The Plan Gets Longer

Remember "The Plan" ... the words I speak to Skater every night and have for years? It keeps on getting longer. My poor boy must feel like he's in an eternal tug-of-war - him in his world and me in mine, always asking him to do this or that. But I only ask because I know that magnificent heart of his. Lately, I have prevailed upon him to please keep an eye on Paulette's Ella, suffering from a horrible cancer but always rebounding, Dawn's Kizzy, who has been at the Bridge's door too many times in the last year but always comes back to counter surf and, once again, block the doorway so Dawn can't leave the house without her, and Paula's Albert, whose tumor was benign. Then Lilly went to the Bridge and I asked Skater to meet and protect her beautiful shy self until I got there. I then told Skater to look for Koko, father of my ditzy Divot who Skater tried his best to teach some manners but was never wholly successful, who I felt would be a good friend to my boy. It occurs to me once more that, as the list lengthens, the more I realize that my reliance on Skater was greater than his on me. I relish my quiet time each night when I speak to him - it maintains the connection and gives me the comfort I need.

After all the foot surgeries etc., Skater and I lived a blissful existence in our own little world. He would go out to lunch with me and, amazing boy that he was, would lay under the table in the restaurant with the great cobb salads and just be patient until I finished. The waitresses never failed to bring him a tidbit or two so he never minded the waits. Winters remained a problem for both of us but we would stay in our little cocoon of a house and wait for warmer days. Skater made new friends, like Voodoo, the sweet little Pyr pup next door, who grew to be 1 1/2 time's his size by the time she was a year old. When her owners were on the road doing their music thing, Voodoo would stay with us and Skater would just put up with her big furry antics, look at me and sigh, as if to question her ever growing up. He trained rescue after rescue, teaching each to be a house dog and obey the rules; he was an amazing teacher.

I remember when I bought Skater a truck. It was a blue Ford Ranger and he just looked so damned good in it. I remember, the night before I actually bought it, we looked at the truck and I said, "That's our truck, Skates!" He was such an integral part of my life. When it became too difficult for him to get into and out of the truck, I sold it and bought a car that was easier for him to manage.

One weekend, we met my mom in St. Louis. She was travelling from Hawaii and, as we hadn't seen each other in awhile, decided that 4 days in St. Louis would be a good thing. My sense of direction being what it is, Skater and I got lost on the way home. He was used to it and I laughed as I walked into a service station to find out where I was and how I could get to where I wanted to go; I swear my dog looked out the car window at me, shook his head in disbelief that I couldn't get anywhere without getting lost, and lay down to take a nap. My boy.

Our life was as dull as could be. We both hated Southern Illinois but we made our own happiness; he was my comfort and my rock. The Plan started there and, as it grows, so does my love and admiration for this once-in-a-lifetime friend; Skater.