The ever-dependable Dollar General Store sits five miles down Hopkinsville Road from FArmstrong.

I know that because I frequent it regularly. And the greeter there is “Old Gypsy.”

Gypsy walks to work every day. Exceptionally dependable. Always on time. But she has no keys to the store.

Yesterday morning, I went to the Dollar Depot for wasp and hornet spray, Bug Off, and an assortment of cleaning supplies for FArmstrong.

And as expected, Old Gypsy greeted me at the front door.

She strolled to me.

Her brown, soulful eyes carry a man to his youth.

Her hair shows signs of graying. Her nails are well established. Her brass collar is polished.

And, as always, she kissed my hand. And then she looked at me authoritatively as if to say, “Sorry, I don’t know what the problem is.”

Gypsy leaned against my leg expecting and getting more attention, and we waited.

I was concerned. The lights were on inside, and it was approaching an hour late for the door to open.

Knowing I had another errand down the road, I excused myself and told Gypsy I would return in about an hour.

Off, I went to the local Mennonite store to gather homemade garlic cheese bread and the last of the season’s tomatoes.

And a birthday gift to myself, a Lambright Country Chime. The chimes, with melodic tones of the resonance of London’s Big Ben and the warm tones of a grandfather’s clock.

An hour later, I reappear, and sure enough Gypsy is waiting patiently. However, the store is still not open. She looks disgusted but remains calm and gentle when Mrs. White pulls up.

Mrs. White and I talked about her place in Cobb, home of the infamous Nightriders of the Black Patch Tobacco Wars of the early 1900s. She knows my Aunt Connie and my cousin Dwayne. She says Dwayne has sold his farm to the Mennonites.

The three of us patiently wait. When roaring into the lot come two Dollar Store employees—nice young gentlemen—they apologize as they get out of the car. Sorry, a fellow called in sick today at the last minute.

Old Gypsy snuffles and looks over her shoulder before settling in at the Mennonite hitching post. She is back to greeting.