Portrait of Betsy

She wasnt a dog anyone wanted. Bald from the nape
of her neck to the tip of her tail, she was a scrawny
little black dog with little to recommend herself to
anyone other than the little tricks she used to perform to
amuse people. A loser dog.
But then, I wasnt a person anyone wanted either. A loser
in the eyes of the world. A neer do well named Jamie
Fairchild, who, at the age of forty-one, had tried his luck
in many places and invariably had failed. For twenty
years, I had become a stranger even to the members of
my own immediate family.
I didnt want a dog. I wasnt even looking for one. But
God has a way of intervening, regardless of our hopes,
dreams, and personal wills, not necessarily giving one
what one wants but what one needs.
Th ey tole me you needed me, Betsy told me.
Who told you?
My superior offi cers, she smiled, elevating her chin
toward heaven. Th ings hasnt been goin so well with
ya these past twenty years. I hear tell ya had big dreams
once, but you went bust, was homeless jes like me fer
awhiles. I also hear tell them folks of yourn aint much
of a family. But then, mine twerent neither. I hears ya
likes adventure, aint afeerd of takin risks. I aint either. I
also hear tell ya likes to perform. I does too. But ya lost
your confi dence along the way. Well, Im here to give it
back to ya.
Before long, Betsy was putting me through my paces.
Ah-ten-tion! shed bark at me. Th ats what our
C.O. always barked at the fellas I worked with in New
Guinea. Saunders was his name. Man, he was a doll,
but he could also be one mean sonofabitch, let me tell
ya. When Saunders barked them orders, them guys all
shot up straight as ramrods. Shoulders up, ass in, chest
out. Now, lissen up, Pop. Ah-ten-tion! Git that chin up!
What goods it doin hangin down thataways on your
collarbone?
Well, no one would be able to cuff me under it if its
hanging down.
Lissen, Pop, she would say. No ones gonna cuff you
under the chin. And if they does, Ill take care of em so
good, they wont need to wear no shoes! No one messes
with a Marine. Not if they know whats good for em.
Now lissen up! Chin up! Shoulders back! Ass in!
Awkward as these unaccustomed positions felt to me, I
complied with her commands.
Yeah, her muzzle widened into a grin. Th ats more like
it, Daddy.
If Betsy had set me onto the road of physical exercise,
she also corrected my posture. If it hadnt been for the
disciplines that she imposed upon me, Id now be a
walking question mark.
Why are ya walkin with your shoulders down on
your chest? shed bark. You wanna be a hunchback
one day?
No, I said.
Th en stand straight and stop hangin your head, she
said. How are ya ever goin to see where youre a-goin
lookin down at the ground all the time?
You look at the ground when you sniff , Id say.
Yeah, but thats only to get the smell of direction. Its in
the dog world what you call a map in the human one. But
ya caint go nowheres by always lookin at the map. Time
comes when youve gotta keep your eye on the road.
Th is was the army now, and I had become Private Jamie
to Sergeant Betsy. When I would slump down into that
easy chair, one of whose armrests she had completely
disemboweled, and had sunk into those pointless
ruminations about what I should or should not have
done so many years before, Betsy would approach my
feet and deposit at them the tug o war rope, fall back
on her rear haunches, her big brown eyes shining with
excited anticipation, her muzzle dropped open in an
eager smile.
Come on, Dad, lets play.
Oh, please, not now, Betsy, Id say.

Dettagli