That was the day I called my husband at work to proclaim the need of a dog for our daughter.
The new college graduate.
The one moving to East Nashville.... the place where gangs live, crime happens, shots are heard from your porch, drugs are dealt.
It's all a fog from that day till now, where I sit on her front porch.
Still alive, no drive by's accept those who ooh and ah over the lovely new house.
The housemates hear me in their sleep reminding them to use the expensive alarm system we installed.
Sorry ladies.
Met the neighbors, the divorced guys across the street. They seem very pleased with the new girls on the block, though I think they are harmless.
Two houses down, Scarlett (how lucky to have been given that name) works for The City. Drives a Land Rover.... has no drapes on her windows yet.
Roger, across the street, plays for the Nashville symphony.
I hear him play his oboe from the front porch when his windows are open.
A lovely sound on this street.
Jo and Theresa next door.
They work at Whole Foods... yum.
They are very earthy and friendly.
They are very earthy and friendly.
The British gent across the street who wears camo. Towering man with a long rusty beard who talks with a bit of cockney.
A British flag adorns his front porch, reminding him and others of his roots.
I like that.
I like that.
Then there are others. The ones we have not met... but have been told. We know the sad, the bad and the ugly.
The young boy who lives down the street with the old man, not his dad.
House seems to be groaning in pain as does the boy.
One bad choice after another we hear.
The mean old man gets to drinking some nights and the boy gets a verbal beating...... for hours.
This takes place for all to hear, on the front porch.
Hurtful words fly loud and proud and I go inside as my heart hurts. A heavy sadness takes shape, over me, over the street.
The boy is a problem for sure... but why? What has happened to this young boy?
He has experienced loss at an early age and is trying to survive the best he knows... which isn't very well.
Then there is Red and his family.
Red is a good ole boy who lives with his parents in a house that hasn't seen paint in 30 years. A husky boxer runs along the chain link fence where shadows of grass remain. He reminds you to stay away, this is his home.
Red hangs in the street many days with "mean ole man".
Both shirtless, bellies over buckles, vintage tattoos running mostly down their used up bodies.
Beer in hand, leaning over old chevy truck, talking exploits of days gone by.
He doesn't seem a threat, just uncouth and unkempt.
Though....
I have heard stories of a beaten girlfriend, with a bad outcome and a long jail time.
Folks who live nearby feel safe because nobody messes with Red.
Kinda like Jim.. "You don't tug on Superman's cape, you don't spit into the wind, you don't pull the mask of the ole Lone Ranger, and you don't mess around with Jim, nah, nahna, nah, nah nah nah nah...."
Yeah, it could be that neighborhood.
Somewhere in the background is a rooster... I hear him calling each morning, and throughout the day.
I can almost see the Batman building (ATT) and LP Field, yet the rooster is in my right ear.
A contrast.. like most of life.
Ricks Market is around the corner. Coldest beer in town their sign claims.
A lady in a BMW stops in for 6 pack of local brewed ale and a man grabbing a tall one, just one. His morning coffee. He'll be back later.
A drummer man who walked up to the fence I was painting.
Two grungy bowls of soup in hand. Would I heat them up for him? His electricity had been turned off.
He told me about his millionaire brother and rich lawyer sister in N.Y.
He reached for pictures in his wallet, reminding me that people lie all the time and he was not making this up.
He could not find the pictures.
No worries I said.
He waited while I heated his soup.
Love says Yes.
Love Does.
Love wants to step in and talk to the young boy... but fear says, keep to yourself.
It's too far gone.
Can't do anything there, besides you don't live here. You just stop in from time to time.
There is a reason we own a house here.
Time will paint the canvas of why and how we choose to show love.
Back to the dog and my mind......
I called my husband in a frantic state and explained why we were getting a Doberman. He listened quietly. When I was done I hung up.
The search was on.
In short time I had 3000 reasons why we would not be getting a Doberman, all of them with dollar signs in front of them.
Last time I owned a Doberman she was a sweet Red girl priced at $65.00.
The daughter thought a Vizsla or a Weimeraner were good choices. We have a beauty of a Weim who I refer to as my velcro dog.
No to the Vizsla... too sweet.
I asked her thoughts on German shepherds? Can you get much smarter or calculating than a German? Person or dog?
She rolled her eyes.
She didn't want a dog that would terrify her friends and "mom, all that fur.. ick."
Okay so Weim it is.
They are big, have a tremendous bark, and are not pushovers. Ahh, the German character of a dog. Perfect.
In short order I located a litter of Weims.
An accidental litter of pure breeds.
Hmm, that's how we acquired the last one....
Pay attention to your kids people.
I called the husband, picked him up from work and we headed the short 20 miles down the road.
Eight darling pups later we left with two, a brother and sister
and that's when I knew for sure I had lost my mind.
To be continued....
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