Portrait of Betsy

She wasnt a dog anyone wanted. Bald from the napeof her neck to the tip of her tail, she was a scrawnylittle black dog with little to recommend herself toanyone other than the little tricks she used to perform toamuse people. A loser dog.But then, I wasnt a person anyone wanted either. A loserin the eyes of the world. A neer do well named JamieFairchild, who, at the age of forty-one, had tried his luckin many places and invariably had failed. For twentyyears, I had become a stranger even to the members ofmy own immediate family.I didnt want a dog. I wasnt even looking for one. ButGod has a way of intervening, regardless of our hopes,dreams, and personal wills, not necessarily giving onewhat 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 chintoward heaven. Th ings hasnt been goin so well withya these past twenty years. I hear tell ya had big dreamsonce, but you went bust, was homeless jes like me ferawhiles. I also hear tell them folks of yourn aint muchof a family. But then, mine twerent neither. I hears yalikes adventure, aint afeerd of takin risks. I aint either. Ialso hear tell ya likes to perform. I does too. But ya lostyour confi dence along the way. Well, Im here to give itback to ya.Before long, Betsy was putting me through my paces.Ah-ten-tion! shed bark at me. Th ats what ourC.O. always barked at the fellas I worked with in NewGuinea. Saunders was his name. Man, he was a doll,but he could also be one mean sonofabitch, let me tellya. When Saunders barked them orders, them guys allshot up straight as ramrods. Shoulders up, ass in, chestout. Now, lissen up, Pop. Ah-ten-tion! Git that chin up!What goods it doin hangin down thataways on yourcollarbone?Well, no one would be able to cuff me under it if itshanging down.Lissen, Pop, she would say. No ones gonna cuff youunder the chin. And if they does, Ill take care of em sogood, they wont need to wear no shoes! No one messeswith 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, Icomplied with her commands.Yeah, her muzzle widened into a grin. Th ats more likeit, Daddy.If Betsy had set me onto the road of physical exercise,she also corrected my posture. If it hadnt been for thedisciplines that she imposed upon me, Id now be awalking question mark.Why are ya walkin with your shoulders down onyour chest? shed bark. You wanna be a hunchbackone day?No, I said.Th en stand straight and stop hangin your head, shesaid. How are ya ever goin to see where youre a-goinlookin 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 inthe dog world what you call a map in the human one. Butya caint go nowheres by always lookin at the map. Timecomes when youve gotta keep your eye on the road.Th is was the army now, and I had become Private Jamieto Sergeant Betsy. When I would slump down into thateasy chair, one of whose armrests she had completelydisemboweled, and had sunk into those pointlessruminations about what I should or should not havedone so many years before, Betsy would approach myfeet and deposit at them the tug o war rope, fall backon her rear haunches, her big brown eyes shining withexcited anticipation, her muzzle dropped open in aneager smile.Come on, Dad, lets play.Oh, please, not now, Betsy, Id say.Oh yes, now, she insisted. Come on. What goodssettin there goin over things you caint do nuthin bout?When you does stuff like this, youre like me when a fl eagets on my tail and I keep tryin to bite it off of it, butthe more I turns around, that tail jes keep gittin furtheraway from me. Memories is like fl eas, Dad. You chewon em too long, they gets your tail sore. Ya gotta keepyour eye on your star. Th eres one up yonder thats yournand yourn alone. Keep your eye on it, and it wont beforgettin ya. You jes take a hold on my tail, Pop, and Illtake ya to your highest dreams.