Chapter 10: The Final Chapter

This is the last chapter in the first half of the book. I hope you enjoyed it. In the second half of the book the adventures of Alice, Frank and Moses continue, but in Democratic controlled Western Washington. I’d like to continue posting the book, but Frank and Alice’s Tantric Sex encounter and the man whose wife put him on a schedule for sex is too much for kids. The story of Moses and the anteater I also think is pretty funny. I’m sure you won’t be disappointed if you continue reading the book from downloading it from the Kindle E-Book Store. 

The video is about one of the stories in the second half. The “old crock” is an analogy to a past president (hint: it was a man). Try and guess who it was and I’ll tell you if you’re right.

Chapter 10: The Final Chapter

During our stay in Arizona we almost forgot about the junk yard next door. Our spirits were lifting and the more we talked and thought about it, the bigger the pine trees we planted seemed to be growing. So what if there was a junk yard next door?  We’d make the best of it. After all, it’s not the hand you’re dealt in life that matters, it’s how you play it that counts. But, as was happening way too often, our euphoria was not to last.

We took our first evening walk in a long time the night we got home. The good mood we had talked ourselves into on the trip went downhill as soon as we saw our creek, or what was left of it. It had turned muddy from the clearing of the land next door, but before we left for Arizona it had started to clear. Now it was multicolored from the leaking junk cars next door. What a mess! But, that wasn’t the worst of it. As we got closer to the fence, the biggest hog I ever saw charged us.  It had to be almost a thousand pounds and at least eight feet long. Alice and I both jumped a mile. Fifi’s little tail went straight up, and she made a beeline for the house without looking back. That was the end of that walk.

We didn’t see much activity next door except for that giant hog rooting around between the cars. The first time I saw someone over there I figured it was time for a conversation with our new neighbor. He was unloading hog feed off of a truck.  Our conversation went something like this:

Me: ‘I’d like to introduce myself, I’m your neighbor.’

Him: ‘I just deliver the hog feed.’

Me: ‘For that big hog?’

Him: ‘It’s the only one.’

Me: ‘It must weigh close to one thousand pounds.’

Him: ‘Close.’

Me: ‘I’ve never seen one that size.’

Him: ‘Pure Arkansas Razorback, meaner than hell.’

Me: ‘He looks mean.’

Him: ‘Better than a dog.  Nobody will mess with that hog.  A dog will chew you up, but this sucker will eat you, bones and all.’

Me: ‘Oh.’

Him: ‘Back home I saw a smaller one eat a whole chicken in one bite, feathers and all.’

Me: ‘One bite?’

Him: ‘One bite.’

Me: ‘Does the owner live here?’

Him: ‘Are you kidding? He lives in one of those gated communities outside of Seattle.  I just feed the hog.’

And so we ended our conversation. After learning of the neighbor’s plan, Alice, Fifi and I tried to get back to a normal life. We quit taking those nice evening walks, at least on that side of the property. For a long time Fifi stayed as far away from that hog and the fence as she could get. Then I noticed that she would approach the fence, but as soon as the hog ran forward, she would run away. Eventually when she realized that the hog couldn’t get through the fence, she became bolder. Overconfidence is not good for anyone, but is especially dangerous when the combination is a dog not much bigger than a chicken and a giant hog. 

After a few weeks Fifi seemed to lose all fear. She would go right up to the fence and prance right in front of him, and then put her little tail up in the air and flounce along the fence. That old hog just about went wild. It seemed like the more the squirrels teased Fifi, the more Fifi teased that hog. I told Alice that maybe we should move, but she wouldn’t have any of that kind of talk. It was her home and she was going to stay there, junk yard or no junk yard, hog or no hog. I was getting pretty worried that Fifi would overplay her hand, but all of a sudden that old hog stopped paying any attention to Fifi at all. When Fifi started in on him he would just turn his back and lay down, or he might start rooting around the junk cars. Some days Fifi really worked on him, but he just ignored her. Now, this turn of events was seen in a good light by Alice, but I had my misgivings. This whole thing reminded me of a story my Uncle Ned told to me when I was a kid.

Uncle Ned worked in a zoo in Florida. He cleaned the cages and did other odd jobs when he became fascinated with the old gator in the reptile exhibit. It never seemed to move. Day after day that old alligator just lay in the sun at the edge of the pond. Visitors to the zoo were disappointed when they saw him. 

“Is he dead?” they asked.  “He looks dead.” 

They would try all sorts of tricks to get him to move. They would wave, yell, make faces. One time someone threw peanuts at him, but they just bounced off his nose.  He just lay there, not moving. The alligators were fed freezer chickens every day at noon, when the keepers would hold the chickens on a stick over the pond and the alligators would leap for them. That is, every gator, but that old one.  The keepers had to drop the chicken right in front of his nose. That old gator would look at the chicken for awhile, then slowly pull it into the water, where he ate it. 

One of the keepers always made fun of that old gator. Now this isn’t a direct quote from the keeper since this is being told second hand to you by way of my uncle, but this has the right flavor to it, nevertheless. 

“That old gator has gone senile,” he told my uncle. “He couldn’t fight his way out of a paper bag. He’s ready for the shoe factory.” 

My uncle said that the keeper got to dangling the chicken just out of reach of that croc, trying to make him move. Now, my uncle was a good observer. He didn’t talk much, but had a keen mind. Not much got by him. This whole thing with the gator went on for years, almost twenty. I guess gators can live a long time. My Uncle was sure, that even though the alligator was lying there like the dead, that gator was watching the keeper out of the corner of his eye. He notice that it seemed like the gator was further up on the bank at feeding time, but the increase had been so gradual that he couldn’t be sure.

I guess Uncle Ned cautioned the keeper about that gator a few times, but he finally quit trying. One day, there was quite a crowd watching the alligators. The keeper was putting on an extra show, getting the gators to jump for the chickens; every gator, of course, but that old one. The crowd picked up on the excitement and began to prod the keeper into making that old gator move. The keeper tried everything, but that gator wouldn’t budge. My uncle was watching along with the crowd and he was sure he saw the gator slowly inch his way forward. The gator moved so slowly that no one else noticed the movement, but like I already told you, my uncle was a keen and patient observer. 

Then something happened, that at the time didn’t seem important, but in retrospect certainly was. The chicken fell off of the pole and dropped about ten feet in front of the gator. The keeper couldn’t get it hooked back on since the gadget that held the chicken had busted. The keeper was all juiced up from playing to the crowd, so he did something he wouldn’t normally do. He bent over the edge and reached for the chicken. Now I’m going to shift into “historical mode” to replay for you the conversation that went on between my uncle and the keeper. I’m pretty sure it went as my uncle related it to me, as that conversation made quite an impression on him at the time.

Uncle Ned: ‘I don’t trust that old gator.  I don’t like the way he’s been watching you all these years.’

The keeper: ‘I’ll just reach this chick—’

I’ll spare you the rest of the details, except to say that the crowd got a show they hadn’t planned on seeing. That old gator had been biding his time all those years just waiting for a chance, and when it came he took it. I guess he sure surprised that keeper. 

Well, that story should illustrate why I was more worried when that old hog stopped paying attention to Fifi. The squirrel would get Fifi all huffed up and then she would take it out on the hog. However, the hog wouldn’t cooperate, and the hog’s indifference made Fifi even madder. After it was all over, we figured that old hog had been secretly working at night on the section of the fence that Fifi would flounce along.

One day I was sitting on the front porch watching the squirrels work Fifi over.  When she couldn’t take it any more, Fifi started on the hog. Alice had just put a new ribbon on Fifi, and thinking about it afterwards, I guess that ribbon was the last straw for the hog. Fifi ran up to the fence and started walking up and down right in front of where that hog was rooting. The hog went about his business without paying any attention to Fifi, or so she thought. Fifi upped the ante by getting up on her tiptoes. That didn’t have any effect. That old hog just kept rooting. Fifi tried shaking her tail, but the hog acted like she wasn’t there. I noticed that he seemed to be sliding closer to the fence and I was just going to yell at Fifi just as she turned to face that old hog. I swear she stuck out her tongue, just like a bratty kid would do. The sight of a poodle dog wearing a ribbon sticking out its tongue pushed the hog over the edge. He charged the fence. Fifi froze in place, her little pink tongue still stuck out. Well, that was sure one surprised poodle dog when he busted through the fence. Fifi’s tail shot straight up, and her mouth opened in a silent bark. Some chapters back I told you about silent screaming and this was the doggy equivalent. I like happily ending stories, but unfortunately the only one happy at the end of this story was the hog. Fifi just disappeared, ribbon and all. 

Several weeks went by before Alice started speaking to me. Somehow she blamed me for the whole mess. As I said in an earlier chapter, Alice started calling that old hog Fifi. This worried me a lot, even more than when she wasn’t speaking to me.  So, I called in Doc to have a look at her. Alice wouldn’t go to the doctor, so I had to pay for a house call. That wasn’t cheap, and I can tell you the exact cost as I put it in my notes. The exact cost was $500.00 as it took several visits. Old doc would drive out from town and then just sit with Alice on the porch talking.  The first visit they didn’t talk about anything but the weather. On the second visit they got around to talking about that hog. On the third visit it was back to the weather. Then, Doc wanted to see me alone. I’ll reproduce our conversation as best I can in historical mode:

Doc:  ‘She is as bad a case as I ever come across.’

Me: ‘It’s that bad?’

Doc: ‘It’s that bad.’

Me: ‘What can I do?’

Doc: ‘She’s had a tremendous shock to her system. The only way to bring her out of it is to move her away, far away from where the shock took place.’

Me: ‘Like where.’

Doc: ‘Somewhere completely different. It will help get her mind off of what happened.’

Me: ‘But we just moved here last year.’

Doc: ‘Don’t matter. If you want her to get better, move her.’

So, I thought long and hard about what Doc said. It seemed to make sense, and what did I know? I wasn’t a doctor. The big question was where we would move to. Actually there was another big question; who would buy our place? It was still pretty enough, but that junkyard next door ruined everything. Most of the deer had left as they lost interest in drinking out of the brook. The brook didn’t look good anymore, or smell good for that matter. Our trees we’d planted were growing, but weren’t tall enough to hide the junk cars. I had some low times in my life, but I have to admit that the month or two after Fifi bit the big one were the lowest ever. 

Salvation came to us along a strange path. When I say that, I’m not just using a figure of speech, salvation literally came to us along a strange path. While I was figuring out what to do about selling and moving Alice to a new location, Doc suggested that I start taking Alice for walks. Not walks like we used to take on our property, but walks away from the property; somewhere else, but somewhere nice. I drove us out into the wheat lands west of Spokane. We’d stop and park along a country lane, and just start walking. It was pretty grim at first as Alice never talked, but eventually she would remark on an old barn, or maybe a bird or two. It wasn’t much, but it was a start, and it made me feel better to see a little life come back into Alice. We kept up the walks into the fall. I had put our property up for sale and there were plenty of lookers as the Ownership Society had attracted people from out of state anxious for personal freedom. Unfortunately for us, they exercised their personal freedom by not buying our property. 

As I said earlier, our salvation came to us along a strange path. It was during one of our walks. I can tell you the exact day, as I put it into my notes – it was October first. We had driven further west from Spokane than normal, and as was our habit we stopped along a lane and started walking. The day was nice and warm, as we were into an Indian summer on the Eastside. After walking about a half mile we came to a fork where the road ended. A wide path branched out to the left. It must have been the more popular path, as lots of footprints were showing in the dust. On the right was a very straight, but narrow path, with no footprints going down it. As I’ve said before, I’m not a political man or a religious one either, but I had some religious training as a youngster. As I stood looking at those paths I thought about my childhood minister preaching that the path to Hell was wide and well traveled, but the path of righteousness was narrow. So, on a hunch we struck out along the straight and narrow path. 

The path was so narrow that we had to walk single file. Alice was afraid of snakes so I went first. We hadn’t gotten more than a hundred feet down that path when the damndest thing happened. A poodle dog came running up the path towards us. He was skinny and dirty, but he was sure happy to see us. I think that someone must have dumped him, or maybe he ran off from a car and got lost.  Finding that dog brightened Alice’s day, that’s for sure. 

We took him home and cleaned him up. Boy, could that dog eat. What a Godsend for Alice. She became her old self, more or less. We decided to call the poodle dog Moses as we found him on the path to righteousness. The only problem was that she would not let Moses out on the side of the house that faced the hog. But, that problem was a blessing in disguise as now Alice so badly wanted to get away from that old hog that she would sell to anyone. Turned out the owner of the property next door wanted our place, especially at the low price we were forced to accept.  That being what it may, at least we were able to sell and move. We took Doc’s advice and moved to an entirely different place, and what could be more different from the Eastside than Western Washington? We still had friends in Seattle, so in November we packed our trailer and headed out to the town of Maple Valley. Maple Valley was less than an hour from Seattle, but in a rural setting. We had enough money from the sale to buy a small cabin on a local lake, Lake Lucerne. The cabin was small, but there was only myself, Alice and Moses.

So, on a nice November day we found ourselves driving across Eastern Washington to our new home. Not much had changed on I-90. Cars were still whizzing past us. There were lots more white crosses along the road on both sides, and I couldn’t help thinking about the restaurant owner I met in Sprague. I supposed that he must have come out okay in his side business of crosses and funerals. I thought about the night we had the steak dinner and wondered if that cook had ever washed his apron. I thought about that family throwing up in the parking lot, right down to the smallest child. I thought about Fifi and the teasing squirrels, and that old hog. I thought about our nice walks in the evening along our brook. I thought about leaving my snowplow. After all, it was the only thing I ever owned in the Ownership Society, besides a few parks and such. But, most of all I thought about how much I was in love with Alice, and how glad I was that she was back to her old self. As we crossed over the divide between Western and Eastern Washington at Snoqualmie Pass I stopped and wrote down these sentences in my notes so I would remember exactly how I was feeling.

I wrote, “Farewell to the land of the Ownership Society and personal freedom. Now I turn my face westward, westward towards the sunset, westward to a new chapter in our lives, westward into the hands of the Democrats.” Well, that just about wraps up my story of how I came to take notes. Old habits die hard, so when we came to Western Washington I continued to take notes and stick them on my world record high note stand. What were Alice’s last words in Eastern Washington as I now read them from my notes? They are, “I hope the f---r’s rot in hell forever.”