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Danny and Mike

 

[caption id="attachment_1434" align="alignnone" width="300"]Danny and Mike Danny and Mike[/caption]

My friend died today. This is a story I wrote six months ago.

I reckon it’s high time I told you about my friend Mike. You’ve heard me mention him before, he of Mike and Beth fame. But now, I want to go into a little more detail concerning him.

However, before we discuss Mike, perhaps I should introduce myself to all you neophytes out there. Not that there are many. Everyone knows who Danny the Dog is, or at least they should by now. Oh yeah, there is also my hapless human Andrew. We live together on a boat. I keep him around for laughs. Now on to Mike.

Last night just after sunset, I’m reading the collected works of Friedrich Nietzsche and Andrew is playing with his yo-yo when the phone rings. Because it takes Andrew all of his brainpower to get the yo-yo back up, I decided to answer the phone.  Now, I understand human, but I cannot speak it. Something to do with my vocal cords or my tongue or something. I don’t really care because when I have something to say to a human, he or she understands me just fine.

Mike was on the phone and he was inviting me to a cookout, hamburgers. (My favorite next to hotdogs.) He didn’t mention anything about Andrew, so I woofed once into the phone. Mike knew what I meant and said, “Okay, just for you. You can bring him if you want, but if he gets drunk and falls in the water again, I’m not pulling him out this time!”

I can’t leave Andrew alone. One time I left him for just a few minutes to go and bark at a dog walking its human down MY street, and when I got back, Andrew had locked himself in the boat. He was pounding on the door and crying like a little girl. So I have to keep him on a short leash, so to speak.

Anyway, we get over to Mike and Beth’s boat and Andrew goes right to the bar, as usual. I situated myself right in the middle of the throng of humans to make sure I’m close by when the food comes out.

Beth came over, rubbed my head and gave me a kiss. I love Beth! Then everyone else welcomed me. Mike was inside getting the food ready to put on the grill. Nobody spoke to Andrew.

When Mike came out and saw me, he came right up to me and said, “Thanks for coming. And please see what you can do to keep Andrew from drinking all my booze tonight."

Mike was holding a bowl of raw hamburger meat and when he saw me sniffing it, he dipped his hand in, came out with a big glob of meat and put it down on the dock for me to eat. Now, this is my only complaint about Mike. Who or what does he think I am? I’m Danny the Dog! I have a sophisticated palate; I’m a gourmand. I do not eat raw food! I don’t care if you call it steak tartare or sushi – I’m not eating it if it’s not cooked.

After Mike picking up the meat, putting it to my mouth, and me turning my head away a few times. Mike finally got the message.  He shrugged and told me he’d make a special hamburger just for me and asked how I wanted it cooked. Two woofs meant well done. And that’s how I got it. Mike sure makes great hamburgers. He puts a lot of stuff in them, but the ingredients are top secret. He won’t even trust me with the recipe.

Just one more thing. As Mike was mashing up the meat to make into patties, his next-door neighbor, Big Joe, put on some music and Mike started to do a little jig. Having no hands, I can’t clap, so I barked along with his dancing. Mike ain’t no Fred Astaire, and he ain’t no twinkle toes, but for a human he has a certain rhythm.

So that was my night out. Somehow, Andrew did not fall in the water and I got him home in one piece. As I was putting him to bed, I noticed he had the yo-yo in his hand. I gave him a questioning look. He told me he had tied the string too tight around his finger and couldn’t get it off. As I turned off the light, I looked at the poor fool; he was clutching his precious yo-yo to his bosom like it was a teddy bear.

Post Script: My friend Mike died today. For a human, you were quite okay. Good journeys, my friend.

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Georgia on My Mind

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Georgia was my girl, she was my love. Georgia was taken from me. She is not of this earth now. Georgia awaits me in heaven.

Georgia was killed by a drunk driver last spring. Now winter is coming on and the murderer still walks the streets. He has money and a very good lawyer. His trial has been postponed repeatedly.

He has money and a good lawyer, but I have my granddaddy’s colt .45. I have decided to be judge, jury and executioner. I have waited long enough for justice.

I have followed him for the last two weeks. He goes out every night to the clubs. He does not drive now. He has a Cuban drive him in his big fancy car; the same car that took my Georgia.

It will be tonight.

As I wait in the alley for him to emerge from the newest, hottest club on Miami Beach, I think of Georgia.

My Georgia was only nineteen when we met. She was in Miami visiting a friend, and the friend suggested that she see Fort Lauderdale before she went home. I was at the bar in The Elbow Room sitting on my usual stool when they walked in. I don’t believe in love at first sight, but that night I had my doubts.

I sat there and looked on as a few guys hit on Georgia and her friend. They all walked away empty-handed. Normally, I wouldn’t have made a move, but something drew me to Georgia.  She was full of life. If I could see someone’s aura, I’m sure hers would have been a light blue, a loving and pure soul she was.

To make a long and loving story shorter, I sweet-talked her phone number out of her. At that point, all I wanted to do was to get laid. But that was before I fell in love with my Georgia.

I called the the next day. We went sailing on my boat. I told her to bring her friend along so that she would feel safe. The three of us sailed the bay and then ate a picnic lunch on Elliot Key. The sun was setting into the western bay as we sailed back.

We hit Dinner Key just as it got full dark. By then I was in love.

My home base is Fort Lauderdale, about two hours up the Intercoastal Waterway.

I asked Georgia to go with me and I would send her back to Miami in a cab. To my surprise, she said yes.

In a cove off of Dania Beach, we anchored and made love. The sweetest most loving love I have ever known. From that moment on, she was “My Georgia”.

She flew home, settled matters and came back to me. We had two years before she was murdered. In those two years, I learned how to love another human being. I learned of tenderness. My Georgia taught me of love. And because of My Georgia, I will kill a man tonight.

******

It is coming up on 2:00 a.m., about the time the killer heads for home with his conquest of the night.

I see him now. He has his arm around a tall, skinny girl in a silver dress. He weaves as he walks. I hope and pray that he is not too drunk. I want him to know why he is going to die.

I step in front of them and tell the girl to hit the road. She hesitates, but when I raise the gun, she finds someplace else to be. Then I turn to the Cuban and say, “This ain’t your fight, and in a minute you won’t have a job.”

He hesitates also. So I explain it to him, “In one minute, your boss will be dead. Do you want a piece of what is about to go down?” I reckon he doesn’t because he shrugs and walks away.

Now it is just the murderer and me.

No . . . it is me, the murderer and my Colt.

I put a bullet into his shocked face. His blood and brains splatter the wall behind him. Then he died. So simple to kill someone. I did it with a gun; he did it with a car.

I thought I would feel better killing the son of a bitch. But you know what? It does not feel good to kill another human being. Though I am glad that I did it.

Now I am waiting for the cops. I hear the sirens nearing. But I am not worried; I will not be here when they arrive.

With the gun barrel in my mouth, I think of My Georgia and tell her that I am on my way to her.

When I see the first cop, I squeeze the trigger.