Love's of my Life

 By: Gerry Young 

Written © 2021

 

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...
Email
gerry_young@tickiestories.us

 

FIRST:

AS A WEE TODLER, unable yet to walk, we (my family) lived in a two-storied log cabin on eighteen acres of hilly, wooded land with a creek running through it just outside of Charlotte, NC. Granddaddy had dammed-up the creek to make ye ol' swimmin' hole for his four daughters, the eldest being my mother (he fathered no sons). He also built a doubles tennis court nearby and a nice little fish pond with a life-sized statue of St. Francis in the very center of the pond, overlooking the tennis court. The statue looked like he was standing on a pedestal that made him look like he was walking on water. There were golden Carp in the pond.

One day, the girls had gone down the hilly path to play tennis. Mother took me along and placed me on my tummy on the small blanket she'd taken with her. Connie, our Collie, was also in attendance. If I were not in my bassinet, she was always nearby (I was much later told). She was told to stay between me and the pond and not to let me near it.

While the girls were enjoying their game, I was inching my way to the pond. Connie was barking loudly and jumping around trying to keep me away. Eventually – and still barking – she was at the very edge of the pond, standing sideways at the water's edge. I like to think that I crawled beneath Connie's belly, and fell into the water. Immediately, she jumped into the pond, and using her teeth, she grabbed the back of my diaper and lifted me out of the water. Hearing the splash, the girls came a-runnin'. Two of them were in Nursing School and they made sure I was alright. Connie jumped out of the pond and with a great shake, she got them all wet. 

 

SECOND:

I MUST HAVE BEEN ABOUT FIVE YEARS OLD. Granddaddy had begun breeding Pedigreed Doberman Pinschers. Out of the first litter, there was a runt, of course. The other puppies refused to let the little girl nurse, and she wasn't putting on any weight. Grandmama said that she, the runt, needed to be drowned. I heard what was said, and started crying and screaming, "No! No! Don't drown Sally," – I'd already named her – "Please! I want her. She'll be my dog. I'll feed her and take care of her. Just don't drown Sally."

Grandmama crossed her arms over her buxom bosom, stared at me for the longest time, it seemed, and said, "I'll teach you how to heat her formula. You'll have to sleep with her on some blankets on the floor in the kitchen, keeping her nice and warm against your body, and you'll have to feed her every two or three hours every day and every night until the other puppies are no longer nursing. It's up to you, honey. If she lives, then she'll be able to eat puppy food along with the other puppies, and she'll be your dog. And I promise you we won't sell her."

We only had a wood-burning stove in the kitchen – no modern gas or electric stove – but Grandmama did everything she said she'd do, including firing up the old fashioned stove. For three years, Sally definitely was MY dog. Oh, how I loved her.

On Christmas Eve day of 1948, Grandmama and I went into town to do our late Christmas shopping. I bought Sally a red leather collar with rhinestones all around it. I don't remember anything else that we bought that day. When we returned home, I called and called Sally, knowing that she had full run of the acreage we had. Way into the dark of the night I scoured over the property, hoarsely calling for my sweet girl.

Christmas Day, I wasn't interested in any of the presents; all I wanted was Sally. We never saw her again. For the next thirty days, Grandmama would drive me all around the area we lived in, with me calling and whistling out the car's window for Sally, but with no results. Grandmama said, "Honey," she always called me 'Honey'. "Honey," she said, "you're getting to be a big boy now. Maybe Sally found a younger boy who really needs her love and affection more than you do." The emptiness still hurt but eventually I released my hold on her.

Not until I was in my early twenties, did I finally learn the truth. One of my uncles worked for an exterminating company; he hated Sally and she hated him (a few years after marrying one of my aunts and fathering a cousin of mine, he was angry ... probably stoned, one way or another ... and strongly hit my aunt over her head with two heavy books, and broke two of her vertebrae). He had put out poisoned meat all over our property, killing, not only my dear Sally, but also our two cats (Sugar and Tabby) who kept the mice out of the two barns we had. I hated that uncle for thirty or more years, but I forgave him and now I'm free of that hatred.

 

THIRD:

I MUST HAVE BEEN ABOUT SIX YEARS OLD. We had a milk-cow whose name was Daisy. Oh, how I loved her, too. Granddaddy and I would walk her down to the pasture each morning before he went to work in an auto shop in town, and then we'd walk her back to her barn after he came home.

One day, he phoned Grandmama and told her there was an emergency at the church and he had to be there; he'd be late in getting home. He told her to have me go down to the pasture and bring Daisy back to the barn. Grandmamma hemed and hawed and he told her that I was now old enough to do it by myself. She finally gave in. I was so, so happy, learning what Granddaddy had told her.

About half way back, I had an idea. I stopped Daisy from walking and, standing in front of her, I reached around her neck from beneath and grabbed her horns as I slung my legs up around her neck and locked my my ankles on top of her neck.Then I let go of the horns and let my fingers dangle on the ground.

Nearing the house, I yelled, "Grandmama, Grandmama!" She must've heard me 'cause she came running out the back door. Her frown instantly changed to a huge smile as she quickly stopped, laughing like crazy. She put her fists on her hips and called out, "You are something else, you crazy boy." I reached back up and grabbed Daisy's horns and let my feet drop to the ground. Then I walked her back to her barn. I kissed her on the nose as I'd done many times. Oh, how I loved her breath – unless she'd been eating wild onions! Yuck.

 

FOURTH:

I MUST HAVE BEEN ABOUT SEVEN YEARS OLD. One day, Sally and I were playing "Jungle". I was Tarzan, and she was one of the bad guys. I had my bow and rubber-tipped arrow. I shot my arrow and it hit her hind-quarters. She let out a yelp.

Grandmama was working in her flower garden and called me telling me to come sit by her on the wrought iron bench. "I saw you shoot your arrow and it hit Sally." (She always told me she had eyes in the back of her head, and at that moment, I believed her.) She continued, "You know that God is the highest and greatest and most loving thing we can love in the whole universe, don't you?"

"Yes ma'am," I answered.

"And we humans are the highest and most loving things that animals can love."

"Yes ma'am, I can understand that."

"So, if we want God to love us, then we have to be kind to the animals, don't we?"

"Yes ma'am. I'm sorry I hit her, Grandmama."

"Now, you go on over to her, hug her, rub her hind-quarters, and tell her you're sorry, and you still love her very, very much."

"Yes ma'am, I sure will." And I did. 

 

FIFTH:

I MUST HAVE BEEN ABOUT EIGHT YEARS OLD. Mother had remarried. I didn't like him, and he didn't like me. He said I was a sissy boy, but he'd teach me to be a real man; oh, yeah, uh huu! His name was Cunt. Oh, pardon me. It was Curt. That was a typo. Yeah, right! We moved in with his parents, his sister, and his four younger brothers. The house was a shanty with no electricity, no running water and no in-door toilet, though they did have Propane gas for cooking. There was a hand-crank well, and a two-seater out-house. In warm weather, everyone bathed in the creek; in winter, they bathed in a galvanized tub in the kitchen; first the men by eldest to youngest. The women were last, by eldest to youngest. Sounds like 'Don't throw the baby out with the bathwater', doesn't it? I couldn't imagine.

There were acres and acres and acres of land for growing cotton. I never heard how many acres there were. There were a few horses, a few cows, about twenty hogs. The four or five hound dogs slept under the open sides of the wooden stilts holding up the house. And there were several acres of nothing but a huge variety of all kinds of vegetables – at least they ate good, nutritious food.

One day, Curt invited five of his drinking buddies over for game-hunting, ya know, shooting small animals, that sorta thing. They were chug-a-lugging their beers, tossing the cans up in the air, and shooting at them. One of the men saw a squirrel. Curt put a rifle in my hand and told me to shoot the varmint. I told him I couldn't kill a squirrel. I handed the rifle back to him.

Not long afterwards, another guy saw a rabbit. Same thing, with rifle in hand, Curt whispered for me to shoot the damn thing. I was on the verge of crying. "I can't," I said, again handing the rifle back.

Still later, we saw a deer. Curt leaned over and spoke directly into my ear, "SHOOT . THE . FUCKING . DEER! It's gonna be your fucking meal tonight!" Boy! Was he ever angry!

I yelled at him, crying, "I don't want to kill Bambi." Yeah, at eight years old, I couldn't kill Bambi, nor could I kill any other animal, unless gnats, bugs, chiggers and the likes thereof are to be considered as animals. Spiders, though are a different things. We'll get to those later.

*******

The ... shall I call them ... family? ... had a huge, huge, cauldron not far from the 'house'. They'd light a fire under it in the evening, and let it, like Macbeth's 'Double double toil and trouble...Fire burn and cauldron bubble, until around noon-time the next day. Out would come several small and even baby piglets. Their hind-legs would be tied by ropes on long poles. The men would raise them up, one at a time. The piggies would be crying and screaming as they would be lowered into the steaming, bubbling water, being cooked alive. I couldn't stand it. I didn't want to see or hear any more animals killed. I went running to the hay loft, and cried my heart out.

 

SIXTH:

I MUST HAVE BEEN ABOUT TEN OR ELEVEN YEARS OLD. Boy Scout meetings were in the basement of the church we went to. It was only about three blocks away. It was early winter and I was wearing a heavy coat to stay warm. Walking down our dirt road before getting to the paved road that went by the church, I spotted a Garter Snake basking in the warmth of the dirt road. I picked it up and put it in one of my coat pockets.

I was the last scout to arrive at the church. We formed a circle, bowed our heads, and recited the Lord's Prayer with all eyes closed – except for mine. I reached in my pocket, pulled out the snake and tossed it just a short way toward the center of the circle. When we finished prayer and before saying the Pledge Allegiance to the Flag, the snake was slithering across the floor, and when the boys saw the snake, you never heard so many scaredy cats screaming and jumping up onto wooden chairs. I loved the commotion and was even laughing. The Scout Master gave me the dirtiest glare when I rose from picking up the poor, slithering 'beast'. He actually growled at me and said, "Don't ever do that again." And then, he started laughing, too.

 

SEVENTH:

JUMPING FORWARD, I MUST HAVE BEEN ABOUT TWENTY-THREE YEARS OLD. I was then living in gay ol' Hollywood, California, and was working in the heart of down-town Los Angeles at the Pacific Fire Rating Bureau (also known as PFRB) approving or disapproving architectural plans of overhead sprinkler systems for Fire Insurance installations.

Rather than driving into the tight hustle and bustle of freeways and Pershing Square, I daily took the public transportation bus into the heart of L.A., leaving the driving to them – not me. It gave me about an hour of relaxation and reading time.

One morning I was waiting for the bus when a big Cadillac convertible with the top down, came to a stop right in front of me. In the driver's seat there sat a big black man who appeared to be anxiously waiting for the red light to change to green. But in the back seat there sat the biggest, most beautiful Doberman Pinscher sitting on his haunches with straight back and as attentive as any soldier there had ever been. God! He was gorgeous. The dog, I mean.

I took a couple of steps to the curb and stretched out my arm and offered the back of my hand to the Doberman. I smiled when he jerked his staid head toward me. I wasn't scared at all. I whispered, "You are so beautiful." Immediately, he began licking the back of my hand as his stoic stance seemed to relax. Then I began scratching the underside of his neck.

The driver must have seen something in his rear-view mirror. He yanked his head around, scowled at me, and loudly said, "What are you? That dog's been trained to KILL wyte foks. (Yes, I spelled it like he spoke it, and I wasn't offended.) His foot slammed the gas petal to the floor and he drove through the red light. I must have scared him. But animals know when we love them, and their return is a hundred percent.

********

Several weeks later, I was sent out to perform an annual testing of a commercial building's sprinkler system. After checking out the interior system, I walked around the unkempt outside looking for the system's drainage outlet. Finding it, I noticed a bed of Black Widow spiders right inside at the front edge of the drain pipe. I looked around the area for any spiders in the weeds. Not seeing any, I sat on the grown, cross-legged, and softly talked to them and said, "Hi, little ones. You're in an awful predicament nesting in that drain pipe. I've got to run a test of the water that's gonna come through there. Now, if you stay there, you're all going to be drowned. You don't want that, do you? (I didn't expect an answer, of course.) What I'd really like to do is to have you all huddle together real tight in the nest, and I hope you won't bite me or sting me as I'll carefully reach in and pull y'all out. Then I'll take you across the street and find a nice safe place for your new home. (This ain't no bullshit I'm giving you readers. It happened just like I'm telling it. And it weren't the first time I'd done something like this.)

So, I got on my knees, eased my hand underneath the nest, retrieved it, carried it across the street, and found a nice place for them. Returning to do my job with a smile on my face, I looked heavenward and whispered, "Thank you, Father God, for my safety.

If you just want to test it, it won't work, but if you truthfully believe in these things, it will work. So don't blame me if it doesn't. I'm just writing it as it happened to me.
 
 

EIGHTH:

I MUST HAVE BEEN ABOUT TWENTY-SEVEN YEARS OLD. Rob (a close friend) and I were living in Sausalito, CA, across the Golden Gate Bridge from San Francisco, in a two-bedroom duplex about half way up the hill from The City's Bay and half way down the hill from the freeway above us. From our deck we could see Alcatraz Island, Oakland, Berkeley, Richmond, Vallejo and most of the northern part of the Bay. Thick giant Eucalyptus trees surrounded us on all sides making privacy an un-necessary concern. No one could see in ... unless they were using super-strong spy glasses from all the way across the Bay. Believe it or not, our rent was only two hundred dollars per month; that was in the 1960s. Therefore, we didn't bother to have any blinds, shutters, or curtains over any of the windows. Eat your heart out, readers. It ain't that way today.

Christmas was upon us and Rob and I had planned to go rock-hounding in Muir Woods National Park, north of us. We had purchased knee-high rubber boots so that we could walk in the streams and creeks. And we agreed that Caesar, our beautiful Brittany Spaniel would have a great time exploring and sniffing all the things he'd never seen or smelled. He was about four years old at the time of this experience. So, on Christmas Day, we three got in the car and headed north.

Oh, what a joy it was, watching Caesar scurrying around sniffing anything and everything hither and yon. Several times I saw him standing at creek's edge lapping up a needed drink of water. There was a very thin layer of ice on the creek. I was walking in the water in my rubber boots looking for some interesting rocks. At one spot, it was no more than a foot deep. I saw what looked to be a four inch square rock, or something like that. Shoving up my coat-and-shirt sleeves, I reached down and grabbed the rock and pulled; it wouldn't come up. So, with both hands I tried to pull it out, but to no effect. Damn! That icy water was COLD, but I persevered and finally retrieved it and tossed it over to solid ground.

It was at that moment when I saw Caesar crouched and ready to spring into the creek. But before I could verbally stop him, he had already launched out and into the icy water. Quickly I grabbed him up and in an instant I was on solid ground. For some unknown reason, we hadn't brought any towels with us. So, I used the sleeves of my coat to remove some of his furry wetness. He was shivering like crazy. "We've gotta get him home," I said to Rob as I headed to the car. He grabbed the rock and hurried back to the car. Once there, he turned up the heat as high as it would go and I opened my coat and lifted my sweater as high as I could get it. I then laid Caesar against my t-shirt and pulled my coat closed.

Back at the duplex, towels and a hair-drier took care of Caesar's fur, but he was still shivering and making little sounds as if he were in pain. I'd stripped off my coat, sweater, and damp T-shirt and held Caesar against my bare chest as Rob wrapped a heavy blanket around us. I sat with him bundled up as we were, all night long, sitting on the floor with my back against a living-room wall. At times, I'd doze off, only to be awakened by what sounded like he was coughing. At 8:00AM, Rob called an emergency veterinarian and explained what had happened and what was happening. The vet told him to bring Caesar right away. So off we went.

Caesar was given some medications and a hypodermic shot. "He has pneumonia," the vet said. "Keep him warm and let him eat or drink whatever he wants, which won't be much, you understand. He should be much better in three or four days. And stay away from icy creeks."

Sure enough, Caesar was almost back to his normal self in a little less that four days. We had him for a total of fourteen beautiful years, thank God, and to this day, I still miss him.

Like Will Rogers (cowboy and humorist among other things) used to say, "If there are no dogs in Heaven, then when I die I want to go where they went."
 
 

NINTH:

I MUST HAVE BEEN ABOUT THIRTY YEARS OLD. Since my twenty-eighth birthday, I had been privately studying the world religions, astrology, and metaphysics, not necessarily in that order. I had gotten used to walking down the aisles of book stores, just letting my fingertips touch the spines of books without looking at the titles. I'd get a little spark-like tingle when my fingers touched the book that I needed.

I was then living in Palm Springs, California, by the way. One day, the tingle was stronger than usual, and I pulled the book off the shelf. Secret of the Andes by Brother Phillip. I'd always longed to go to Machu Picchu, Peru. I took the book to the cashier so that I could purchase it. He looked the book inside and out and simply asked, "Where did you find this book?" I pointed to the aisle from which I'd taken it. "It's not one of ours," he stated, smiling. "But from the nature of its contents," he paused, "someone must have left it for you. It's yours and you don't owe me a single penny. Oh, yeah," he said, "and have a good trip," he added. I stood there with mouth agape. "What trip?" I asked. "You'll see," he replied, chuckling.

I took it home and, over several months, I read it many times. I also made reservations to fly to Peru for three months, even though I would be traveling alone. Lima, Cusco, Puno, Machu Picchu, Lago Titicaca and the floating islands (where people actually lived in reed houses) were fantastic. Everywhere I went, it seemed that I knew what was around the corner or over the next hill. I felt that I had come home. The local and native inhabitants were friendly. Even the prostitutes were polite when I always refused their services. I was on a spiritual quest, as inspired by Brother Phillip's book.

One day, in Cusco, I arranged seating on the train that went from Cusco to Machu Picchu and back. Travel companies in Cusco charged too much for reservations to stay at the hotel just outside the perimeter of the ancient Inca Ruins. They told me that probably no rooms were available because they were so busy. 'I'll take my chance,' I thought to myself. It was a three or four hour ride from Cusco to Aguas Calientes a small town about a thousand feet below Machu Picchu. (at least it was a small town back in 1977) Then the bus ride up the many turn-back curves to the ruins takes about thirty minutes.

I checked with the front desk at the hotel and was told that they were less than half filled. The going rate at that time was the equivalent of seven U.S. Dollars per night. I took a room for one night. Then, I climbed Huayna Picchu Mountain that afternoon; the views everywhere were magnificent. Returning to the green grassy yards of Machu Picchu, I saw a young woman who appeared to be watching me. After meeting her, I learned that she was a nurse from San Francisco. She had watched me climb and descend the several hundred feet.  We had dinner together on the communal patio of visitors. As the sun quickly sank behind the mountains, we stretched our on a private area of the green grass, watching the brilliant stars, more than either of us had ever seen. We said our 'Good nights' and went to our separate rooms.

I set my mental alarm-clock to awaken before sunrise, first, I only had two cigarettes left from my stash of U.S. brands, and needed to get a new pack, and second, I wanted to be at a certain spot in the ruins for a morning meditation while the sun was rising on the eastern horizon. I quickly fell asleep after doing the four 'S's': shit, shower, shave, and shampoo.

I awoke in plenty of time to get the cigarettes and get to my "spot". I dressed and went down to the front-desk and found that none of the staff was on duty until an hour later. So, I illegally climbed over a low part of the protective rock-wall into the ruins. No staff was up yet, and the gate was locked. I just walked around, alone of course, enjoying the surroundings including the beautiful Condors gliding through the few sparse white clouds and the Llamas munching their green breakfasts. Finally, I could tell exactly where the sun was rising. I sat on the morning damp grass, crossed my legs, put my elbows on my knees, closed my eyes, and with thumbs and middle fingers touching, I began softly chanting: 'nam myoho rengι kyo' (that's ancient Chinese and Sanscript combined; I never even learned what the words meant, but was told that it was super-good).

I heard and felt something on either side of me. I looked and saw that two llamas had joined me. I put an arm across the neck of each one, and we three watched the entire sun disk rise. As it became completely above the horizon, my two four-legged friends arose and left, without even a snort or an expectorate (i.e. 'spit'). It was one of the most wonderful experiences I've ever had. Bar none.

Oh, the cigarettes: you're not going to believe this, but it's true, never the less. I went back to the front-desk, but still, no one was around. Ah well. I'd planned to hike part of the Inca Trail, opposite Huayna Picchu Mountain, so off I went. I promised myself that I'd suck on one fag (British term) going up, and another coming back. But my promise didn't last. They both were gone before I reached the top of Machu Picchu Mountain (the ruins were between the two mountains). But... reaching the top of the trail, there stood two stone pillars, one on either side of the path. They were too tall for me to reach. I walked up part of the mountain that touched one of the pillars. Lo and behold! Laying there was an unopened pack of 'Inca' cigarettes. I reached out and touched it. It felt fresh and not weathered. I took it and held it as I looked heavenward and said, "Thank you, Father God, for providing everything I need."

 

TENTH:

I MUST HAVE BEEN ABOUT FORTY-SOMETHING YEARS OLD. I was working as an independent wall-paper hanger in Palm Springs, CA.  One day, I was working on a brand new condo before the owners moved in. They wanted everything to be finished before their expensive furniture was moved in.

I took a cigarette break outside, and saw a rather young man laying sod around the condo. He saw me smoking and he took a short cigarette break and we started talking. A desert Roadrunner ran past. We talked about our mutual love of animals. He told me that he lived in the High Desert (up around Joshua Tree and 29 Palms, north of Palm Springs), and that he owned a male and a female lion. They were inside a huge area completely surrounded by fencing. I felt like I was going to pee my work-pants, I was so excited. He invite me up to see them. We exchange business cards and he said for me to give him a call whenever I wanted to come up.

A couple of weeks later, I did call him, and he said, "Come on up." About an hour later, I arrived; maybe a little longer. He walked me out to the fenced-in area and he walked inside, shutting the gate, and went to pet and talk to them. Soon, he came back out. We talked for a bit before I asked if I could go in and get close to them.  We disputed the pros and cons, and I told him that I wasn't afraid and that I loved them. They would recognize those qualities. He said, "O.K. Just go in slowly and be careful; they can be dangerous." I said, "I know." So, in I went.

The closer I went to them, the closer I moved to the ground. I sent thoughts of my love for them, and started whispering to them about how beautiful they were. I even got down on hands and knees as I got closer.

She was lying on her right side, holding her head up, watching every movement I made. He was close to her head but sitting on his haunches, his forelegs straight and stiff as he could be, but ever watching me. Finally, I was as close to her as I could get. My right arm was across my chest and on the ground. I reached over with my left hand and laid it on her left paw, stroking and petting her soft fur.

His forelegs moved closer to me and with his left paw and sharp claws, he moved my hand off her paw, and pulled it over to his right paw, whereupon he placed his right paw over my hand. About this time, I laid my head on her chest and began stroking her fur with my cheek. His front legs stretched completely out toward me, as he was lying with his chest on the ground. His paw was no longer on top of my hand, so I began stroking his entire forearm. I closed my eyes and sighed, resting with these beautiful creatures, these beautiful so-called "beasts".

Later, my friend told me that I'd been with them for a full half-hour. "I've never seen anything like it," he said. "No one's ever been able to get as close to them as you did. Except for myself," he added.

For me, the whole experience was total bliss, and I'm still smiling about it.
 

Before I'm gone, I have one great wish to experience, (barring the worldwide pandemic), and that is to hug an elephant's leg, and then being grabbed by his trunk and tossed onto his back, for a good trek.
 

That's all, folks.
Chris
Yabba Dabba Doo.

 

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Posted 11/12/2021