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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Adults
- Theme: Inspirational
- Subject: Character Based
- Published: 08/12/2014
Dingo
Born 1955, M, from Norwich NY, United States.jpg)
Dingo
By Herm Sherwood-Sitts
Across from the office building where I work, there is a beautiful park. One day, I decided I needed to get in shape, so I took up jogging. As a jogger you tend to be a little OCD. You set your alarm clock to be sure to get your run in before work. Once you have that special route, you start to notice an everyday pattern. Not just in your life, but in everyone and everything around you. The garbage truck, the train whistle and even wild life sometimes has a schedule.
About two weeks in, I noticed several everyday occurrences that happen in this park. Of course there are the everyday joggers that I meet. As I come around the bend by the pond, there is usually a doe and her fawn grazing. They look up, but are not startled. As I pass under the big oaks, the grey squirrels chatter and play.
Every single day, I pass this old man sitting on a bench watching the next curve, about fifty yards ahead on the path. He sits on the bench with his cane next to him. He sports a small grey fedora, coke bottle glasses and a flannel shirt. His weathered face has a charming, old man toothless smile. The charisma that glows around him just makes you want to give him a hug.
After I jog around the curve (which is blinded by heavy foliage) I come to a fairly long straight away. In this stretch I meet an elderly woman and her faithful dog. As she shuffles her feet and uses her cane, the canine positions himself between me and the old woman. Reddish colored fur (the color of a fox) covered his slender but muscular frame. His tail had the curl of an Akita or a Chow. Though he was not big, he stood his ground and you could tell he meant business. I don’t know his name, so in my mind I call him Dingo (because of the resemblance).
I stay on my side of the path and respect Dingo’s presence. The feeble old woman, garbed in her silk scarf and patchwork overcoat gives me a smile, as I proceed on my way. This had become my normal routine for many weeks, rain or shine.
Then one day, I was about ten minutes late. We had a power outage and my alarm did not go off. I rushed around to get dressed and laced up my running shoes. Sure enough, my OCD was having fun with me. The garbage truck was gone; the train whistle had already expired. The deer had moved on, and as I got to the big oaks I met the old man hobbling along.
“Yer late! Sonny,” he said with a smile.
I turned and pedaled backwards and smiled back. When I got to his bench, I noticed a milk bone dog treat, with a pretty ribbon tied around it, lying on the seat. Just before I got to the curve, I met Dingo and the elderly woman.
“Yer late! Sonny,” she smiled.
“I know, I know,” I giggled back.
I rounded the curve and jogged a short distance. I thought to myself, “I gotta’ see this.” I turned around and jogged back to the curve and peeked around the bushes. Sure enough, Dingo sat and waited for the old woman to unwrap the ribbon. She then gave Dingo his treat and gently folded the ribbon and put it in her pocket. I smiled and shook my head, then continued on my route.
All day long, I thought about what I had witnessed earlier. Wondering why doesn’t the old man just wait for her. I decided the next day that I would do my run ten minutes later on purpose.
So the next day I did the same thing, and sure enough I witnessed the same thing. This went on for many months.
It was a cloudy Thursday, when I got to the oaks, the old man wasn’t there. I kept my course and found him still sitting on the bench.
“Are you okay?” I stopped and asked.
“She hasn’t come yet," he said with a worried look.
“I’m sure she’s just running late,” I assured him.
I continued my run and never came across Dingo and the elderly woman. I was beginning to worry a little myself.
For the next three days it was the same scenario. On the fourth day, I saw the old man sitting there with a letter in his hand. I stopped and sat down beside him.
“Could you read this for me? My eyesight isn’t what it used to be,” he asked. He handed the letter to me with his shaky, wrinkled hands. I took a deep breath and this is what it read.
Dear Friend,
It is with great sadness that I tell you that my dog has passed away.
You see, fourteen years ago, my husband brought home this yappy, shoe chewing, scraggly mutt from the pound. He kept getting on the furniture and messing up my house. I didn’t know it at the time that he had gotten the dog for me. My husband knew he was dying and he knew that without someone to care for, I would just wither away.
A few years later (after the puppy years), the dog turned into the best friend you could ever imagine. I miss him sleeping on the foot of the bed. I miss him snuggled beside me while crocheting and watching television. Life has lost all meaning to me.
But please rest assured, my friend; he loved the gifts you left him in the park. We both looked forward to it every single day.
Love Betty
When I handed the letter back to him, tears were rolling down his cheeks. I gently rested my hand on his shoulder for a minute or so. Then, doing my best not to cry, I continued on my way.
My office partner, Jan, had noticed I was pretty quiet all day. She came over and sat on the corner of my desk and asked, “What’s wrong?”
I told her the story and now she shared the same heartache as me.
“We have to find her,” she said with tears in her eyes.
“How are we going to do that? All we have is the first name of Betty. We don’t even know the dog’s name,” I questioned.
“Well she must live close to the park,” explained Jan.
Jan did some research with her friends at city hall. Meanwhile, days turned into weeks and the old man would wait on his bench everyday for Betty.
One morning, there was a note on my desk. “This is your girl. Betty Jo Livingston, 220 W. Oak ST. Apartment 3A."
I asked for the day off and went to the address. The door was open and some people were moving boxes and furniture out of the apartment.
“Can I help you?” a young woman asked?
I told her the story and she rolled her eyes a little.
“Yes you have the right place; I am Betty’s health aide. Her health has gone downhill since Rocky died. She won’t eat and she doesn’t take her heart medicine like she should. I had to put her in a nursing home over on Grand Ave,” she explained.
She motioned for me to follow her in and pointed to the back of the couch. There lengthwise, across the back of the couch, lay a long beautiful ribbon, with short ribbons delicately sewn on like a timeline. There were literally hundreds of the short ribbons from the old man.
“I had no idea what this was, until you told me the story,” she sighed.
“Would it be okay with you if I took the old man to see her?” I politely asked.
“Why of course, that would be nice," she exclaimed.
She gently took the ribbons and placed them in a box and wrote the address and room number of the nursing home on the lid. She handed them to me and said, “They must mean so much to her, please see that she gets them.
“I will,” I smiled.
The next day, in my dress clothes and box in arm, I walked to the park and waited on his bench. Sure enough, the feeble old guy came along and sat next to me.
“How would you like to go see Betty?” I asked.
“You found her?" He replied.
I told him how we found her and where she was.
“I would love to see her, but you see, I’m a little bit bashful and she’s way out of my league,” he said looking down at the ground.
“Are you kidding me? You’re a handsome fella’ and I think she needs you right now!" I said, in my most convincing voice.
After a while, we walked to the street and I hailed a cab. We made a stop on the way and I bought some flowers for him to give to her.
When we arrived, I walked him to her door. I gave him some money for a cab ride home and the box.
“Are you going to be okay?” I asked.
“Yes Sonny, I am going to be just fine,” he said, while shaking my hand.
I never saw the old man or Betty again. Sad to say, the park was never the same to me without them.
You can find more stories by Herm Sherwood-Sitts, on amazon.com
Dingo(Herm Sherwood-Sitts)
Dingo
By Herm Sherwood-Sitts
Across from the office building where I work, there is a beautiful park. One day, I decided I needed to get in shape, so I took up jogging. As a jogger you tend to be a little OCD. You set your alarm clock to be sure to get your run in before work. Once you have that special route, you start to notice an everyday pattern. Not just in your life, but in everyone and everything around you. The garbage truck, the train whistle and even wild life sometimes has a schedule.
About two weeks in, I noticed several everyday occurrences that happen in this park. Of course there are the everyday joggers that I meet. As I come around the bend by the pond, there is usually a doe and her fawn grazing. They look up, but are not startled. As I pass under the big oaks, the grey squirrels chatter and play.
Every single day, I pass this old man sitting on a bench watching the next curve, about fifty yards ahead on the path. He sits on the bench with his cane next to him. He sports a small grey fedora, coke bottle glasses and a flannel shirt. His weathered face has a charming, old man toothless smile. The charisma that glows around him just makes you want to give him a hug.
After I jog around the curve (which is blinded by heavy foliage) I come to a fairly long straight away. In this stretch I meet an elderly woman and her faithful dog. As she shuffles her feet and uses her cane, the canine positions himself between me and the old woman. Reddish colored fur (the color of a fox) covered his slender but muscular frame. His tail had the curl of an Akita or a Chow. Though he was not big, he stood his ground and you could tell he meant business. I don’t know his name, so in my mind I call him Dingo (because of the resemblance).
I stay on my side of the path and respect Dingo’s presence. The feeble old woman, garbed in her silk scarf and patchwork overcoat gives me a smile, as I proceed on my way. This had become my normal routine for many weeks, rain or shine.
Then one day, I was about ten minutes late. We had a power outage and my alarm did not go off. I rushed around to get dressed and laced up my running shoes. Sure enough, my OCD was having fun with me. The garbage truck was gone; the train whistle had already expired. The deer had moved on, and as I got to the big oaks I met the old man hobbling along.
“Yer late! Sonny,” he said with a smile.
I turned and pedaled backwards and smiled back. When I got to his bench, I noticed a milk bone dog treat, with a pretty ribbon tied around it, lying on the seat. Just before I got to the curve, I met Dingo and the elderly woman.
“Yer late! Sonny,” she smiled.
“I know, I know,” I giggled back.
I rounded the curve and jogged a short distance. I thought to myself, “I gotta’ see this.” I turned around and jogged back to the curve and peeked around the bushes. Sure enough, Dingo sat and waited for the old woman to unwrap the ribbon. She then gave Dingo his treat and gently folded the ribbon and put it in her pocket. I smiled and shook my head, then continued on my route.
All day long, I thought about what I had witnessed earlier. Wondering why doesn’t the old man just wait for her. I decided the next day that I would do my run ten minutes later on purpose.
So the next day I did the same thing, and sure enough I witnessed the same thing. This went on for many months.
It was a cloudy Thursday, when I got to the oaks, the old man wasn’t there. I kept my course and found him still sitting on the bench.
“Are you okay?” I stopped and asked.
“She hasn’t come yet," he said with a worried look.
“I’m sure she’s just running late,” I assured him.
I continued my run and never came across Dingo and the elderly woman. I was beginning to worry a little myself.
For the next three days it was the same scenario. On the fourth day, I saw the old man sitting there with a letter in his hand. I stopped and sat down beside him.
“Could you read this for me? My eyesight isn’t what it used to be,” he asked. He handed the letter to me with his shaky, wrinkled hands. I took a deep breath and this is what it read.
Dear Friend,
It is with great sadness that I tell you that my dog has passed away.
You see, fourteen years ago, my husband brought home this yappy, shoe chewing, scraggly mutt from the pound. He kept getting on the furniture and messing up my house. I didn’t know it at the time that he had gotten the dog for me. My husband knew he was dying and he knew that without someone to care for, I would just wither away.
A few years later (after the puppy years), the dog turned into the best friend you could ever imagine. I miss him sleeping on the foot of the bed. I miss him snuggled beside me while crocheting and watching television. Life has lost all meaning to me.
But please rest assured, my friend; he loved the gifts you left him in the park. We both looked forward to it every single day.
Love Betty
When I handed the letter back to him, tears were rolling down his cheeks. I gently rested my hand on his shoulder for a minute or so. Then, doing my best not to cry, I continued on my way.
My office partner, Jan, had noticed I was pretty quiet all day. She came over and sat on the corner of my desk and asked, “What’s wrong?”
I told her the story and now she shared the same heartache as me.
“We have to find her,” she said with tears in her eyes.
“How are we going to do that? All we have is the first name of Betty. We don’t even know the dog’s name,” I questioned.
“Well she must live close to the park,” explained Jan.
Jan did some research with her friends at city hall. Meanwhile, days turned into weeks and the old man would wait on his bench everyday for Betty.
One morning, there was a note on my desk. “This is your girl. Betty Jo Livingston, 220 W. Oak ST. Apartment 3A."
I asked for the day off and went to the address. The door was open and some people were moving boxes and furniture out of the apartment.
“Can I help you?” a young woman asked?
I told her the story and she rolled her eyes a little.
“Yes you have the right place; I am Betty’s health aide. Her health has gone downhill since Rocky died. She won’t eat and she doesn’t take her heart medicine like she should. I had to put her in a nursing home over on Grand Ave,” she explained.
She motioned for me to follow her in and pointed to the back of the couch. There lengthwise, across the back of the couch, lay a long beautiful ribbon, with short ribbons delicately sewn on like a timeline. There were literally hundreds of the short ribbons from the old man.
“I had no idea what this was, until you told me the story,” she sighed.
“Would it be okay with you if I took the old man to see her?” I politely asked.
“Why of course, that would be nice," she exclaimed.
She gently took the ribbons and placed them in a box and wrote the address and room number of the nursing home on the lid. She handed them to me and said, “They must mean so much to her, please see that she gets them.
“I will,” I smiled.
The next day, in my dress clothes and box in arm, I walked to the park and waited on his bench. Sure enough, the feeble old guy came along and sat next to me.
“How would you like to go see Betty?” I asked.
“You found her?" He replied.
I told him how we found her and where she was.
“I would love to see her, but you see, I’m a little bit bashful and she’s way out of my league,” he said looking down at the ground.
“Are you kidding me? You’re a handsome fella’ and I think she needs you right now!" I said, in my most convincing voice.
After a while, we walked to the street and I hailed a cab. We made a stop on the way and I bought some flowers for him to give to her.
When we arrived, I walked him to her door. I gave him some money for a cab ride home and the box.
“Are you going to be okay?” I asked.
“Yes Sonny, I am going to be just fine,” he said, while shaking my hand.
I never saw the old man or Betty again. Sad to say, the park was never the same to me without them.
You can find more stories by Herm Sherwood-Sitts, on amazon.com
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Marsha Pundsack
12/17/2021Dear Herm,
This is a lovely and endearing story. Not only did it remined me of my parent's relationship, but also mine with my dog, a Chow-mix, all fond memories. Thank you for writing this. My day has become better.
Sincerely,
Marsha Pundsack
Help Us Understand What's Happening
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Herm Sherwood-Sitts
12/17/2021Awe... So glad you liked it Marsha. Thank you for reading and your nice comment.
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