July 17, 2020

Like everyone else, I listened to and watched the news of the rioting and looting across America. The anxiety and fears of the ongoing silent war against racism erupted not so silently, blanketing my small town in a dense fog.

Looking out my chipped white painted single pane window, I watched a water droplet fall from the cottage overhang. I put down my yellow G5 iPhone which, though of the latest technology, no longer worked as a telephone. I was bored and confused with social media’s latest news on the Coronavirus and now the riots across the country—or is it more fake news to market to us and control us?

“It happened so long ago…it must be in our DNA as Americans…to feel the shame and regret of our ancestors and predecessors who enslaved others for their enrichment,” I said out loud, turning back into my small cottage.

Looking at the black, blank screen on my TV, I sighed. The days of the mindless Kardashians are over, I thought to myself. I never thought I would secretly miss their defunct antics that made them millions. The rampant dysfunction of the Kardashian family infiltrated many lives through TV, Social Media, Tabloids and somehow—left a footprint on our American culture.

“But it’s not in our Souls…It’s like those horrible choke collars they put on dogs instead of halters.” I said looking at my white dog. I stared at her not quite recognizing her for she was now a gray dog. She had not been to the groomers for three months. “Argh…,” I muttered for I was still angry at the local groomer who was booked through July.

“I’m sorry but I can’t take you—you’re not one of my regulars.” I mimicked her hottie, hoity-toity voice.

“But that won’t be for another two months. Besides, I’ve been coming here since January,” I replied. “Please—her hair is starting to fall out. Her nails are too long! She’s hurting herself with her claws. Please… It’s been three months already! Please take her!”

I remember her cold, hard eyes as they regarded me with not a shred of sympathy. “Look…,” I copied her voice again. “I only did your dog when I had cancellation from one of my regulars. I’m sorry, but I can’t take her.”

“Who are these ‘regulars’—someone a lot richer than me, I reckon!” I responded, irate and hurt.

After that incident, I trIed for weeks to get Sophie to many other groomers, but they are only taking their ‘regular’ clients.

“Very well…” I said aloud to myself.

My dog turned her head and raised her deep, dark-brown, compassionate eyes to look at me.

“It’s just as well they don’t take you…Dogs aren’t immune either to this…this…whatever it is!” I say, exasperated.

Look, what I’m trying to tell you is that people…well, they make up silly beliefs that in some way they’re better than others. It’s a prejudice really!

A few days more passed, and I hid in the cottage. Shortening the walks my dog loved so dearly made me feel guilty, but I did so anyway. I didn’t take her to the beach anymore. Okay, I was afraid. Too many tourists and day trippers from God knows from where, I thought. “They could be from San Francisco…infected with COVID -19 and be looters, too,” I said aloud, shuddering, as, with a twist of my wrist, I locked the front door behind us. We had just returned from one of our short walks “What am I doing? Am I going to go along with this…?”

I picked my dog up and, looking out the glass door into the nothingness, cuddled her. “Okay maybe it’s America’s past…but it can’t be our future…it’s utter nonsense!” I walked through the quant dining room with the too-large wooden dining table that I used as my writing table pushed up to one of the cottage walls. Then, I went through the double glass doors past my unmade double bed. I mean, maybe it’s our present—-nothing has changed! With new determination and commitment, I stormed to my even smaller bathroom.

I turned on the shower and and turned to my dog while I regulated the temperature. “We’re going to do something…First, we’re not going to those places anymore where people do ‘better than’…I’m going to groom you…After your bath, I’ll do your nails…I figure my nail clipper should work the same on you nails as it works on mine…Right?”

She moaned a bit as I scrubbed her with the biodegradable unscented dog soap. “You know, I’ve been thinking…It’s time we got to get rid of your mobile doghouse. I need to lessen my carbon imprint. It’s time to buy a battery operated mobile doghouse—even though it won’t be a Tesla.”

The End