Two Tales From The Past
Will de Kypia

.THE LESSON

.This happened a long time ago
.before cars had airbags or even
.seatbelts like most cars do today.

.A foggy morning and the boy is going
.a bit fast for a learner. Suddenly there's
.a semi ahead, stopped dead in the road.

.The boy hits the brakes, hard but too late.
.His old man's riding shotgun. No chance
.to brace so he hits the windshield. Hard.

.Squinting through blood, a doting father
.drags his dazed son to the passenger side
.behind the cracked and gory windshield.

.He stumbles out of the car, staggers around
.to the driver’s seat, and lays his busted skull
.on the wheel, barely hearing the horn’s blare.

.When the cops arrive they find a guy bleeding
.badly while the kid beside him keeps saying
.“Hey Dad, what am I supposed to do now?”

*________*________*

PLAYING GAMES
IN THE BASEMENT

When we were youngsters my two
siblings and I really wanted a puppy.

We bugged our parents relentlessly to
let us get one. They finally said OK and
we paid a visit to the local animal shelter.

Which had oodles of dogs. One
female attracted our attention.

Mixed breed, nearly half-grown,
to us she seemed rather forlorn.

Our dad's curiosity was aroused
and he queried the shelter staff.

“Abused,” the staff informed him.
“We found her living on the streets,
broken, and scared, and starving.

"It will take time to heal her.
Time and lots of love too.
Please remember that.”

They also warned us she had
a tendency to be “snappish.”

So this dog was a mongrel, no
longer a puppy, and irritable.

Not the dog we'd been looking for.

But my family felt sorry for her
and we hoped to help her heal.

She'd be a pet and a project.

We decided to name her Lorna
after the title character of a novel
Mom read back in high school.

Small yet stocky, tan spots above
the eyes, she looked like she might
have a little bit of Rottweiler in her.

Lorna was trouble from the start.
She had…behavioral problems.

Somewhere she'd learned the nasty
trick of thrusting her muzzle toward
a friendly stranger’s outstretched
open hand as if about to sniff it.

Then she'd lunge at the hand,
trying to chow down on the
friendly stranger's fingers.

Lorna had a few other bad habits too.
The healing would take time and love.

We kids asked our parents what
might have turned our girl mean.

They told us we'd never know and
she'd never forget whatever bad things
happened to her in her previous life.

All we could do was try to make
her new life better. Which we did.

Although our house had a big
fenced yard, we kept her inside
where she slept on a quilt in a
far corner of the basement.

Lorna whimpered when she
slept. Was she recalling those
demons of that previous life?

A ravenous eater, she gobbled
the food you brought before you
got halfway back up the stairs.

She did enjoy playing games.
Tug-of-war was her favorite.

Lorna's powerful jaws gripped
a tough strip of leather or a length
of thick rope one of us held out.

Her bite was incredibly strong.
We'd drag her along the floor, lift
her up, swing her around in the air.

The games continued until Lorna
had had enough fun and she quit.

Quite flamboyantly.__..__

She'd drop what was in her mouth,
stand up tall on her hind legs, and
teeter across the basement floor.

Fall down, crawl a few feet, roll
on her back—legs up—to play
dead for about thirty seconds.

She ended the performance with
a big bow, lowering her chest to
the floor while lifting her rump.

Then she trotted off to her corner
where she curled up on her quilt.
The games were officially over.

The first time this happened we
simply couldn't comprehend it.

We weren't even —.—
sure we'd seen it. …—

"But what…And how…?".
we said, spluttering..—.

"And why…and who…?".
we asked, wondering.__

Who taught Lorna to perform?
Was her original owner a trainer?
Or perhaps an old vaudevillian?

The shelter staff said they were
unaware of her showbiz skills.

She'd been placed in a cage and
was thus unable to display them.

The family quickly came to adore
Lorna, especially us kids who were
so proud of her remarkable talent.

We showed her off to our friends
like a sliding bookcase hiding the
entrance to a secret passageway.

After warning them__.__.
not to approach her. __.__

Though Lorna was comfortable
with family members she was
still snappish with outsiders.

Our beloved canine companion
lived fairly contentedly in that
corner for close to ten years.

No ordinary dog, a survivor.
She wore out several quilts.

The last time I saw her was
when I was in college, back
at home on a spring break.

She was curled up on her
latest quilt in her corner.

“Hey Lorna, how are we doing today?”
Eyes clouded by cataracts, she stared.
Raised a grayed muzzle, teeth bared.

Then she caught my familiar scent
and relaxed, letting me run my fingers
over her bony body. She was dying.

As I was getting ready to leave I said
“Guess what, Lorna? Me and my buddies
are going to hitchhike down to Florida.
You be a good girl while I'm gone.”

Her blind eyes cooly watched me
stand up and slowly walk away.

Before I returned Lorna was dead.

Our parents just left the quilt in her
corner. After they died we kids cut
it up, and each of us took a piece.

On the day we sold the house we
made a final trip to the basement.

I gazed at the empty corner and said
"We miss you, Lorna, and we all hope
you're at peace wherever you are."

The family had done what
it could to heal her wounds
but Lorna always bore scars.



________