Old Bitch

On a dusty old country road that winds through golden fields of wheat and dilapidating farmhouses lives an old man and his dog. The old man is rarely seen without the scruffy mutt by his side or trailing close behind him. The dog is missing one of its hind legs and hops to keep up with his master as he walks to collect his seed catalogs at the end of his seldom driven drive way. To the passing observer the three-legged dog is somber in appearance but the dog is happy and never laments his lost leg. When the man does drive his beat up Ford pickup into town to buy beans and bacon the dog rides in the back and holds his black muzzle into the swift breeze occasionally poking his head through the sliding back window of the cabin for a word of praise from the old man. The man’s face is weathered like that of a fisherman but the deep wrinkles are more than just an amalgamation of old age and a lifetime in the sun. An astute observer would be able to distinguish his wrinkles as those formed through intense pain and anguish. Once a handsome man, years of suffering has permanently knotted the muscles in his brow and frozen the crows feet around his gray eyes in an incessant grimace. Despite the hardship he has endured, his face is kind and his hollow eyes are full of compassion.

Like many farmers’ sons, as a boy he never cared much for school and preferred to help his father on the farm. Though his father encouraged schooling and scolded him when the teacher reported his wrongdoings he was grateful for the help his son offered. He was a hardworking boy and while he couldn’t remember the fifty states he could fix any machine that man had conceived. Sometimes the boy was mischievous as young boys are but, with time, he grew into a sturdy and honest man, as sometimes happens with those who work the land.

When he was twenty, a lady moved into the small town to teach primary education. She was young and beautiful and when she smiled the gods smiled with her and when she laughed the birds sang in response. Though she liked living in the country among the wheat fields she suffered from hay fever and her little nose often twitched like a rabbit’s before she fired off a series of violent sneezes. The man’s softhearted old pop loved her too and he’d let his son off work early so he could walk, hitch, or take the truck into town to wait outside her school building for class to finish. It wasn’t the first time in his life he was impatient for the school bell to ring. When he arrived early and couldn’t stand the wait he would sneak up to a window and quietly watch her smile at the children and flit about the tiny classroom. He loved watching her slim figure as she turned to write on the blackboard. Sometimes when he was really impatient, he would attract her attention through the window and she’d try not to laugh as he pulled faces but if the kids caught on all was lost and the class would end in a raucous. When class had finished he would take her for walks across the orchard to the small lake shaded by elm trees. Back then she boarded with an Irish-catholic family and they would reproach her when she floated up the stairs after dark.