There is Always That One Guy

 

I sprayed my backyard fence with a tinted waterproofing yesterday. Not on my side of the fence, but on the neighbor's side. I tried to be very careful because I didn't want to get any overspray on her vinyl siding. However, I did get some on the air conditioner that sits just inches away from the fence. All day long I worried that she would notice that and complain. She didn't. That property used to be owned by a guy who never cut his grass, so I used to cut it for him. Not because I'm such a nice guy, but because his unruly lawn made my house look like crap. The new owner has a service that cuts the lawn, so that's not a problem anymore.

Every morning and evening, when I walk the dogs, I pass by another neighbor's house. One of those little Chicago bungalows that line so many of our streets. This place is owned by an older guy (My age) who appears to be in bad shape. I was talking to him the other day and noticed that one of his feet looked like a big wrapped ham. I figured that probably was why he never cut his grass. It was about two feet high at that point. So I told him that I was going to mow my lawn the next day and would he mind if I also ran my mower over his front yard. Once again, not because I'm such a nice guy, but because I was tired of my dogs wandering through that jungle and coming out covered in dandelion fuzz and other things. Yesterday I cut his lawn. Only the front yard, the part I can see. While I was chugging away, back and forth with my mower, his next door neighbor motioned to me. I figured he was going to ask how much I charge or something like that. I turned off the mower and he says to me in one of those crabby old fart voices, "Why are you doing that so early in the morning? You're waking everybody up." I smiled and started the mower back up. It was nine in the morning.

 

Life With Bucky

 

Bucky and me going to the suburbs

Back in February I saw that Cairn Terrier Rescue needed a ride for a little white dog named Bucky. Bucky had to leave his adopted home in Chicago and go out to a foster home along the Fox River. Bucky had cancer and was to have his right fore-limb amputated. It was impossible for the elderly lady who had adopted him to deal with all the vet visits and care he needed, so I messaged the rescue that I could be his chauffer. They had given Scout to me seven years earlier, and I felt I owed them something. Even though Scout turned out to be a bossy little girl who over indulges on cookies and food, I love having her with me. I picked Bucky up, strapped him into the backseat of my car, and off we went. At the very first stoplight I looked into the rear view mirror and saw his innocent little face staring right back at me.

About one month after that trip with Bucky, Shell Lewis from the rescue, texted me about Bucky. She spelled out exactly what was going on with him and what he needed. Then she asked if I could possibly foster him during his medical issues. I texted back one word, "Yes". I had fallen in love with that little dog during our short trip out to the suburbs. I couldn't say no.

He has been a joy to have here for the last two months. Scout likes the company, and who doesn't love two sets of eyes staring at you while you dish out dog food and walking down the street with two bags of dog shit in your hand? Unfortunately the inevitable has come. Bucky has been getting less active and two days ago he started having trouble with the stairs. Also, yesterday he did not want to go for a walk and instead spent the entire day under my bed. It seems that Bucky was crashing, and I should be making plans. I knew what I was getting into. This morning I got up expecting things to be worse, but Bucky got up, went outside and peed (I carried him), ate with Scout, and then went for a walk with me and Scout. It's a miracle! No, I'm not stupid. I've seen dogs bounce back like this before. He has cancer that has spread to his lungs and lymph glands. It is incurable. But hell, I got another day with Bucky and so far it's been a good day.