Donnie and Glover

Donnie went to Cambodia for the weekend. Dumbest trip I’d ever heard of. We live in the Midwest- meaning he’d get to be on Cambodian soil for all of, like, I dunno, six hours before turning back.

But he found one of those super saver deals. Four eighty-nine for a roundtrip ticket. I told him, Donnie- for that price, it’s gonna be uncomfortable, man, it’s gonna be like sixteen hours in a middle seat smelling bad breath on both sides. And what if you get stuck with some of those no shoes people? Forget the breath, Donnie, that’s over half a day of toenail fungus sticking it’s ripe fungusy butt right up your nose. Four eighty-nine isn’t worth being sandwiched between the decisions of a person that goes foot commando.  And for what? To see pretty much just the airport of Phnom Penh? I’ll tell you what it looks like, it looks like right here, only it won’t be suffocated with snow.

And he said, that’s exactly right, it won’t be suffocated with snow. He said he’s sick of snow and four eighty-nine’s a small price to pay to get out of – and he actually said this- the oppressive glare of all that sun bouncing off it and blinding me, reminding me that yes, a celestial life giver exists, but has reserved it’s warmth for those more deserving.

Donnie’s so dang dramatic.

I said, Donnie, you’re great at finding deals- why don’t you check out San Diego? Ever been to Ft. Meyers? You could definitely get there for four eighty-nine and actually get yourself something of a weekend!

But Donnie, man, Donnie always has some sort of comeback, you know? And this one was a doozy. He said price was exactly the factor. Like he didn’t actually have that much money- only about six hundred to his name- so the travel was the vacation. What am I gonna do with six hundred in San Diego? He said. Not a dang thing- that town’s expensive; this whole country’s expensive! I’d have to get a hotel, have to get food; probably rent a car, or at least Uber everywhere. That’s more than what I got right there. But six hours in an airport? That I can swing. Maybe have a drink and some weird rendition of a Big Mac in a Cambodian McDonald’s. Why not? Heck, I might even have enough time to take like a tuk tuk or something and see what’s around the airport. And yeah, I know it’s usually just industrial stuff around places like that- but it'll be Cambodian industrial stuff. And anyhow, Carter, why don’t you mind your own dang business? It’s my money, if I wanna spend it to get in line to milk the world’s rarest yak, what’s it to you?

And I said, What? Milk the world’s rarest yak, what the heck are you talking about?

And he said, Forget it – it  was just an example.

And I said, Yeah, but kind of a specific one – is that really a thing?

And he said, Just drop it, okay, don’t worry about rare yak milk, jeez.

And I dropped it, but I’m still curious about it. Anyway – that’s  how I ended up watching Glover. And that’s where the tragedy starts.

Glover’s Donnie’s dog. I don’t know what kind and neither does Donnie, but the general assumption is terrier, chow mix. In other words, adorable. He’s named Glover after Danny Glover. Donnie never said why, only that Danny was too close to Donnie and he didn’t want his dog to be a Junior.

I said that Juniors are only Juniors when the name’s the same, but he said, No, no, no, man, it’s too close, it’s way too close.

So I just dropped it cause it seemed like it was going the direction of rare yak’s milk or the milking of a rare yak or whatever. I mean, what was the point of arguing anyway? See, Donnie and I aren’t close. I’d only known him, like, four days at the time. Not even a week. Now, if you’re thinking it’s weird someone would ask someone to dog sit after only knowing someone four days, hey – I agree with you; but I’m an apprenticing taxidermist which means I can’t really turn down money. Heck, even if I were a seasoned professional  I couldn’t be turning down money.

Initially Donnie wanted to forego money and work out a trade, but I was sternly against; after all, we’re dealing with a man who thinks the plane ride is a vacation. He didn’t proffer what kind of trade he was after, but I already knew it probably wasn’t for me. He also didn’t know what I did for a living or, really, anything about me so… yeah.

Fast forward. I get Glover a couple of hours before Donnie’s first leg which is MSP- SFO. Donnie was nervous because the four eighty-nine super saver ticket only afforded him forty minutes in between flights and I wanted to say something to him like, See, now that’s where they getcha! But I didn’t say anything because Donnie’s dramatic and I thought he’d make his response a whole to-do and the thing is, I don’t pay for any subscription services and they were re-running one of my favorite 3^rd Rock from the Sun episodes and first of all, I didn’t even know that was a thing, so I was excited from the get go, but then to see that they were airing, like seriously one of my favorite episodes – well it was a good day, let’s just say that. So anyway, he was right there at the door, and I was missing some quality French Stewart/ Kristen Johnston dialogue and I didn’t need a whole to-do. So, I was just kinda nodding and petting Glover and doing my best, Jeez, that is tight! and Oh, I’m sure you’ll be fine’s while he worried his knuckles at the front door.

He was so worried that he just handed me the leash, which was really just a rope, and not like one that was meant for dogs, but just, like, a length of rope that had this really loose knot on it. And then he hopped into his truck with only the one door and drove off. It wasn’t meant to have just one door, mind you, and I got to thinking that if I only had one door on my vehicle in the middle of winter, I’d probably want to get out of dodge too – and for any price. I mean, more than that I’d fix my door – but I dunno… I try not to judge.

Glover made – I was gonna say himself, but it was actually herself – at home immediately by jumping up on the couch and laying her head on the armrest. I wasn’t particularly pleased about that but in the moment I was struggling more with the fact that Donnie had struggled so much with the name of a dog he didn’t even gender correctly. Of course, then I had to walk that back because as I’m learning, gender is very much a construct and who am I to judge if a boy’s named Sue or a girl's named John – like none of that really matters one bit and what’s more, who knows at all how Glover felt about it – she was only a dog. The whole thing got me somewhat tripped up though which irked me later because I more or less completely glazed over my favorite, seriously my favorite, 3^rd Rock episode.

I took Glover for a walk a few hours later. I’d actually retained my knot tying knowledge from Scouts as a kid – don’t know why – but I was able to get a better knot in the length of rope and I think that, overall, Glover felt more comfortable. She was a really good dog, despite having Donnie for an owner. I imagined he must’ve inherited her already trained. Maybe I wasn’t giving him enough credit, but I just didn’t think that someone that drops a dog off after four days of knowing the sitter with only a bit of rope and no instructions in a two-door truck that only has one door so they could take a whackadoo trip to Cambodia’s airport would be all that good at training a dog. Call me crazy.

Donnie hadn’t even dropped off dog food. I hadn’t realized that til Glover began whining when I went for chips after our walk. Wanna know something funny? You’d think I know all about animals. After all, I want to immortalize them, right? I must be crazy about em – full of knowledge. False. I am crazy about them, but not so much about what makes them tick and their connectedness to nature and yadda yadda. I’m no tree hugging, We’re all one and animals lead the way kind of guy. I’m not opposed to those kinds of guys, I’m just not one. Anyway, I like how rugged animals are. I like their wildness. It’s how disconnected they are from us that I find appealing; that I truly wanna capture. In any case, all that to say, I’ve never had a dog and I didn’t really know what to feed one.  

Getting dog food was out of the question. Glover was a good girl, but she wasn’t my good girl and dog food is expensive. How had Donnie not dropped any off? Furthermore, I knew that it was mostly sold in bulk, and look, I’m happy to help out, but I wasn’t trying to buy a week’s supply of puppy chow for the two and a half days.  In fact, I let a wild thought gain a little traction in my head; like maybe Donnie had left Glover here on purpose. My mind ran wild for a little, had a good old-fashioned romp around the ole noggin. Donnie wasn’t goin to no Cambodia, that trip was as crazy as it sounded. Donnie’d just gotten a dog for company and then realized how much work a dog was and finally found some poor sap to take her. And a dirt-poor apprenticing taxidermist at that. Oh, the irony! Or something like irony – I honestly never figured out exactly what that was.

Anyway, so my mind’s racing but I’m also getting hungrier for more than chips and Glover was outright pissed at this point, kept barking her head off, so I thought, What would a dog like? And I thought, Hell, a dog would like anything I’d like, what would I like?

I’m not that fancy a guy, but one thing I learned early on was the importance of being handy in the kitchen and I don’t wanna toot my own horn too much, but I turned out to be a little better than just handy. So, I went to the store and got all kinds of funny looks because Glover was in the store with me, which was definitely against policy although nobody had the stones to tell me so. They all just looked at me and kinda scowled and made it very well known that they knew that I knew better.

I set right to work cooking and it wasn’t but an hour later that me and Glover were enjoying ourselves some of the best lemon pepper chicken I’ve ever cooked up complete with a homemade mushroom risotto and seared asparagus. Glover might’ve even enjoyed it more than me because I gave her her own fancy plate and everything. Would’ve been one of my fondest memories were it not actually one of my absolute worst because what happened next was just appalling.

           First I get a text from Donnie. It’s in all caps and it says, SORRY TOTALLY FORGOT GLOVER CAN’T EAT CHICKEN SHE’S RULL ALLERGIC. And I swear to anything that can be sworn on the moment I finished reading that I hear the most pained sounding wheezing I’ve ever heard in my life. Just terrible! And then this kind of whine that wanted to be a howl but was too weak, too strained and I’m looking down and Glover is just… goodness, I still tear up just thinking about it. I won’t go into detail, but let’s just say I’ve never seen that much pain in someone’s eyes before.

I rushed Glover to the nearest vet – also the only vet – but it had started snowing really bad and my car’s not the best in the snow, or in any condition, and the proverbial tortoise put my pace to shame. My car’s not Donnie’s one doored two door truck, but let’s just say one of the bigger reasons I don’t go around judging is because I don’t have much room to, understand? Anyway, long story short, I do eventually get Glover to the vet but by the time I get there she’s not very responsive and.... well… there just wasn’t much to be done. The vet tried everything she could, but it was no use, and I was a shaky mess as I brought Glover back home with me all wrapped in this silly white blanket covered in gold stars and moons and all manner of celestial delights, like she’d already gone to heaven and come back just to show me this souvenir.  

Angry doesn’t come close to describing how hateful I felt toward Donnie – not close at all. I mean, who the hell leaves their incredibly allergic dog with someone they barely know, doesn’t provide food, and then also fails to mention a food allergen? It was outright criminal. I thought about telling Donnie as much but then – the Midwesterner in me, I guess – I didn’t want to ruin his stupid vacation.

After I was through dealing with the immediate shock, I remember saying to myself something like, Talk about swings and roundabouts. I’d heard the term on some British tv show I was watching and, while morbid, I figured it was apt for this situation. Donnie didn’t deserve to bury Glover. And I’m tired of having to scour the streets for roadkill to practice my craft. Do you realize how degrading it is, not only to be peeling things off the side of the road, but to have to essentially only work on, like, half an animal? Can you imagine only making half a wig, or three quarters of a suit because the rest of the material was too far gone? You can’t, can you? And here I had this absolutely beautiful creature and I figured the best way to honor her was to make her into the grandest visual epitaph I could.

Donnie hasn’t come back yet, and I don’t know what kind of stories he’ll have when he does – all I know is I’m working on one more for him right now, one he’ll probably hate, but one that I certainly don’t.