The Baywood Tales

The Baywood Tales

Dr. James Kennedy

AuthorHouse™

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© 2012 Dr. James Kennedy. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse   7/9/2012

ISBN: 978-1-4772-1119-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-1118-2 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-1117-5 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012909397

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Contents

The Dog Without a Leash

The Incident at Cupsogue

Lost in Astoria - A Thanksgiving Story

The Acorns

Mademoiselle and Her Three Lovers

Three Rioters

I Want To Hold Your Hand

Bully for You

Jazzy

The Bedroom Window

Eight Ball

The Girl with the Scars

With Extraordinary Dexterity

Kelly and the Birds

Award’s Night

The Persuasive Letter

Interstate 95

Burnt Toast and Crispy Bacon

The Baby Boom Experience - Famous Babies

Waiting (one-act play)

For Diane, Scott, Michelle, Kristina and JP

The Dog Without a Leash

It was clear to Jimmy Spivac that his dog Kino preferred the soft moist grass beneath his feet to the harsh dry pavement of the roadway. It was no wonder to Jimmy, either, that Kino resisted the leash; it was altogether unnecessary anyway as the last thing on earth Kino was going to do was to leave the side of Jimmy Spivac. As a matter of fact, when out for a walk, Jimmy brought the leash along with him to satisfy a neighborhood code about dogs and leashes. He stopped using it years ago.

Kino was always an outdoor dog, and on cold winter nights, it was by force that Jimmy had to go to his yard and physically carry the sixty pound pure-white purebred inside his house, and once inside, Kino slept with his nose at the doorsill sniffing the wintry outdoor air. During the rest of the year, weather permitting, Kino preferred to be outdoors beneath the maples in his backyard or in the screen room where the fresh scents and sounds of all that was natural to him could be heard and experienced apart from the clutter of things manufactured by man. Consequently, Kino never sat on couches or beds; he never ransacked a kitchen trash pail or chewed up a shoe; he never accidentally spilled an indoor plant or sat begging at the dinner table for tidbits. These things never happened because Kino would not remain inside the house. Kino was an outdoor dog.

There were other curious things to mention about Kino. Kino was not an old dog, having only four years beneath his paws, and it was obvious to everyone that he was the most satisfied dog on earth. Jack London reminded us that all dogs retain inside themselves the capability to heed the call of the wild, but Kino seemed to understand the rules of civilized society perfectly. In fact, to the careful observer, it was true that Kino never barked at strangers; he never jumped up on visitors and he always politely submitted to the groping hands of children who wished to pet his ears. Kino could sit patiently for hours, and Jimmy Spivac might whisper once for Kino and his alert companion was already at his side, good-naturedly waiting. Kino could read Jimmy’s intentions on the spot and he was always attentive. When a friend or a neighbor who worshiped their dogs sometimes recounted anecdotes of their struggle to rid their beloved pets of undesirable habits, Jimmy had to remain silent. Apparently, Kino was born well-behaved, conciliatory, and with a disposition to be happy. And as for that, people might have said the same thing about Jimmy Spivac, as he, too, was good-natured and well-received by everyone. As for Jimmy and Kino together, they had a relationship that was self-evident, and anyone with an interest to notice, would recognize an unassailable bond that is the archetypal story of a man and his dog.

One night at the annual meeting of the residents of Baywood, the beautiful and spacious waterfront community where Jimmy and Kino took up residence, neighbors were discussing projects necessary to keep the environment as bucolic as possible; the boardwalk needed some repairs; some of the teenaged kids outside the neighborhood were racing their cars at night and the Pennington family lost their mailbox to vandals. Janet Briggs, a friendly lover of all things canine, sauntered casually over to where Jimmy was chewing on a pretzel. She took a keen interest in the neighborhood, and she had noticed over time that Jimmy walked his dog unleashed each day without incident.

How on earth do you manage to keep your dog so close at hand? she asked, after some small talk about things in general. It amazes me when I see you walking together. If my dog Jude wants to chase a squirrel, it takes all the strength I have to hold her in place.

Jude was a beautiful purebred Golden Retriever, and her escapades in the neighborhood were legendary. On a good day, one could not witness a more resplendent coat as the one worn by Jude, nor fathom a Golden with a more regal pose. She was purchased from a renowned breeder several states away, and her lineage was impressive. On occasion, though, Jude could be spotted shaking free the salt water from the marsh, having chased a duck into flight, and her demeanor was all frolic and sport. Jude liked to remind everyone that she was not simply a show dog; she was an impressive swimmer and athlete as well, even if her coat did become as tangled as a janitor’s wet mop.

Before Jimmy could respond to Janet’s question about Kino, Ginny and Roy Raynor, coffee and biscuits in hand, sauntered over to join the banter, and when they heard the topic was dogs, they had plenty to relate to since they had reared three champion Labradors.

The conversation began with commentary upon the various characteristics of the breeds, citing the Golden Retriever’s predilection to the water, for example; shifted to remarks about the individual personalities of their family pets; and ultimately turned into a mild debate about which factors contributed the most to a dog’s general disposition. Roy posited the idea that genetics was the key, and that one needed to do considerable research on each specific breeder. Ginny and Janet agreed, but they wanted to emphasize that the home environment should not be underestimated; no one provided a more loving den for their purebreds than these two caregivers. Finally, the ball came around to Jimmy Spivac, who politely listened all the while, and his neighbors’ faces were attuned and eager to hear his views, and Janet once again asked about Kino. Jimmy didn’t have a strong opinion one way or the other, genuinely believing, as did his neighbors, that both the environment and genetics weighed heavily when determining a dog’s temperament. More specifically, however, it became evident to Jimmy that he was expected to tell the narrative that was Kino’s story, and to speak directly of his companion’s pedigree and how it was that Kino came to Baywood.

I paid nothing for Kino, Jimmy began, and his neighbors’ brows lifted in disbelief. He was a gift, and concerning our friendly debate about disposition, I think I have to side with the home environment as the key. At least that has been my experience with Kino.

The ladies were delighted, and Roy was too, but they wanted to hear the rest without a detail unspoken. They settled in for more, and Jimmy decided to tell the whole story.

About five years ago, just before I moved into Baywood, I completed a lengthy business commitment and finally I had some real time for myself, several months in fact, to vacation. For years I wanted to visit the national parks, and to visit with friends in California, so I rented a van and set out on a road trip. I visited Juniper Springs and the Florida Keys first, made my way southwest to the unforgettable Chisos Mountains of Texas, and then headed to the Grand Canyon. Desirous of some human interaction I guess, I pulled next into Las Vegas and stayed a few days playing Black Jack and Keno.

Keno? Ginny asked politely, with a smile. Is that where you got the name?

Well, not exactly, Jimmy replied, although the word was with me all the while.

Roy looked askance at his wife, and so, too, did Janet, implying that she needn’t have interrupted. Please, continue, he said, before sipping his coffee.

"Upon leaving Las Vegas, I was driving for hours through the God-forsaken flatlands of Nevada, drenched in mid-day sunlight, in the middle of the desert’s most barren landscape. I was alone on the road and I was thinking that this isolation was why travelers were warned to check their vehicles before passing through there, when, to my amazement, there appeared before me, puzzling yet unmistakable, a single, solitary stop sign. What’s more, tacked lazily onto the stop sign post, there dangled a fence picket with the words, ‘Dogs for Sale,’ and the picket itself pointed the way. I looked north, south, east and west and there wasn’t a thing in sight, but I made a spontaneous decision to obey that picket and see what fate lay in store for me.

"A few miles down the road, a virtual oasis sprang before me, and when I pulled into the drive, a cacophony of sound blasted hysterically as would a mad symphony. I was stunned! Here existed a self-sufficient game farm, encompassing perhaps ten acres or so, surviving alone without a neighbor for miles. Remarkably, thriving upon this ranch, there dwelled as many varied animals as anyone could imagine. Peacocks strutted in front of the van, dozens of dogs bellowed my arrival at their absolute highest decibels, a goat or two strayed nearby, and there were horses and sheep, and I think, a llama. Overhead, hawks and crows and desert sparrows darted wildly, doing their part to add to the chaos. In the middle of this asylum, and amidst the bedlam my arrival had created, a neglected cottage sat empty, and upon its weary façade, another fence picket was tacked precipitously beside the open door. Upon it, someone had scribbled the word ‘Office.’

"It was the moment I exited the van that paralysis once again took hold of me, but this time, it was by the thick stench of the farm itself, the likes of which cannot be overstated. The din generated by the startled animals subsided rather quickly, leaving only the odor and the barking of dogs, and once revived, I poked my head inside the empty shanty and called out. No one answered. I remember thinking how much soot had settled upon the worn-out tables and frayed chairs, and how odd it was that there was no actual front door to the lodging. I called out again more resolute this time, and from behind me, I heard a booming response: ‘Over here! How can I help you?’

"That’s how I met Granger, a stubbly southwest breeder of champion German Shepherds. I explained to him that I might be interested in a puppy, and he wasted no time. Settling the yowling shepherds of his domain with a wave of his arm, he brought me to a fenced pen about thirty feet by thirty, and inside, there were six or seven of the most magnificent puppies. They stood alert at our presence and they were beautiful. These were athletic dogs, and if ever prizes were to be won by canines, I was among the medalists. Vigorous and perfect in every detail, these champions were for sale.

"Granger entered the pen and lifted the six-week old puppies and each melted with compliance. He inspected them topsy-turvy at his discretion, and each one patiently acquiesced. Some pups were dark with mixed tans, two were pure white and two were predominately black, but all possessed dark skin features about the nose, ears and eyelids. They were trophy dogs and Granger knew it.

"Inexplicably, I was feeling ambivalent suddenly, and injudiciously, I decided to forget the whole idea. I excused myself and thanked Granger when I explained awkwardly that I had changed my mind. I was about to pull away when Granger intervened: ‘I want to show you something before you go,’ he insisted, and in a moment, we were back at the pen.

"Unnoticed before, in the corner of the active enclosure, there was a feeding dock, perhaps two feet high, with a sloping wooden ramp designed for the toddling pups to climb for water and food. Granger walked directly to where the ramp touched the ground, and with one hand groping, he pulled from the recess created there a white lump of diseased fur. In his open palm, he presented to me the runt of the litter, shivering and near death. It appeared as a tumor; its distorted form filthy and ravaged with wounds, and from its eye and left ear, blood-gorged ticks sucked at the last remnants of life.

"‘The litter has chewed this one pretty bad,’ Granger explained, ‘ripping it in their teeth as a rag, gashing at it as an old piece of leather. Poor thing has howled the death cry for weeks, keeping me awake at night.’ Granger placed the dying puppy in my hand, and he squeezed free the ticks barehanded as effortlessly as picking berries. ‘Come inside. I’ll set you with a pad, water dish and some food. You would be doing me a favor; the litter would have this one dead within a few more nights.’

"Back inside the shanty and once again surrounded by all things dusty, I accepted the gift and prepared to leave the farm. Granger scribbled his address on a pad and stuffed the note into my shirt pocket. ‘He may live or he may not,’ he said, ‘but promise me you will write to me in one year and let me know.’ I agreed.

"The day had waned into night and that first evening passed without incident. By mid-morning the next day, travelling toward California’s Lake Arrowhead, the afflicted puppy’s condition turned critical; he had stopped breathing. Heartbroken, I placed my cheek upon the lifeless creature and sighed. However, at this close proximity, I realized that I was mistaken. The diaphragm was moving. So weak and lifeless was this pitiable creature, I was certain he had died. I was wrong; he was breathing ever so faintly.

"After that initial scare, I was convinced we were going to make it. I decided on the name Kino because it referenced a game of luck when gambling in Vegas, but also, because Kino was the name of the unlucky protagonist of Steinbeck’s novella, The Pearl. I kept a vigilant eye upon Kino, and before long, he gained enough strength to stand, and then to wobble about the van, and then to explore the forest floor at Lake Arrowhead. He was doing quite well overall and each morning brought renewed vigor.

"The second scare came a few days later. Eating healthier portions and becoming more agile, Kino had a solid bowel movement, and from a respectful distance, I saw that something was wrong. The stool was completely white. Hastily, I stuck my head to within inches of it and I was shocked; long strands of squirming white worms writhed as thin snakes from within the movement. I had never seen anything like this before. Kino was sick internally, and he needed a vet immediately.

I wasn’t giving up on Kino, so I raced like an ambulance driver into town and the first outpost I came to was a general store that sold everything from gunpowder to shoe laces. With Kino inside the van, I flew to the counter and collared the proprietor: ‘My dog is really sick and I need a vet right away. His stool is filled with worms! I think he is going to die.’

I focused on the shopkeeper’s face for the first time about then, and his concern turned to a wry smile. ‘You’re not from around here, are you?’ he asked. He coughed and stood up, clamored to a wooden shelf and removed a small square box. ‘Give him these pills and follow the label instructions. He will be fine in a couple of days. Your dog’s got worms. Ha! Ha!’

The label read ‘Worm Away’ and I was flabbergasted. How was I to know that worms in dogs were as ordinary as a common cold? He was right. Kino was fine soon thereafter. In fact, before long, Kino resembled his siblings in the litter, and his pure white coat sheened and his muscular frame developed. Given this second chance, Kino not only survived, he flourished, for his genetics were those of a champion breed.

At this point in the narrative, Jimmy Spivac noticed that another neighbor, Don Lober, was listening from behind his left shoulder. The Lober family included an eight year old Yorkshire named Maggie that was frequently at the veterinarian; it was common knowledge that over ten thousand dollars in medical expenses had been assumed to maintain her health. Don Lober held a coffee cake to his chin, and he swallowed before speaking.

Keep going, he mumbled through the crumbs. What happened next?

Ginny, Roy, and Janet were still listening intently to Jimmy’s lengthy narrative. All three leaned forward when Roy offered his opinion for consideration:

You seem to be supporting the idea that a dog’s genetics, given a healthy environment of course, will ultimately determine disposition and temperament, Roy pointed out. Today, thanks to a strong constitution, Kino has recovered completely.

Not completely, Jimmy continued. Physically, it is true, Kino’s form is perfect. But as we continued to travel through the national parks, Kino became extraordinarily possessive of me. At Sequoya, I could not walk without his ribs brushing against my legs; at Yellowstone, Kino rested at night beside me; at Banff, he followed my every move.

Janet spoke next: He was so grateful…he became devoted to you…you were his savior…you rescued him from his torturous past. That is why you don’t need a leash.

I was thinking that as well, Jimmy resumed, until something happened in a state park in Colorado. I was on the road for some time, enjoying the parks, and Kino was a fine companion and a beautiful specimen, over thirty pounds by then, and many families were outdoors enjoying the parks with their pets as well. On one occasion, a small mixed-breed, perhaps ten pounds in weight, approached Kino with a robust bark. Kino behaved as in a nightmare; he leapt to my chest in terror, and he was attempting to find refuge within my shirt. Panicked beyond all reasonable threat, Kino feared for his life. I recall wrenching him from my ribcage with great effort, and yelling at him: ‘You are a German Shepherd for God’s sake! That dog is no threat to you! It is no bigger than a Miniature Poodle!’ Finally, Kino calmed down, but he whimpered uncontrollably until the bewildered family took their friendly little dog away.

The neighbors at the Baywood meeting were preparing to leave for their homes, so Jimmy Spivac wrapped things up straight away. Janet, Ginny, Roy and Don held for the conclusion.

"Four years have passed since those early experiences and Kino has improved greatly. His temperament is calm and deferential, and his devotion to me is without question. Travelling with Kino for months in the national parks has left within him an indelible love for the outdoors. Yet, it is undeniable; those first six weeks as the runt of the litter in that ruthless dog pen had distorted his temperament and disposition. He was the victim of pitiless brutality, and because he will be forever affected, it is unlikely he will ever realize his full potential. Janet, you asked me how on earth I manage to keep my dog so close at hand. I think that Kino is walking on a leash after all, albeit an invisible one. When we are out together, it is true; he does not stray from my side. But it is not because of my training; though I wish it were so. Kino does not need a leash because of his tormented past; he will not wander because he is afraid to encounter another dog."

The Incident at Cupsogue

A young man and a young woman were sitting at the edge of the seashore facing the pacific blue horizon. They had risen early and they had the beach quite