when I lost my legs, I love an'mals, always have, always will, 'specially dawgs, more than I do chil'ren, 'especially bad, spoiled chil'ren. Don't much like a kid who disrespects their parents, 'specially in public. Even now that I'm a growed man, my Dad would take a switch to my behind if ever I disrespectin' him, 'specially in public. "Boy, you'd better not be disrespectin' me or I'll light a fire on your ass with a switch." That's what my Daddy always says and he means it, too. Even now with me being legless and in a wheelchair, he'd still take me to the barn by my ear, if I ever dared disrespect him. Yep, for sure, I'm more a dawg person than I am a kid person. I'm a sucker for a dawg, 'specially big dawgs. I don't have much use for those little ankle bitin' dawgs, which is how I came by Earth. Anyway, from my experience, don't rightly know why, but Dodge owners are nothin' but trouble capital T-R-U-B-E-L. Just my opinion, of course, mind you, and I've learned that my opinion, much like a bucket with a hole in the bottom with my hand over it, don't hold much water for anyone else but me. I'm partial to Chevy's and GMC trucks myself. Ford makes a damn good truck, too, but I never took a likin' to a Dodge or to a Dodge owner, 'specially a Dodge pickup truck in such poor condition as was this one. There's just somethin' about Chrysler cars, Dodge trucks, and Chrysler people that I learned not to trust. Chrysler used to make Plymouths, too, and I didn't like them none neither. I'd take a Mustang any day over any Chrysler car. I can recognize the sound of a Mustang a mile away. Makin' all the right noises, there's not another car that growls like that, 'less it's one of those fancy Italian Ferrari cars. Never havin' had a Chrysler product myself, I dunno why I dislike that brand of veh'cle so much, but I do. Maybe 'cause a lot of rental car companies rent Chryslers and a lot of travelin' salesmen drive Chryslers, which is how Becky, my friend Seth's daughter, got pregnant by one of them travelin' salesmen. He stopped by the barn to ask directions and one thing led to another and he deflowered Becky. Yes, Sir, that was a sad day with people talkin' 'bout that city slicker comin' to town and suddenly disappearin' in the way he did. Seth swears up and down that he never took his shotgun to the fella and I believe him. They even had the state police draggin' the swamp, but they never found that fella. If you ask me, tryin' to sneak outta town without his car at night and not rightly knowin' the area, he fell in with the pigs and the pigs ate him. Those dang hogs will eat anything, even a travelin' salesman that drives a Chrysler. The men folk 'round here don't like it much when a stranger takes a likin' to their daughters. Seth had a solid alibi and the Sheriff believed him, too. He said he was playin' cards with Earl, Henry, and Walter, when that travelin' salesman went missin', and they all swore to that on a stack of Bibles, but don't get me started on that story. That's another story for another time. Speakin' of hookin' up with a woman, one time, years ago, b'fore I lost my legs, I hooked-up with a fine lookin' blonde women with tits as big as her heart and a smile as contagious as her blue eyes were mesmerizin'. She was a real looker, too, yes sir, and I was dumb to let her get away. Now that I'm confined to this wheelchair, she wouldn't want me none anyway, now that I don't have legs, don't even have a job, and can't sexually satisfy her, in the way I once did. Yet, knowin' what a truly good woman she was, it wouldn't have bothered her if I had no legs and no arms. She'd love on me just the same, as she saw the man from the inside out and not from the outside in. I can't help but think that maybe my life would had turned out for the better with her in it. She was a good woman and, always with a tickle, a tease, and a kind word, she was good at puttin' a smile on my face ev'ry day I was with her. Anyway, my point is that she drove one of them Chrysler minivans. She was intelligent, funny, and she could cook, too. She cooked me up some fine vittles and me and Earth were eatin' real good, all the while she was here stayin' with us, that is, until she left and returned back home to her kinfolk. It was my fault she left. I take full respons'bility, after she found me drunk and in bed with my neighbor, Sue Ellen. Even though it was my fault she left, it wasn't my fault I was drunk. Sue Ellen brought over a batch of shine that she had just cooked up and I lose my mind on shine. I don't rightly remember one day from the next, when drinkin' shine. Earth Day is the Name of My Dawg So, just as not all Chrysler people are bad, some are good. For sure, she was a good woman. What was her name? Dang, that's gonna bother me all day, wonderin' what the Hell her name was. Susan, yeah, that was it. Her name was Susan. I've always been partial to that name, 'specially after hookin' up with her, which explains the reason why I hooked up with two Susans, Sue Ellen and plain Susan, not that she was plain by any means. She was sure 'nough fancy for me. The fanciest woman I ever had, but don't get me started on that story. That's another story for another time. Still, 'specially in this small town, it was better that that stranger pulled up in a Dodge than in one of them Jap trucks or a big, fancy German see-dan. Not that Dodge makes a better truck than a Jap truck, they don't, but the simple folk 'round here don't like reminders of the rich, city folk that put them out of work, after those financ'al, penny pinchin' bastards closed the Pontiac and Oldsmobile factories and shut down Hummer and Saturn dealerships, too. With them puttin' a lot of people outta work, that set the ball in motion with other bus'nesses that counted on General Motors. Even the diner had to let Daisy and Sally go 'cause people didn't have money 'nuff to eat out all the time. Instead, they opened another dang Wal-Mart inside of a mall that we don't need or want, so long as we have Harley's General Store. If you can't buy whatever it is you want at Harley's, you don't rightly need it, I reck'n. Having nothin' else better to do, other than for curiosity sake, I watched that stranger get outta his truck. Right off, he looked familiar. Not ever havin' rightly met the man, I knew I didn't know him, but he looked a little like that Javier Bardem fella, who played Anton Chigurh from that movie, No Country for Old Men. I love that movie, watched it three times. I haven't watched another movie three times, since I watched that movie with Burt Reynolds, Deliv'rance. I loved that movie, too. Anyway, that No Country for Old Men movie was a scary movie, when that guy killed all those innocent folk with a cattle gun and I looked to see if the stranger was carryin' a cattle gun, but he wasn't. After taken' another look at this fella, his truck was in as sorry shape as he was. His face looked like it had been hit with the bus'ness end of a shovel. One eye was swollen nearly shut and his lip was all busted up. If I remember what he looked like, I think his nose was a little crooked, too. Someone took a dislikin' to him by poundin' his face with their fists, that's for sure. So anyways, he steps outta his truck and stares at my dawg in a disrespectin' way. Everyone in town loves my dawg. 'Cept when he's gnawin' and slobbering on cats some, there's no reason to dislike Earth. He's a gentle giant. For sure, he'd never hurt a cat, unless I mistakenly gave him the chow down command, then he'd bite the thing in half, his jaws are so dang powerful. "That's a funny lookin' dawg, Mister," he said lookin' down at my dawg and spittin' a bit of chaw that nearly hit Earth's big paw. Right off, I took a dislikin' to this dude and Earth did, too, when she gave him a low growl. "Grrrr," kind of like that. As if we were nothin', not even worth his spit, he insulted me and my dawg in the way he spit in our direction. If I still had my legs, I would have said somethin' to him 'bout him spittin' too close. I didn't like this stranger one bit and if I still had my legs, no doubt, I may have tangled up rastlin' with him, rollin' him around in the dirt for disrespectin' me and Earth by spittin' so close to us. Not to mention, he disrespected Harley's place, too. People 'round here know that Harley keeps a clean place and don't take kindly to anyone spittin' on his porch. He's out here ev'ry day, numerous times a day, with his broom sweepin', so's that he keeps the outside from coming inside his store. "Yeah, well," I said, "she may be a bit funny lookin', as funny lookin' as I am, Mister, but I love her, as if she was one of them beaut'ful Afghan hound, show dawgs." "I like dawgs, too," he said, "but I couldn't take a likin' to this strange lookin' an'mal. He looks like a--" "He's not a he. She's a she." "Say again? What's that?" "My dawg's a she, Mister, and not a he," I said not wantin' him disrespectin' my dawg anymore than he already had by spittin' too close and now callin' Earth a he. Yes, Sir, if I had to tell him ten more times, he'd at least be gettin' her gender correct. "Grrrr," growled Earth again. Nearly every time Earth heard his voice, she'd growl a low growl. An'mals know bad people and she didn't like him for some reason. Maybe he just smelled bad to her, but I always pay attention to when Earth don't like someone. She's never wrong. "With that ridge runnin' down her back like that and her yellow fur, I'd say she was a Ridgeback crossed with a Golden Retriever. Yep, for sure, that's what I'd say she was. I've seen dogs lookin' like that b'fore. Such a dog lookin' like that isn't worth the food to feed her. She'd never make for a proper huntin' dog with the Retriever in her. She'd be too gentle," he said spittin' again, but this time spittin' out in the street, instead on Harley's porch. I would have said somethin' 'bout not spittin' on Harley's porch had he spit on the porch again. I've never been shy 'bout speakin' my mind. "Yeah, well, that's just your opinion, Mister. Besides, dependin' what it is your huntin' for, Retrievers make dang good huntin' dawgs, dang good huntin' dawgs, and so don't Rhodesian Ridgebacks. I'd say that I have the best of both breeds in this one dawg. Besides, this dawg is worth ev'rything to me," I said stickin' up for Earth and rubbin' her big, ol' head with one hand, while holding her with my other. "Grrrr," growled Earth never removin' her eyes from the stranger. Oh, yeah, Earth was givin' him the dog eye, alright. Without doubt, if I let her go, she'd be on him like barn owl on a mouse. "Seein' how big of an an'mal she is, as big any dawg I ever seed b'fore, and with her lookin' like a lion with all that yellow fur, I betcha she's a dawg that can go fetch a lion," he said with a loud laugh that made me want to take one of Hawley's shovels from outta the barrel and hit him with it myself. I can now see why someone may have already done that to him. Unfortunately, not only didn't that shovel improve his looks but also it didn't give him anymore sense that he, no doubt, needed to shut his trap, b'fore being hit with a shovel again, I imagined. "She's a good dawg," I said again holding Earth tighter by the collar, when she suddenly sat up, took more notice of the stranger, tried to pull from my grasp, and growled another low growl. "Grrrrr," growled Earth. Earth is the most gentle dawg I ever had. She don't growl at nobody for no reason, that is, unless she's chowin' down on her bone. That's the only time she reverts to her an'mal ways and gets a little testy, wild actually. Best you not put your hand by her mouth when she's chowin down on her bone, lest you wanna come away with some missin' fingers. Perceivin' me as her pack leader, she'd never bite me, of course, but I knowed 'nuff not to get between her and her bone. Yet, dawgs know when confronted with a bad man. I pay attention, when Earth acts the way she just did. Her growlin' as if she knew the man was 'nuff reason for me not to like him. Yes, Sir, her growl perked my ears right up and I just knew there was somethin' wrong with this fella. If Earth didn't like him, then that was good 'nuff for me and I didn't like him none neither. "You two make a good pair," he said makin' me rethink swingin' the shovel again. "You with no legs and her a misfit of a mutt," he said lookin' at me for a long minute. "How'd you lose your legs, anyway?" Not that it was any of his bus'ness, but I didn't mind tellin' him. I'm friendly to folk, even to strangers. Yet, this fella put me on edge and I was careful what information I revealed to him. "In an industr'al accident at the paper mill. I was movin' a roll of paper, walkin' with it, usin' one of those hydraulic lifts, when I lost my balance, fell, and the roll of paper landed on my legs and crushed them. It was a while, b'fore they could remove the roll off my legs. They had to come with the forklift, while being careful not to injure me anymore than I was. That roll of paper must have weighed closed to 2,000 pounds," I said scratching my head trying to remember and fortunately still not rememberin' the accident 'cause I was knocked unconscious. "That must have hurt some," he said spittin' again in the street. "Don't rightly remember much of the acc'dent. When I woke up in the hospital, my legs were gone." "Probably for the best you don't have no recollection," he said. "If I lost my legs in Eye-raq or that Afghan'stan, I'd be set for life with a monthly dis'bility check and Uncle Sam would have given me a trained dawg to help me get 'round, not that any dawg would be better than my dawg," I said rubbin' Earth with one hand, while holdin' her tight with the other. "For sure, she's the best dawg I ever had." "Yep, for sure," he said spittin' in the street again. "They would have given you a pure bred dawg, instead of havin' to settle for this misfit of a mutt. If she were my dog, I'd be embarrassed to be seen with her." Damn, if I had my legs, I'd stand up to this fella for disrespectin' Earth but Earth, as if understandin' every disrespectful word he was sayin', was keepin' him on his heels by tellin' him she didn't like him much with her low growls. "Grrrr," she growled her low growl again, only a little louder this time and bearin' her teeth at him some. Never is when I've ever seen her act this way. "Being that I couldn't do the job that I was doin' b'fore, my boss let me go, after I lost my legs. He said I couldn't work no more. He said I was nothin' but a li'bility and he feared I'd get hurt again workin' in a wheelchair," I said beginnin' to get a little angry. "If I had money 'nuff for one of them TV lawyers, I would have sued his ass for causin' my dis'bility and then for holdin' my dis'bility against me, so's that I couldn't work no more." "I got a cousin in Raleigh that's a lawyer. He hangs 'round hospitals grabbin' up clients, right after their accident and signs them up, b'fore they can think straight. That's the way to do it, you know. He prob'bly could have gotten you some money." "Yeah, well, they paid for all my med'cal and I got some insurance money outta it, too, 'nuff to live on for a while, so's long as I don't go on a spendin' spree. They even made me art'ficial legs, but I kept fallin' over. I couldn't walk with them so good. They just didn't feel right, unnat'ral, as if walkin' on stilts. Now, they just sit in the corner as a reminder that I lost those pieces of my body." "That sure does suck that you lost your legs," he said, about the closest to an apology he'd ever make or sympathy he'd ever give. "I get some money from Social Secur'ty, but not 'nuff to make me glad that I lost my legs and glad that I don't have to work no more," I said. "Now that I think some on it, I don't think there's any price I'd put on my legs. For sure, I'd rather have my legs than money. Besides, I liked workin'. Workin' put more money in my pocket, gave me somethin' to do, and kept my mind occupied." "Yeah, well, life sucks and then you die," he said. I could tell he wasn't one that wasted words on sympathy or took the time to apol'gize to those he disrespected. I wondered if he even thought 'bout what he was going to say b'fore he opened his mouth to say it. "Yeah, well, there's a reason for everythin' and maybe had I not lost my legs, I may not have found my dawg. She's almost worth the loss of my legs. She's a good dawg," I said rubbin' her side with my free hand. Only, Earth was busy watchin' the stranger to take the time to lick my face like she always does. "What's her name?" "Earth," I said with pride. "Earth Day," I said puffin' out my chest that I was lucky to have such a great dawg that carried the name of the special day of the planet. Here I am yappin' away with this stranger without an introduction, something I'd never do, if I lived in the city or if I liked this fella well 'nuff Yet, out here, where we don't get many strangers drivin' Dodge pickups and I'm sure he don't see many cripples with a dawg as beautiful as my Earth, we're always weary. Nonetheless, I was glad to share my story with him without even knowin' his name or who he was. "Earth Day? What the Hell kind of name is that for a Dawg?" "Grrrr," growled Earth. "Easy girl," I said tuggin' on her collar. "It's an interestin' story how she came by that name. It wasn't me who named her, as it just kind of happened that way," I said still holdin' Earth by the collar. As if she knew I saved her life, she's a loyal dog and is very protective of me, but I've never seen her act like this b'fore, growlin' at this man ev'ry time he spoke. I feared if I let her go, she'd go after this man and I already had a terrible sense what a bastard this fella could be. I feared he'd hit Earth with one of them shovels and kill her. She's all I have and I love her. I don't want anything happenin' to my dawg. With me havin' no legs, there'd be no way for me to stop him from killin' my dawg. So, I kept a good hold of her for both our protection. "Yeah, sure, I could use a good tale," he said leanin' up against Harley's porch to watch a couple of cute, young things go by, Clem's daughter, Crystal and her friend, Tammy, Buck's daughter. He was more int'rested in their cute little behinds than he was in hearin' my story, that's for sure. Only, don't let the men in town see you eyein' their daughters, I thought to myself. After that travelin' salesman knocked up Becky and mysteriously disappeared leavin' his Chrysler car behind, they don't take too kindly to strangers starin' at their womenfolk without havin' a proper introduction and meetin' the family first. Either this dude was lookin' for trouble or he didn't have the sense of my dawg. "Well, Sir, once a week, I wheel 'round the dump lookin' for pre-owned merchandise that some may call junk. As if panhandlin' for gold, I call it workin' the dump. I fix what's broken and paint what needs paintin'. Then, I sell all that I have to city slickers that come to the county fair lookin' to buy antiques at a bargain," I said. "Ha, ha, now that sounds like somethin' I'd do, if I had the time to do it," he said with another laugh. "If they only knew the stuff I sell them was from the town dump, they'd want their money back. Yet, I fix things up real good to either make them look nearly new or as used as would an authentic antique. Most folk don't know the diff'rence and are just tickled to think they got the better of me and got a bargain. They think just 'cause I'm a disabled, I'm retarded, too," I said. "They're happy they got a bargain and I'm happy I got their money. I'm just as good with negotiatin' as I am with repairin' things that need repairin'." "It's good you found a side cash bus'ness with you being a cripple and all." "You'd be surprised the stuff people throw out and some of the good stuff I find," I said ignorin' his need to call me a cripple. It's one thing for me to call myself a cripple but another thing for a stranger to call me a cripple. I didn't like that one bit. "I nearly furnished my whole house with the stuff I found the dump. Last year, on Earth Day, my dawg was my best find. Yes Sir, I never found anything as good as this dawg," I said pattin' Earth with one hand, while holdin' her steady with my other. "No, Sir, in all the stuff I found there, I never found anythin' better than her, that's for sure." "It figures you found your dawg in the dump. There's nothin' but rats, diseases, and Gawd awful lookin' dogs at the dump," he said with an ugly laugh. "Well, Sir, I beg to differ with you," I said. "I found her at the dump and she's a fine lookin' an'mal to me. I wouldn't trade her for any of those pedigree show dawgs that they prance 'round on TV." "Yeah, so, does this story have an end to it? I need to buy some things in the store," he said lookin' at his watch with impatience. "Well, Sir, to be honest, the only bad thing about this story is that it doesn't have a proper endin', just a beginnin' and a middle, in the fact that I found her, named her, and now we're together," I said with a warm smile, while lookin' down at Earth sittin' like a statue and givin' the stranger the dog eye. "So, how'd you find her? Was she just hangin' 'round the dump lookin' for food and eatin' trash?" "No, Sir, she was in a box with seven other puppies, must have been her brothers and sisters, and I was excited when I saw that box full of puppies. I have room 'nuff to have given them all a home. Then, when I looked closer and waved all them flies away, them other puppies were all dead. She was the only one still alive but was fixin' to be dead, soon, if I didn't get her outta the hot sun and give her some water," I said wipin' a tear from my eye and takin' out my handkerchief to blow my nose. "Ah, for Christ sakes. It's just a box of friggin' misfit puppies, not even real dawgs," he said waving a hand. "A dawg lookin' like her is better off dead, anyways." "You're a cold one, Mister, 'cause when I saw all those dead puppies, they broke my heart. I'm not a man that easily cries, but I was sobbin' like a woman, when I saw all those poor, little, dead puppies," I said lookin' down at Earth. "In how she was so tiny then and so big now, no one would believe this is the same dawg," I said rubbin' her head and pattin' her side with my free hand, while still holdin' onto her collar with my other. "Why someone would throw a box of cute, little puppies in a dump is beyond me. If I knew the bastard, I'd take a shovel to his face." "So," he said rubbin' his chin, as if rememberin' somethin'. "There were eight of them misfit dawgs in a box, huh?" "Yes, Sir. She was the sole survivor and the runt of the litter from what I could see," I said slowly shakin' my head side to side. "It looked like she had been there a while, too, as she had already started gnawin' and eatin' some off her sisters and brothers to survive. Now, look at her. She's bigger than any Rhodesian Ridgeback I've ever seen." "I can understand you takin' pity on a puppy but, I'm just sayin', once she growed into such an ugly dawg, I'd sooner take her out back and shoot her than keep her and have to feed her. By the huge size of her, she's a waste of good dog food." "Grrrr," growled Earth, even louder this time, while snarlin' and bearin' her teeth, as if she understood what he had just said. "She does look a bit funny, a Rhodesian Ridgeback havin' all this yellow fur from a Golden Retriever and that strange lookin' tail is a sorrowful sight. All that's missin' is a mane and she'd sure 'nuff look like a lion. Only, if you ask me 'bout my dawg, Mister, I think she's a splendid an'mal, being that I'm partial to her and lovin' her in the way I do. To me, she's a real beauty. I guess you could say that she's my beauty and the beast in one dawg," I said with a laugh. "Yeah, well, judgin' by her looks, if this was my dawg, not to say that I'd ever own a deformed an'mal like her, being that you found her in the dump, I would have named her Landfill or Dumpster, instead of Earth Day. Yeah, Dumpster fits her better. I kind of like that name for her," he said with another Gawd awful laugh. "Grrrrrr," growled Earth, this time more violently. "Easy girl. Easy." As if she recognized his laugh, ev'ry time he laughed like that, rearin' up on her hind legs, Earth went wild and it took all the strength that I had to hold her. It's a good thing that I had the thought to set the handbrake on my wheelchair. From pushin' my chair 'round for years, my shoulders, arms, and hands were plenty strong enough to keep my dawg off him, but it was more than a bit peculiar that Earth wanted to eat this man. I couldn't help but take notice of how my dawg didn't like this man and for some reason or another, I felt the same way. Earth Day is the Name of My Dawg "Well, Sir," I said thinkin' to introduce myself and givin' him my name, but there was somethin' about this fella that I didn't like and I don't like shakin' the hand of those who I don't like. "Since I found my dawg on Earth Day, that's what I named her. If you ask me, the name fits her, being that she was there at the dump in the pitiful condition she was in, while waitin' for me to find her," I said lookin' at him to see if he understood his words. "Earth Day means diff'rent thing to diff'rent people and my dawg is Earth Day to me." When I tell this story to most folk, 'specially for the first time, they get all teary eyed, but he didn't. Either he didn't like my dawg, didn't like my story, or both. He was a strange one, that's for sure. "If it was me, rather than keep a dawg that looked like that, I'd let her die," he said with a mean spirited laugh. "Woof! Woof! Grrrrrr. Grrrrrr," barked and growled Earth. When he said that, I wanted to growl at him, too. If he merely judged a dawg by looks, then by his own definition, in the way that this stranger looked with his face all bashed up like that, we should just let him die, too. Unfortunately, this man gave off one too many bad vibes and, nearly pullin' me outta my chair, Earth was just too strong for me to control any longer. As soon as that stranger said that he'd let a dawg that looked like her die, b'fore I could grab hold of her collar tighter, Earth pulled away from me. Well, let me tell you, that stranger took off runnin' down the middle of the street, as if he was on fire. Now, ev'ryone knows that if you're on fire you shouldn't run, but roll 'round the ground, until a tractor trailer truck runs you over to put you out of your misery, I guess. Ev'ryone knows that if you're chased by a bear play dead and, after the bear mauls and gnaws on you some, and you don't respond, he'll think you're dead and will go away. Only, never havin' seen Earth chase after a fella, I didn't know what advice to give him other than to run as fast as he could. "Run for your life, Mister," I yelled. Yet, unless he made it to a door or back to his truck, there was just no way that he was goin' to outrun Earth Day. Never havin' seen a dawg faster than her, with her big, powerful legs and giant sized paws, she's one fast dawg. Just as Earth was tearin' 'cross the street after this stranger, a beer truck drivin' too fast through town nearly hit the man, had he not jumped out of the way. Figurin' that Earth was squished beneath its wheels, I couldn't look. I was sick. When the truck jammed on his brakes, by all the yelpin' and howlin' Earth was makin', I feared Earth had been hit'. With the truck in the way, I couldn't see, but I never heard Earth makin' sounds like that b'fore. I figured she was gettin' ready to die and I just wanted to die, too. If she was dyin' and in pain, I'd get my gun from my truck and shoot her, but I couldn't shoot her. I'd have the vet put her out of her mis'ry. I didn't want to live without my dawg. The best dawg I ever had, she's my best friend. "Earth! Earth! Earth," I yelled to her from across the street. "Earth!" She wasn't comin' and I couldn't see her. She always comes runnin', whenever I call her and I just knew she was dyin'. "Earth! Earth!" I couldn't move my chair fast 'nuff. I needed to be by her side. I need to rub her head and tell her it would be okay. I needed to tell her that she was a good dawg and a good girl, before she died. I needed for her to give me a lick for the last time. "Earth! Earth! Here girl. Come! Come Earth! Come," I said rollin' my chair down the ramp. I couldn't believe it, when Earth came prancing 'round that truck. Apparently, with Earth chasin' after that man, it wasn't much of a foot race anyway. Earth had already fetched him, grabbed this fella around the ankle, and was draggin' him across the street and pullin' him back to me. That's the Retriever in her and being the Ridgeback breed gave her the size and the strength she needed to drag the man clear 'cross the street. Let me tell you somethin' 'bout my dawg. When she wants somethin', she goes gets it and, for some reason, she wanted this man somethin' awful bad, real bad. I've seen her stand up against a pack of coyotes and them coyotes backin' down. None of them coyotes wanted to tangle with my Earth. Forget 'bout those puny, little coyotes, she's a lot bigger than any wolf I've seen. So happy to see her alive and in one piece, I quickly rolled my chair down the ramp and with all the commotion, a crowd had already gathered 'round this fella's Dodge pickup truck. With everyone in town drivin' GMCs, Chevys and Fords, we all know a strange truck, a truck that doesn't belong in town, when we see one. No one in town drives a Dodge. Whenever we see a Dodge, we figure it's a stranger drivin' one and with this one being a Dodge, it was easy 'nuff to spot. "I know why Earth was itchin' to fetch this fella," said my friend Harley, who had come runnin' out with all the other town folk, when he heard Earth barkin' and growlin', somethin' she never does. Then, when she took off runnin' after this fella, they all knew something was funny with this fella. "Looky here," said Harley lifting a piece of tarp off a box in the back of his truck. "He's got a box full of puppies in here and they all don't look so good. At the very least, they all look like they could use some food and water," said Harley pickin' up the box and removin' it from his truck. "I can see their ribs right through their skin, the poor, little things. I'm gonna call the Vet." "Hey, put that back! That's my property you're takin' from my truck," said the stranger. "Those are my dawgs. Best you put it back, before--" "Grrrrr," even though she had a mouthful of the man, Earth was still growlin' and carryin' on. Bitin' down hard 'nuff, she still had a good grip of the man's leg and even though the man was tryin' to stand, givin' him a tug and pullin' him back down, Earth wouldn't let him. "Before what? Before I call the sheriff," said Harley payin' him no never mind and carryin' the box of puppies in his store. "Harley, hold up," I said rollin' my chair back up the ramp. "Tell me somethin' 'bout those puppies." "What do you want to know, Roy?" Harley stopped at his front door, before headin' into the store. "What kind of dawgs are they?" "Well, I don't rightly know, Roy," he said looking in the box. "Other than being real cute, if I was to hazard a guess, I'd say they look a little like your dawg, Roy. Yeah," he said looking from Earth to the box of puppies, "they look a little like Earth, a mix of a Rhodesian Ridgebacks and Golden Retrievers." With this fella constantly disrespectin' me and my dawg by all the bad things he said and with my dawg nearly being squished by a beer truck, I was riled up 'nuff that it didn't matter that I didn't have no legs. I turned and looked back at my dawg. As if this fella was one of her bones, she was still holdin' onto this stranger by his exposed leg, after his pant leg moved up 'nuff for Earth to grab hold of him. Then, when this stranger was just about to haul back and kick my dawg in the snout with his free foot, I gave Earth the command that she wanted and was waitin' to hear. "Chow down, Earth. Chow down." Earth took a big, beefy bite outta that man's leg and he screamed like a baby, before gettin' up bleedin' and jumpin' in his crappy Dodge truck and haulin' ass outta town. We called the sheriff and he caught up with that fella on the highway, went to where he lived and found an illegal and unlicensed puppy mill of Golden Retrievers and Rhodesian Ridgebacks. He had another fella workin' there with him and they had a fight 'cause he didn't want him takin' those puppies to the dump, but he did anyways. His partner cooperated with the Sheriff and they had 'nuff evidence to charge them both with being unlicensed dog breeders, animal cruelty, and littering by dumping dawgs at the dump. The Sheriff also charged this fella with speedin' for drivin' too fast through town, and creatin' a public disturbance by nearly causin' an accident, when runnin' across the street with that beer truck almost hittin' him and squishin' my dawg. The Sheriff took them both to jail. They was breedin' the dawgs for money and sometimes when the wrong dawgs got together, figurin' no one would want a dog that was half Rhodesian Ridgeback and half Golden Retriever, but if you ask me, solely based on my dawg, Earth Day, they make for a fine an'mal. Anyway, instead of feedin' them and carin' for them, while tryin' to find a home for them, he'd just dump those dawgs at the dump, as if they were nothin' more than trash. He had a couple hundred dawgs in cages, all of them mistreated and malnourished. We never saw that stranger again, but now I have a happy endin' to my dawg's story, Earth Day's story. * Please don't forget to vote, make a comment, and/or add me and this story to your favorite lists. Thank you for reading my story.