Of dogs and their men

I have watched a neighbor walking his dog for a few days now. It's easy to see him going down the street below the kitchen window. He looks like an old, retired pirate. He walks a small brown french poodle. He loves the dog.

There's something about him that makes me cry inside. Conjures up my Grandfather's ghost.

My Grandmother died when I was 6, leaving an enormous gap in our lives that has never been filled. It was just that bad. Always will be. It changed my Grandfather for the next 30+ years of his life. He was a good man, but he lost his joy. He found bits of it much later, but it took a lot of work, and I didn't see most of it- he reserved it for others. I'm pretty sure I reminded him of a happier time- it was hard on him. Or he just hated me. But I refuse to go there- I don't think it's the case at all. He was just sad. And after decades of not talking much to me, it became habit. I just didn't draw him out the way others did. I'm glad they did, but sad that I didn't.

Grandma had a chihuahua named Tiger that she left behind. One of the most amazing things I've witnessed was how Grandpa became Tiger's daddy. He worked crushing hours at the gas station/shop that he owned- even after they tore down the motel (which was even more of a burden- I'll miss it forever too). He had to have several operations on back injuries- and never fully recovered from them. He lost over 6" in height from them- his spine was S shaped- I saw the x rays. He slept with a board on the matress for a firmer support.

When I was in high school, and Tiger was a very old dog, I spent a couple of nights at Grandpa's while my Dad was out of town. I hadn't slept there since I was very young. That evening, Grandpa gave Tiger a bath. He was in his navy work clothes, still. His hands- for those of you who remember- were large, and very gnarled. The tips of his fingers were askew and his knuckles were misshapen. At the time, since he was working in the station, they were stained with motor oil and grease. Clean, but stained.

He gently lifted the shivering little dog into the pink tub. His large, gnarled- tree-root hands tenderly doused the dog in warm water and scrubbed his little beige body. I hadn't seen that side of the man. I had to leave the room- it was just too much to bear. He also baked my sister and I a cheese tort for dessert. These things just slayed me inside. They still do. Part of me will always be crying for Grandpa. I'll always associate the combined smells of Ivory soap and Prell shampoo with his bathroom, and Tiger's bath.