A Man and His Dog

“A man and his dog should never be parted.”

Steven shook his head in disbelief. “How do you think up these things?”

Bryan shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. They just come to me, but in this case, I don’t think I made that up. I’m sure I’ve heard someone else say it.”

“Oh I doubt it. Maybe about a man and his horse.”

Bryan laughed, “well if that were me, I’d say the opposite. A man and a horse should never be together!”

“I know you don’t like horses, but you’ve never told me why.”

“Really? I thought the entire world knew why.”

“Maybe I had stepped off the world for a minute, because I don’t know.”

Bryan smiled at his friend, “cute,” he replied.

The two men now in their late seventies were sitting at a large table by a window in a restaurant, which was their Friday destination and had been for the last ten odd years. They were usually the first ones there. The others following at various intervals. When the last one rolled in, which was usually Roger, about an hour had passed during which time the conversation between Bryan and Steven had reached maximum input. Then it was time to order breakfast and move on to other topics such as solving insolvable world problems.

Bryan made a point of never ordering the same meal two weeks in a row. That came about a few years ago when Hilda their favourite waitress, and considering she was the only waitress in the establishment she didn’t have much competition, had turned to Bryan when it was his turn and uttered the fateful words, “the usual?”

Bryan, who when he was an active member of the working world, had been in senior corporate management and always instructed new hires that when they went to a restaurant multiple times and the server eventually said, ‘the usual,’ it was time for them to take stock of their life. It invariably meant they were stuck in a rut. When Hilda uttered those words, Bryan who felt now that he had retired, living the life he had dreamed of, realised he hadn’t left that part of life behind.

“Hilda,” he said, “is that what I do every week I come here?”

Her answer was very descriptive and a blow to Bryans serene lifestyle, “two eggs over easy, sausage links, bacon, hash browns and white toast.”

Yes, Bryan realised that even in retirement, certain habits die hard. So now each time when he listens to Hilda go around the room taking the other four members orders, he waits and then orders something he hadn’t ordered before. On this particular day, it was a fried mushroom omelette, with cheese and pork rinds. “We don’t have pork rinds,” said an amused Hilda who having taken care of the group for so many years was usually amused by Bryans antics.

“Oh in that case,” replied Bryan who was glad they didn’t have pork rinds, “how about just a mushroom omelette and hold the cheese.”

“Gladly!” she replied.

“And Hilda,” added Steven as she was about to leave, “guess what saying Bryan came up with today.”

“Let no pig be sacrificed?” she asked and the table laughed.

“Very good,” replied Bryan, “that’s excellent. I’ll come to you for the next one.”

“No,” replied Steven, “let no man and his dog ever be parted.” That brought immediate silence as the members of the group including Hilda immediately thought of their own dogs of the past. “Have you ever had a dog?” asked Hilda and judging by her tone, Bryan was unsure how to answer that question. He felt that he may have touched on a very sad subject.

“Sarah and I did once many decades ago. But she died and we never had another.”

Hilda excused her sadness, nodded her head and left.

“I didn’t know you had a dog.”

“No I never have,” replied Bryan, “but what was I going to do judging by Hilda’s expression I thought she was going to call me unfeeling.”

“You’re right,” replied Roger and Baxter simultaneously.

“Who’s Sarah?” asked Jeremy.

“Made that up to,” replied Bryan and the table went quiet.

“I’m glad Hilda doesn’t know you as well as we do, because she would’ve known you weren’t married.” Bryan felt he had dodged a bullet.

“Anyway guys,” began Steven feeling the table getting a little too sad. “Just before you came in, I was asking Bryan how he came up with the sayings he does and then writes about them.”

“No Steven, you wanted to know why I don’t like horses.”

“And why he doesn’t like horses,” added Steven jovially, which elicited the right reaction from everyone else.

“Well let’s deal with the easiest one first. I come up with my sayings while I walk my three miles every morning on the beach. Then when I go back home, I immediately write it down and then expand upon it.”

“Brilliant!” replied Jeremy and the others agreed.

“As far as not liking horses, when I was a child of about five or six, my grandfather would put me on his horse and then hold the reins and walk alongside up the hill road for a little bit. I really enjoyed that because I got to spend time alone with my grandfather and went riding. Well one day while we were doing that, my grandfather took his hands off the reins to greet someone and the next thing that happened was the horse bolted with me on it.” The was a gasp from everyone around the table and from Hilda who had retuned with the coffee carafe. “Well some brave soul stepped into the road and grabbed the horse’s reins and stopped the horse.”

“I hate horses!” said Hilda and everyone turned their attention to her.

“Really, do you have a similar story?”

“No,” she replied walking away, “I just hate horses,” and then she stopped, turned and continued, “do you know if they get stuck in quicksand they sink. They won’t try to get out.”

Silly animals replied the group in one form or the other.

“Well there you have it gentleman,” replied Bryan feeling very good about the way that conversation had ended.

“What are you writing about today Bryan?” asked Roger quite content taking the back seat in the last conservation because he grew up on a ranch in the mid-west and loved horses, but he knew he was in the minority.

“I don’t know. The one about the dog doesn’t seem to have received much applause, so maybe I'll scrap that.”

“Didn’t Shakespeare say that first?”

“I don’t believe so, though it sounds as if he could’ve.”

“I just looked it up,” interjected Hilda on her way back to the table with the first lot of food. “Where?” asked Jeremy.

“On the internet,” she replied, “and you’re not going to like it. A guy called Grover Krantz died in 2002 and he asked that he be buried with his dog.”

“Ok that’s it. Scrap that saying!” They all agreed, “no I can’t write anything to top that.”

“Maybe in future you should stay away from thinking about writing about dogs and horses and in this way breakfast would be so much more edible.”

“You’re right,” replied Bryan.

“Anyone for pork rind?” asked Steven and the table broke out into laughter.