Bernie's Magic Ears (Part One)

***This is Bernie and Poochie in fall or winter 1995, on the bed at the little cabin Elizabeth and I lived in at Lake Tahoe until we were shot at. That's where we were laying when I heard the knock on the door. Also, I abandoned that Budweiser sign in a Wal-Mart parking lot in Carson City at some point.***

While I lived in Tahoe, I worked at Caesars--as in the casino. At some point or another, I worked every minute on the clock--pick a time, anytime, and I'd worked at that time. Day shift, swing shift, graveyard, crossover shifts. Nothing like having a beer when you got off work--at 7am! Actually, I spent most of the last three years there working swing shift, which meant I got off at 3am. As a rule, us swingers would wrap-up any post-work imbibing before sunrise. Anyway, that's neither here nor there.

So yeah, for the first year of those last three I had both Bernie and Poochie. I've mentioned that Bernie hated to stay inside without a human there with her, so I left them outside while I was gone. That is, until I came home one night and a fragile Poochie had slipped on the ice, wasn't able to get up, and her butt was frozen to the ground when I came home! Thereafter, I left Bernie and Poochie inside. Poochie only lived another six months after the butt-ice incident.

So then it was just Bernie and Chad. I lived in a patio apartment that was part of a coworker's house. Her name was Sandy, she's a couple years younger than me and was married, and they had a dog. I want to say that dog's name was Angel, but I don't remember. Anyway, Sandy and Dennis got divorced at some point during my three-year tenure there, and Sandy got another dog. Or maybe they got the second dog before they got divorced. I don't remember. But Sandy had no husband and two dogs the last year or two I lived there, that I do know. Her dogs were crazy. Sandy is first-generation Italian-American, so she fluently speaks Italian. She'd scream at the dogs in Italian, waving a cigarette. It was hilarious. I actually know how to say "Quiet" in Italian, simply from hearing her screaming it a million times.

So after Poochie died, Bernie stayed outside while I worked and whatever, playing with Sandy's dogs if she was around or just hangin' out if not. I actually cut a peep hole in the bottom of the gate I built so Bernie could look out at the world while I was gone. I'd come home and her snout would be peeking out, nostrils flaring. Then she'd get up and go nuts, barking and twirling around, singing the way only Bernie could sing, tail wagging, running back and forth in the yard at full speed.

When I moved to St. Paul, I immediately put a fence around my backyard so she could hang outside while I was gone. My garage is at the back of the yard, and since I live on the corner, I walk up the sidewalk from my garage toward the front of my house, then slip into the gate on the side. Bernie would always go to the back of the yard once I pulled into the driveway. I get out of my car, we'd exchange pleasantries, and once I hit the city sidewalk I'd sprint, and she'd sprint alongside me for the length of the fence. I probably looked like a lunatic to unknowning passers-by, but I loved doing that with Bernie! It's the little things, right? I vowed I would do that each and every day till she didn't want to anymore. Know what? Though I didn't leave her outside so much over her last year, she ran with me down the fence everytime, till the end. I'd pull in the driveway, she'd be laying on the top step by the backdoor, she'd realize it was me, would bound down the steps, and trot toward the back of the yard. I always stopped my car before pulling into the garage just to watch her trot toward me. Then she'd bark, and sing, and I'd get out and say, "BERNIE!!!!!" It was beautiful, like we hadn't seen each other in forever, even though it sometimes was, like, only a half hour. Then we'd run the fence. It was perfect and I miss all of that everyday.