THIS COLUMN WAS ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED IN WRITER’S BLOCK IN THE January, 10, 2018 EDITION OF THE CHRONOTYPE, RICE LAKE, WISCONSIN.
Life is cyclical in some odd ways sometimes. In the summer of 2016, I was living in a two-bedroom apartment, no pets allowed.
One extremely hot summer day, I was with both my young daughters at the car wash on Hwy. 48. We were just pulling away when this woman in a car stopped us and asked us to keep an eye on this beautiful black poodle that was roaming the lot. The concerned woman said she was disabled (which I knew to be true from previous interactions with her in the community), so she couldn’t get out of her car very easily to gather him up.
She said a car just took off and left this dog. My girls being dog lovers and especially fond of hypoallergenic poodles, we rounded up Jack, with his well-groomed black/grey coat, long legs, beautiful brown eyes and gentle, smart demeanor and called the number on his tag. It went straight to voicemail. I left a message. We stuck around the parking lot for a bit then decided that we would put Jack in our car and run to (Rainbow was still open at the time) find a leash and get him some water.
Hydrated and cooler, we returned to the parking lot to wait it out just a little longer. The girls and I had gone round and round about keeping Jack. The apartment wouldn’t allow it and despite the claim that Jack was abandoned, he clearly was well cared for, loved and disciplined with tags claiming he belonged somewhere. Someone had invested great time and care to this creature. We reluctantly decided we had to turn him over to the police.
Just as we were pulling out of the lot, a car pulled in and an older man jumped out of the driver’s side. Frantically scanning the parking lot, he began calling out “Jack! Jack!”
I excitedly told the girls that I think this was Jack’s owner. The then 9- and 7-year-old looked at me like, duh, mom.
I stopped the car, got Jack out of the backseat and brought him over to the man. The man started crying, saying thank you thank you over and over again. He then told me that he’d been in a car accident a few months before and was having trouble with his short-term memory. He’d let Jack out of the car as he was hand washing it and drove off when he was done, forgetting his dog. He lived alone in Birchwood. His wife had passed away 3 years prior from cancer and Jack was his best friend and only companion.
He tried to give us finder’s money, which I adamantly declined. The girls and I said goodbye to Jack and we both got in our cars and drove in opposite directions.
I distinctly remember thinking at the time that I hope this man has someone to keep an eye on him and Jack.
Fast forward 1-1/2 years, I received an email regarding a story about a man who served as military watch over the digging of JFK’s grave. (See C1 in this issue). The email came from the man’s neighbor who thought it might make a good story. In his email he said this man, Denis lives alone and checks up on all the neighbors, going door-to-door in the winter time to make sure everyone is okay, and is just an all-around great guy with an interesting story.
I made contact and set up the interview. On the phone, Denis warned me about his black furred live-in, a poodle. Super cheesily I declared, “Oh! I love poodles!” and hung up the phone.
I arrived for our meeting on one of the coldest days ever in the history of ever. A somewhat familiar looking Denis graciously let me in and took my coat. He then turned to a docile black poodle on the couch and said this is Jack. Come say hello.
And a beautiful brown-eyed, long-legged gentle black poodle came over to greet me once again.
Gently Rise, Softly Call 