CALISTA – “AIR DRIES”

It’s been raining and storming on the island. Most people don’t care about such weather, but Calista and I do. Our walk today was refreshing and even exciting.

We are made for each other, and Tybee Island is made for us. It’s a quirky little community. My “adopted Dad, Jim Knipe, used to call it “Mayberry by the Sea.”

A bunch of bars, a few good restaurants, and an entire street of wonderful neighbors.

Calista has a Nana here; Junie is also our landlord. The above carport apartment is small, much to my liking. I can sit and face the one entrance. People like me with PTSD can relate. So can my dog.

A little black bitch, mostly poodle, with enough Cairn terrier to let you know she has a strong will. Stronger than mine. You might as well give up when she doesn’t want to do something. She sits down like my old grandfather’s mule Sally and refuses to budge.  No amount of pulling or tugging will change her mind. I’ve learned patience, which is a virtue, I am told.

Even my old friend Bert would agree, though; she’s pretty damn smart. Like most women, she gets her way. Bert died years ago, much to my chagrin, but I can still recall his advice, “Don’t get too attached to any dog; sadly, they will always die before we do, usually.”

He was right. We’ve had four dogs, Stimpy. Little Bit, Max, and Louie pass over that Rainbow Bridge. I sure hope they are waiting for me. What a reunion we will have.

However, today is a day for us — storms, rain, and the calm before the next one. Cool, breezy, and something, maybe, ions in the atmosphere make us both feel glad to be alive. Despite threatening rain, Calista took me for a long walk down Solomon to the old parade field, into the back of the Legion parking lot, and finally behind the Officer’s Row to Jaycee Park. We waved at every car that passed. Folks from Louisiana, New Jersey, and even Colorado. Some waved, some didn’t. We took no offense. Southerners wave at folks. A full wave if we know them; a peace salute if we don’t but want to know them.

We both knew we were pushing the limit by the second turn of the park, but I was hoping for a Calista poop. It’s not happening, but lots of marking took place. Even more, stopping and smelling. Rain brings out the nose in the little black dog with PTSD as bad as mine. I didn’t mind. Sometimes, she knows I need to slow down.

And sure enough, on our second turn, the rain began. By the time we got back to Nana’s, we were both wet, and I mean wet! Drying off a PTSD dog is not possible. Throw the towel at her, and she will start the zoomies. She believes in “air drying.”