Reinventing Mike Lake (3 page)

              “Well, you are more than welcome to stay here until you figure out what exactly it is you want to do,” then paused before saying, “Plus Cass likes your mutt there.”

              I wasn’t shocked by her invitation, but it did surprise me.  Without saying it, I think this was her way of extending an olive branch, although I should have been the one to extend it long ago.  Still, this was a step in the right direction.

              “As long as Mr. Fields says it’s okay,” I responded.

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              For six nights I reconnected with my sister, and connected with the niece I never knew.  I watched as she and Bahama bonded.  To my surprise, Bahama even slept in Cassidy’s bed for the rest of the time we were there.  I was beginning to think that it would be hard for Cassidy – and probably even Bahama – when it was time for me to leave to wherever I was going next.

              The thought had crossed my mind that I could leave Bahama with Cassidy until I got back but knew that wouldn’t work for me.  Bahama had been by my side, almost 100 percent, for the last seven years, and I always envisioned her by my side when I first had fantasies of wanting to get away.  So, I came up with the second best idea.

              “Hey Sis,” I started, shortly after finishing up dinner one night and after Cassidy and Bahama had gone out back for another round of fetch.  “Cassidy has bonded with Bahama pretty well since we’ve been here and I feel bad that I’m leaving in a couple of days.”  I paused to see if she knew where I was going.  By the skeptical look on her face, she did.

              “I was wondering if I – I mean we – could get her a dog of her own, maybe tomorrow, before I leave.” 

              Chloe thought for a moment, and explained to me how it was really hard for her to imagine bringing a puppy into the house when she was already working full-time as a legal secretary and was considering getting a second job.  Additionally, she had no help around the house, other than Mr. Fields, so she really had no desire to go through the tasks of housetraining a dog and dealing with all the other things a young puppy generally included.  So, again, I thought of the next best thing.

              “How about we get her a dog that’s a bit older, maybe a couple years old, and you won’t have to deal with all of the house training?  It’s not a human friend, but I think Cassidy would love the companionship.  I know I do.”

              Chloe agreed reluctantly saying “I have to admit, she has really come out of a shell since you’ve been here.  Lately it’s been all I could do to get her to go outside.”

              She had said since “I” had been here, and even though that made me feel like a proud uncle, I knew she really meant since “Bahama” has been here.  Still, I was happy “we” could help.  She hesitated before saying, “We’ll surprise her tomorrow.”  Then she added, “I’ll send you the vet bills.”

5

              I have never had the experience of taking a child to Disney World, but I imagine an SPCA is a close alternative.  Especially after you tell her she can have her pick of the litter, so to speak.  To an adult the SPCA resembles a prison.  The sad commercials you see while flipping through the channels late at night don’t help either.

              At first she ran through the hallways of the SPCA scaring most of the dogs, while some of the other ones scared her.  During all this her mother was trying to explain to her that we need to make sure she doesn’t pick a dog that is too big, and that it has to be a bit older.  She explained to Cassidy that by picking one that was a little older she’d be doing a good thing because everyone else would be picking the puppies, so they would be sure to have a good home.  I didn’t want to see Cassidy have to turn down a puppy she really liked, but luckily the puppies were in a separate section of the facility and Cassidy never asked about them, so we were never faced with that decision.  The only thing I added was that we also wanted to make sure the new doggy got along with Bahama since we would be visiting often.  Bahama was currently in a “meet and greet” room in the front of the building garnering the attention of a handful of volunteers.  While all the humans involved in the decision of bringing a new dog home for Cassidy held an important say, Bahama held the biggest.  Her reaction to the potential new addition would make or break the deal.

              The first dog Cassidy took outside was a Chihuahua named Killer that didn’t stop barking from the time we took him out of his run with the help of a reluctant volunteer.  Chloe shot me a look that said, “If she picks this dog, I will never forgive you.”  Unfortunately for the Chihuahua mix, Cassidy was pretty fearful of the dog once she got a closer look, so Killer’s outside portion of the talent show didn’t even make it to the Bahama part of the program.  Cassidy said something to her mom about being afraid of the dog, and Chloe, trying her best not to look to thankful, whisked the dog back to his run. 

              The second dog, who had yet to be given a name from the staff, had potential right from the start.  We took the beagle-mix to the side of the building where they had a fenced in section.  I then walked back inside to get Bahama to see if we would be getting her approval.  Cassidy, Chloe, and I all knew that the decision rested solely in her paws.

              When I walked back to the yard I saw Cassidy and the no-named pup playing with a rope, with the beagle-mix taking it easy on her end of the toy.  I took it as a good thing that the dog knew her own strength when playing with a child as small as Cassidy. 

              When Bahama saw the beagle, her tail beat against my leg.  Her fur didn’t stick up, so I knew she wasn’t scared, like how I had seen her react around some of the dogs in my neighborhood.  Bahama was so excited to go play with Cassidy and the new dog that I thought there was a chance she’d break the leash on our way over to them.  The commotion got the attention of the beagle-mix, so the volunteer met us halfway, trying to not lose hold of the leash.  After preliminary introductions, they both ran back towards Cassidy, with what can only be described as doggy smiles. 

              “So does Mommy have any say in your new addition’s name?”  I asked Chloe.

              “No, I’m going to let Cassidy name her.  Isn’t that exciting?”

              After paperwork that took an hour, and waiting for a long line of volunteers to say goodbye to the no-named beagle they had fallen in love with, we headed back to Chloe’s place.  I didn’t have much time to get to know the newest member of the family because there was food, leashes, and a crate to be bought.  I went to the pet store solo, and the entire trip took about an hour.  When I returned to the house the no-named beagle-mix was still a no-named beagle-mix.

              “She wants to name it ‘Uncle Mike’,” Chloe reported as I walked back into the house with an armful of bags.

              Holding back laughter, but feeling flattered, I dropped the bags on the kitchen table and said, “I’m not sure she would appreciate that,” emphasizing the word “she,” as in the sex of the dog.

              “I told her she’d have to change it, she’s thinking about it now.  The whole clan is in the yard playing.”

              Around the dinner table that night, our feet surrounded by worn out doggies, Chloe asked Cassidy if she had come up with a name.

              “Ummmmmm, how ‘bout Bahama?” she asked, causing Bahama to perk her head off the floor, hoping for a table scrap.

              “Well that’s her name, how about something else?” her mom asked her, while pointing to my confused dog.

              “Okayyyyyy, how about Pink,” which I guessed was her favorite color based on the color scheme of her bedroom and most of her clothes.

              “What about Pinky?” her mom suggested.  She later told me she suggested this name because it flowed off the tongue better.  I mentally tested her theory in my head – “Here Pink, Pink, Pink” versus “Here Pinky, Pinky, Pinky.”  She had a point.

              Throughout all of this the beagle kept an eye on her, and tilted her head every time someone mentioned the name Pinky.

              “I think she likes it” I said around the same time Cassidy ran out of the living room with Pinky and Bahama in tow yelling “Pinky” over and over.

              “I guess that’s that,” said Chloe.

              And, that was that.

6

              I left my sister’s house the next morning with plans to see her again, though I made no promises on when, as I didn’t know how long this trip would last.  I did know that I wanted to see Cassidy grow up.  Knowing I couldn’t replace the time I already missed watching her grow up was upsetting, but a lot of things were upsetting for me during that time frame.  Cassidy seemed pretty forgiving, as kids often are, and I left her house thinking that was good enough for me.  She did want to name her dog after me, after all. 

              Getting back in the car, I really had no clue where I was heading, with the exception of finding myself heading south again.  Being in my sister’s house in North Carolina was the farthest south I had been since I was a teenager during family vacations, so everywhere I traveled was like new to me.  This was just as well.

              I started the day on 77-South and then picked up 95-South when 77 forked towards Columbia, South Carolina.  I only got out of the car a couple of times for bathroom breaks for Bahama and me. 

              I was hoping getting back in the car wouldn’t cause me to have the same feelings of anxiety as when I first started the trip, but I was wrong.  When I was with Chloe and Cassidy I had my mind occupied most of the time, but the quiet of the road caused my mind to scream with doubt.  A part of me was doing exactly what I wanted to, which was to just get away from it all, but I was learning it was hard to get away from yourself.  Another part questioned everything I was doing.  Every mile in the car made it easier to enjoy the trip for what it was, but those early mornings, especially after leaving a place I had been for a little bit, were particularly hard.

              I realized I had missed a few opportunities to cut just an hour or two east and be at a beach, and I admitted to myself that that sounded like a nice destination.  It was now in the middle of summer, so the beach would be filled to capacity and would make for a good scene. 

              It was also somewhat surprising I didn’t head straight for a beach because I had always felt at peace being there.  Unfortunately, I hadn’t spent nearly enough time at one to figure out if it was the beach that was giving me that inner peaceful feeling.  I had surmised that it was the separation of the things upsetting me that gave me peace while I was at a beach, however brief. Would I feel the same on a mountaintop ski lodge, a farm in the middle of nowhere, or on the moon, as I did on the beach?  All I knew was that I intended to do a lot of exploring about how I felt at different locations on this trip.  I never did make it to the moon.

              As I crossed into Georgia I was reminded of my big rig driving uncle, Tom, who used to tell me about his travels at family reunions.  When I was a child, and to a degree even as an adult, I’d always been interested in those stories.  I always enjoyed getting a glimpse of the outside world through Tom’s colorful storytelling abilities. 

              My uncle is a large man, standing about 6’6” and at least 325 pounds.  One of his favorite subjects to talk about, predictably, is food.  He often speaks of steak in Texas, jambalaya in New Orleans, and pizza in New York City.  His favorite food however is pork barbeque, and spoke a few times of a “shack of a place” in Brunswick, Georgia that served “the best pork ever.”  High claims for a man who has perhaps eaten pork barbeque in more states than any other man both past and present. 

              I couldn’t remember what the name of the restaurant was, but I did remember him describing Brunswick as, “if you blink, you’ll miss it,” so I figured if I kept my eyes open once I took the exit I would find it.  It has been many years since my uncle first started telling me his food stories, so Brunswick had grown a little bit, but more or less his description was accurate.  Less than a mile off the exit I saw smoke coming from a chimney at the Georgia Pig Shack about 100 yards off the main road. 

              When I saw the name of the place I instantly remembered a story he told me.  He said that his trucker buddies just called it “GA Pig Shack,” saying “Gah” instead of “Georgia”.  Tom said because you sound like a baby when you say “gah” it became known as the “Baby Pig” to them.  Quite the history, I thought, for a place that looked like it may fall apart with the first strong wind.

              I don’t think it would have been out of the realm of possibility to think that this was now an abandoned building.  It had the appearance of an old home with an owner who refused to sell even as the rest of the world built around it.  However, even from across the road, Bahama’s nose perked up and, shortly after, I noticed the sweet-smelling pork going through our air vents.

              The front steps creaked as I walked onto a porch that went the distance of the front of the building.  A few people were scattered on rocking chairs, smoking cigarettes or pipes.  As I went inside one of the smokers, a woman in her 50’s followed me in and went behind the counter.  I ordered three sandwiches, two for me, and one for Bahama, and a large sweet tea. 

              The woman washed her hands for about a total of two seconds before preparing my food, which I suppose was better than nothing.  It’s my guess that she wouldn’t have even done that if a health inspector hadn’t been by in the last couple of weeks.

              Her cleanliness, or lack thereof, reminded me of a day when I worked at a pizza joint during college.  We were honestly a pretty clean establishment, but one day my boss told me that a health inspector was coming by and we would have to wash our hands, with soap and water, between every pizza we took out of the oven and placed in the box.  Thankfully they came during a mid-week afternoon, one of the slower times, but I still remember my hands being raw after my shift was up.  The woman taking my order was washing her hands as if the inspector had been gone for at least a few days, and in a few more customers, they would be lucky if she gave her hands a wipe on her greasy jeans.