Thank you, Dog Man

Dear Wray,

I write this knowing that your eyes will never read the words. They were tragically and permanently closed long before I matured enough to realize the debt of gratitude I owe you. So, today, I write this letter, in a selfish attempt to relieve myself of that debt. Feeble and much, much too late, but an attempt, nevertheless.

I can't recall the exact day or exactly how you came into our lives. I was a boy in the country, preoccupied with the joys of youth. Timestamps weren't important; only the fresh air and freedom to run through the alfalfa fields, poke around in the old barn, and solve the mysteries of life, with no sense of an expiration date or the need to document the adventures.

I was young, but I had responsibilities. Chores before breakfast and dinner. School. Homework. And then there were the dogs to feed, clean up after and train. As many as twenty dogs at a time out there in the kennels. Beautiful, intelligent bird dogs - and one massive, crazy bloodhound.

Of all the responsibilities, those that involved the dogs weren't work to me. There was much more to do than just let them run, clean up the kennels and make sure they had food and water. You taught me to train them. I learned to raise quail and pheasant, from the incubators to the release in the fields. We trapped pigeons in the beams of the underpasses in town and they had to be fed and cared for, too. I loved every minute of it all.

What I couldn't see, at the time, was the patience and good nature that instilled that love of the work in the mind and heart of a young man growing up without a father around. Yes, my brother and sisters were there, all older than me, but they had lives and responsibilities of their own. They spent plenty of time with me. Each of them helped raise me in their own important way, but it was you, Wray, that filled the shoes of a dad in that household without ever assuming the title or forcing your will.

Your work at the kennels was a second job. As a heavy equipment operator for the state, you had a substantial income, which, of course, I never knew. It never occurred to me that it wasn't extra income that kept you with us. I never saw the closeness between you and Mom as anything but natural. So, when the day came that Mom asked me to come out to the barn for a private talk while you were at the other job, I had no idea what to expect.

That conversation was short and sweet. Mom asked how I would feel about the two of you getting married. After I picked my jaw up off the floor, I couldn't stop it from grinning. What could be better than having a best friend for a stepdad? I gave my blessing, as eloquently as could be expected from an excited kid.

When the sheriff drove up to the house shortly after, Mom rushed out and I, of course, was on her heels. I saw the light in her eyes die as he explained that you had been mowing a sloped embankment alongside the highway, and a drunk driver had clipped the back end of the mower. The mower overturned. Your death had been instantaneous, due to a broken neck.

She didn't break down. She thanked the sheriff quietly, took my hand and led me inside. We sat and cried quietly together. She never sought companionship again, but focused on raising her family. She went on, bravely, for over 50 more years, when she passed quietly. I hope you were there to greet her.

After all this time, I know there are many things I've forgotten. I do know that Mesa Training Kennels would never have existed without our live-in trainer and friend. There are still many things I remember and I'm incredibly grateful for them today.

Thank you for quiet, strong demeanor. Thank you for your guidance. Your sense of humor. Your hard work and dedication to making our family business thrive. Your patience.

Thank you for a plethora of little things. I still enjoy telling people I've eaten, and enjoyed, calf brain fritters. I still fix myself a batch of your smoked oyster stew now and then.

Above all, Wray, thank you for bringing light to my mom's eyes, if only for a short time.

Sincerely,

Dana

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Author's Note: An entry for the Letters of Gratitude Challenge that I hope will require no explanation.

Thank you so much for taking the time to read my musings. If you enjoyed the story, please click the heart and leave a comment!

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