If you find yourself single in your senior years and are looking for companionship, what should you do?  

Loneliness can cause you to explore the singles world in different and sometimes daring ways. See how the story unfolds in . . .

Life Tributes

     We sat on my plush brown living room couch—three men staring off into space. Not a word was uttered. I don’t know what was going on in Herb’s or Godfrey’s mind. But my mind wandered in and out, wondering if I was meant to spend the rest of my life alone.

     I’d been married forty-six years when Sheila passed away suddenly one evening, as she sat in bed reading a novel by her favorite author, Karen Bridges. The cause of death—a heart attack. Twelve months have gone by since I found her with her head propped up against the headboard. The doctor said she went quickly—little or no pain.

     “Hey, Marv.” No response. “Earth to Marv.”

     “Huh, what do you want Godfrey?”

     “I thought we were going to do something this evening. Go out for a drink. Try to meet some women. It’s been more than two years since Stella left me. I think it's time.”

     “Me, too,” Herb mumbled. "Been a year and a half since Clara and I parted ways. We didn’t have much of a marriage for over seven years, but it still blew my mind when she told me she was leaving. But now it’s time to get on with my life.”

     “So, it seems we’re all in agreement,” Godfrey chanted.

     “Hey, not so fast. It’s only been a year since I lost Sheila, and I wasn’t prepared. Unlike you guys, I had a good marriage. It’s different.”

     “It may have been different when it happened, but it’s not any different now,” Herb spouted. "We’re all in the same boat—but alone. So unless you want to sit here moping around forever, I suggest we get our act together, put the past behind us, and move on with our lives.”

     “Let’s not jump into this. I think we need a plan,” I stated, with a slight spark of enthusiasm.

     “A plan? We’re not going to rob a bank. We’re just going to pick up some ladies. So choose a place and let’s go already. It’s almost nine o’clock. Women our age will be in bed soon . . . and not with us,” Godfrey emphasized.

     “You really think you’re going to wind up in bed with a lady this evening?” I quipped. “You’re seventy-six years old and you had a crappy marriage. When was the last time you had sex?”

     “You know, my friend, it’s none of your business. At least I know I still can get it up.”

     “Yeah, with a two-by-four as a prop,” Herb shouted.

     “Come on fellas, this line of reasoning isn’t getting us anywhere,” I said. “Maybe, rather than going out this evening, we should each put an ad in next week’s personals section of the Sacramento Bee.”

     “Are you serious, Marv? You do know that newspapers got rid of the personals section years ago. It’s all done by computer now,” Godfrey pointed out.

     I gaped at Godfrey with a weird expression on my face. It was painfully obvious to my two friends that I still lived in the dark ages with regard to modern communication. I looked at him and then at Herb. “No, I didn’t know. I had no reason to. However, I do know you can do it on the computer, but I had no clue newspapers have done away with personal ads. For God’s sake, that’s how Sheila and I met. And I’m not about to do it on the computer.”

     “You’ve got to get your head out of the sand, Marv,” Herb said, shaking his head in dismay at my reluctance to enter the computer age to find my perfect match. “Since it doesn’t seem we’re going anywhere tonight, I’m going to explore a fifty-five and over website they’ve been advertising on TV. What about you, Godfrey?”

     “Guess I’ll do that too—maybe.”

     Well, that was it for the evening. It was almost ten and we’d accomplished nothing. The guys dragged their aged, tired bodies over to the door. We said good-bye. I let them out and locked up for the night.

     I contemplated what might happen over the next two weeks, until our next Saturday evening get-together. Would Herb and Godfrey have the guts to visit the fifty-five and over website? And what about me? What would I do? Probably nothing.

     Tuesday morning I sat at the kitchen table thumbing through the Sac Bee. I still wasn’t convinced they no longer had a personals section. However, finding none, I started flipping back through the pages. And then it happened. A light bulb went on in my balding dome. I knew what I was going to do.

     Saturday evening of the following week arrived all too soon, but I believed I was ready to prove my point—that technology is not the greatest way to find your perfect match.

     The doorbell rang. I opened the door and saw Herb standing there with a smug look on his face. “You’re not going to believe what’s happened to me,“ he gushed.

     “Okay, let me have it.”

     “No, let’s wait until Godfrey gets here. I didn’t see his car. I want to share my new entrance into manhood with both of you at the same time.”

     “I guess I can live with that. Go sit down in the living room. There are snacks on the coffee table. Just leave some for Godfrey.”

     “If he gets here late and they’re all gone, that’s his problem,” Herb said, with a grin on his face.

     Before I could close the door, Godfrey appeared in the doorway, with a sheepish look on his face. “All right, tell me what’s on your mind.”

     “Is Herb here?”

     “Yeah.”

     “Good, I’ll tell you both together.”

     I closed the front door and guided him into the living room. We joined Herb on the couch—three men smirking at one another . . . closely guarding secrets they wished to unveil when the timing was right. Each man’s eyes moved to that of another, but nothing was said. And then . . .

     “My God! I can’t hold it in anymore,” Herb screamed. “I’ve got a girlfriend! Well, that isn’t entirely accurate."

     “Why isn’t it accurate?” Godfrey asked, somewhat dismayed.

     “Uh . . . because . . . actually . . . I have two girlfriends.”

     “In just two weeks. That’s unbelievable,” I stated.

     “I told you guys that fifty-five and over website was great.”

     “So who are they? Anybody I know?” Godfrey shouted.

     “I don’t think so. They’re Jenny and Claudine. Jenny’s a blond and Claudine’s a brunette.”

     “Okay, how old are they?” I asked.

     “You’re not going to believe me.”

     “Why not? Are they minors?” Godfrey and I said in unison.

     “Close,” Herb responded. “Claudine’s sixty.”

     “My God, you’re seventy-seven. She could be your daughter,” Godfrey stated, incredulous at the age difference.

     “Uh, Jenny’s only fifty-six,” Herb mumbled, somewhat afraid of what we might say.

     “Well good for you Herb. I’m proud of you.” Herb let out a sigh of relief. “And what about you, Godfrey? You said you had something to share.” A moment of silence came over the room.

     “Uh, well, I did visit the website. But I couldn’t get into it. Then, just when everything seemed hopeless, my daughter, Christy, called and asked if I’d go to church with her and her family last Sunday. I’m not big on church, but I told her I’d go. Turned out to be the best decision I ever made.

     “After the service, they served refreshments. One of Christy’s friends, Katie, brought her mother with her. Her name is Sarah. She’s my age, seventy-six, and we have so much in common. Neither of us is a great churchgoer. We’re both divorced and lonely. And we like old movies. We’ve seen each other three times this week. It’s really special.”

     “That’s great. I’m so happy for you, Godfrey,” I stated.

     “Yeah, congratulations, man. Make sure you invite us to the wedding. But give me some advance notice, so I have time to decide which date I’ll be bringing,” Herb laughed.

     Then they both stared at me. Their eyes cut through to my very core. “Why are you looking at me that way?” I inquired.

     “What are you waiting for?” Herb asked. “It is your turn.”

     I thought for a minute before speaking. This had to come out right. “Uh, I ran an ad in the newspaper.”

     “But they don’t have a personals section anymore,” Herb said, appearing somewhat confused. “Did you place the ad in the ‘Help Wanted’ section?”

     “Not quite, but close.”

     “What did it say?” Godfrey asked.

     “Well, this is what it said, ‘Sheila Gast, age 72, died one year ago. She was a loving wife and mother to Tommy Gast and Sharon Winston. Her husband, Marvin Gast, age 73, continues to miss her, but realizes he needs to move on with his life. Sheila would have wanted this for him. He knows others of you are in the same position, so please contact him, at 1-555-660-7923. He is anxious to meet a wonderful lady with whom to play cards, dance, go to shows, and travel.’”

     “That doesn’t belong in the ‘Helped Wanted’ section,” Herb said, a bit bewildered.

     “No, I placed it in the ‘Life Tributes’ section of the Bee.”

     “The obituary section!” Godfrey screamed. “How could you do that?”

     “Eight ladies have called me in the past two weeks. So I must have done something right.”

Copyright © 2018 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.

“Love is in the air . . . or is it?” You’ve known him for over six months. Could he be the one?

But how can you find out? The answer—just look into his eyes and softly say . . .

Tell Me Why

Tell me why we shouldn’t fly, to test the wings of love,

To soar amongst the clouds on high, together play above.

Tell me why we shouldn’t dream, to care and touch and grow,

To learn about each other, souls and spirits get to know.

Tell me why we shouldn’t chance, to hold each other near,

To feel the flames of passion deep, to prize the feelings dear.

Tell me why we shouldn’t walk, together hand in hand,

To cherish life’s sweet pleasures, to fully understand.

Tell me why we shouldn’t hope, to see the future bright,

To feel at peace with one another, to know that this is right.

Copyright © 1996 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.

When the wedding day finally arrives, will everything go as planned? You’ll have to wait and see.

So now you stand, hand in hand, in the “Chapel of Love.” And ask yourself . . .

Do Dreams Come True?

Dreams are realized only when efforts are made to achieve them.

As you stand before me, it is clear you have fulfilled your dream of joining     

     together to share life’s blessings.

Your lives have been driven by the pursuit of individual passions.

Each of you has persevered and succeeded in reaching the goals you   
     have set.

Jessica, your family has admired your strength and determination as they   

     watched you grow from a small girl into a young woman.

I know they are proud of your ability to think things through logically and to       

     make decisions.

  

Your warmth and positive attitude truly are special traits.

Your desire to succeed has enabled you to receive an advanced degree and   

      your caring manner has made you an exceptional teacher.

Jason, although I have known you only a short time, I have grown to respect 

      you. You seem to be a fine young man.

Your commitment has enabled you to actualize your aspiration of 
      becoming a lawyer and your strength and warm heart have brought   
      Jessica happiness.

“Will the woman in the third row, with the hat pulled down over her face,      

      please keep quiet?

This is a wedding ceremony. If you can’t behave, I will have to ask you to          

      leave. Now, let us continue.”

You both should be proud of your accomplishments, as those who love   
      you are.

You are unique people and sure to become a very special couple.

In marriage, continue to develop your shared dreams and support each      

      other in achieving personal ambitions.

Love, honor, and respect your differences and cherish your similarities.

Your love for each other is obvious and your bond appears strong.

Realize and embrace the goodness you both bring to this relationship.

At this time, I ask those gathered here today if there is any reason why             

      these two young people should not be joined together in holy matrimony.

“Yes, I see a hand raised in the third row. Oh no! Not you again. Why 
      can’t you control yourself?

“My God, what are you holding? A sign. What does it say?

You can’t be serious. Are you sure you’re his wife?”

Copyright © 2017 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.

Have you ever waited to get on a plane in an airport? The wait can be long and boring. And one of the things many people do is watch other people.

And sometimes you won’t believe what you see, as is the case in . . .

Oh, Baby!

     The sun shined through the large Sacramento Airport terminal window casting a glow upon the Gate 14 boarding area. The Arrival-Departure Board showed our flight being delayed forty-five minutes. Snow in Denver kept the incoming flight from arriving on time.

     Grace had been planning this trip to Las Vegas to celebrate my fiftieth birthday for months. I couldn’t wait any longer to get there. Antsy and bored, I wiggled around in my seat. I scanned the room and watched the security cameras mounted on the wall move back and forth. I opened my MacBook Air and searched the Internet for something of interest.

     Finding nothing that turned me on, I started looking at the other travelers. As my eyes perused them, I noticed something peculiar happening. I leaned over and poked Grace in the arm. She put down the book she was reading and glared at me.

     “What do you want, Harvey? You’re fidgeting is getting to me. Are you bored?” she moaned.

     “Well yeah, but . . .”

     “But what?”

     “Look over there.”

     “Over where?”

     “The seats in front of the window.”

     “Yeah, so what? All I see are two nice looking families. What’s your problem?”

     “The babies next to each other in their carriers.”

     “Okay, so there are two children next to each other. What are you trying to say, Harvey?”

     “Look more closely at them.”

     “Why? What am I supposed to see? Harvey, you’re trying my patience. Spit it out already.”

     “They seem to be talking to each other. And the way they’re moving their hands, I think they’re using sign language.”

     “My God, you are bored. What you’re saying is ridiculous. Babies always move their hands. And it may look as if they’re talking to each other, but all they’re doing is making weird sounds. Don’t you remember our kids at that age?”

     “Sure, but what they did wasn’t anything like what I saw those two doing. The boy seemed to be telling the girl something important and the girl responded in a way that showed she agreed with him.”

     “Oh, sure, he asked her out on a date and she accepted. How are you coming up with these preposterous observations?”

     “Grace, you’re making fun of me. You’re treating me as if I’m being a jerk. Don’t do that.”

     “Why not? That’s exactly what you’re acting like.”

     “Grace, look now! They’re staring directly into each other’s eyes. They’re planning something. This could be the real thing.”

     “Real thing? What real thing? You’re driving me crazy, Harvey.”

     “But you can’t blow this off. Maybe I should report it to airport security.”

     “Report what to security . . . two infants staring at one another? They’ll lock you up.”

     “But, but . . .”

     “No more buts. Just lean back and relax and leave me alone.”

     So I leaned back and tried to forget what I’d seen. There’s definitely something strange about the behavior of those two babies, I thought.  

     I glanced in their direction again. Oh, my. I couldn’t believe what was happening. An adult woman, probably the mother of one of the infants, stood pointing, with her mouth hanging open.

     To my amazement, one of the babies crawled with unbelievable speed away from the seating area. It looked like a boy. But how did he get out of the carrier and onto the floor?

     Then the other child, a girl, propped herself up and tumbled like a tiny acrobat from her carrier onto the ground. Seeing her companion about fifteen feet away, she scurried off after him.

     The second woman, amazed at what she’d witnessed, stood frozen and gaped in the direction the child had gone.

     Neither woman ran after the baby I believed was hers. This puzzled me. I leaned over to Grace and whispered, “Did you see that?”

     Grace again raised her head from her book. “Huh, what do you want now, Harvey?” 

     “Both babies are gone,” I mumbled.

     “Gone, where?”

     “I have no idea. They crawled away, as if off on a mission . . . the boy first, followed by the girl.”

     “Come on, Harvey, it’s your imagination playing tricks on you. See, both babies are still tucked into their carriers. They didn’t go anywhere.”

     “But those aren’t the same babies.”

     “How in the world do you know that?”

     “They’re so still. None of the animation I witnessed before. And if the babies didn’t run away, why did the women, probably their mothers, appear to be so upset?”

     “I don’t see upset mothers. The women are just standing and stretching their legs. This is all in your mind, Harvey. And I didn’t hear anything. The babies would have hurt themselves if they’d jumped out of their carriers onto the floor. At least they’d be screaming.”

     “Maybe you’re right.” I dropped the subject, but looked across the room again. Where were the mothers? I thought. Only two men, with their eyes glued to their iPhones, sat alongside the children. And they didn’t seem to care about the babies.

     “Harvey, why are you still staring at those kids? Let them be,” Grace moaned.

     “But the kids aren’t moving. Not even a little. That shouldn’t be.”

     “It’s none of your business, Harvey. Drop it, for God’s sake.”

     “I can’t. Hey, look! The men are getting up.”

     “So what? They’re probably going to join their wives.”

     “Yeah, maybe so. But why aren’t they taking the babies with them?”

     “What? They’re leaving without the babies? We’ve got to report this. Infants can’t be left alone.”

     “Shouldn’t we check on the kids first, Grace? You know, make sure they’re all right.”

     “I don’t think so. You said they weren’t moving. Maybe they’re dead. We could be accused of murder.”

     “The men just went down that corridor on the right. Let’s follow them.”

     “Are you nuts, Harvey? We could be the next ones killed.”

     “You can stay and read your book. But I’ve got to do this.”

     “Well, you’re not leaving me here alone. Let’s go. I’m coming with you.”

     So, as crazy as it seems, Grace and I decided to pursue the men down the corridor. They turned right heading toward the food court. We stayed close behind them. As we rounded the corner, we came face to face with them. Both men had strange expressions on their faces. They spun around and pointed to their wives standing about ten feet behind them.

     Music blared from the overhead speakers. Beside the women, the babies, a boy and a girl—two perfectly crafted robots—danced to the music.

     Then I noticed cameras poking through holes in a black curtain, labeled “Construction Area.” Shocked by all of this, I turned toward Grace. She had a gleam in her eyes and a grin on her face.

     She chuckled and spouted, “Harvey, dear, you did say you wanted to be on the new Candid Camera reality TV show airing early next year. Well, my darling, your wish has been granted. ‘Happy Birthday!’”

     I felt two-feet tall and totally embarrassed. But the warm feeling inside of me surged as the crowd gathered sung “Happy Birthday.”

     Grace giggled, embraced me, and gave me a passionate kiss. The audience applauded and a guy yelled, “That’s a wrap.”

Copyright © 2018 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.

Do the shoes you wear have special powers? Can they send messages to you?

If you’re brave enough, you’ll find out in the following tale . . .

Always Wear Polished Shoes

     My grandfather was a shoe man—sold shoes and managed shoe stores for two of the largest footwear companies in New York. I didn’t enter a shoe store until my early twenties, after I left home to go to college over 400 miles away.

     If I needed new shoes, Grandpa would pull out the Brannock Foot Measuring Device he stored in the bedroom he and Grandma used when visiting our house. I would stand on it, first with my left foot and then with my right. He’d make me do each foot twice to make sure the measurements were correct. And then, the following weekend he would appear with a shoebox tucked under his arm.

     As he handed me the box, he would smile and declare, “Remember, you must always wear polished shoes.”

     I was eight years old the first time I recall him saying this. I looked at him and asked, “Always? What if I step in mud?”

     He would grin and say, “Well, carry a rag with you and wipe them clean.”

     “But why can’t I wait until I get home to do it?” I whined.

     With a snicker in his voice, he’d mutter in a very eerie way, “The answer is in the shine. You must see what it reflects up at you and do what it tells you to do.”

     This made me quite uneasy. And because of this, I avoided wearing my new shoes for the next few weeks. I didn’t even look at them. I kept them in the box stuffed under my bed. When Mom asked why, I mumbled, “I’m saving them for when Grandpa and Grandma come to visit after they return from their vacation.”

     Three weeks passed. I awoke early on Saturday morning. The sun shined through my bedroom window. The smell of pancakes made me drool. I washed my face, brushed my teeth, and raced into the kitchen for breakfast.

     As I entered the room, Mom turned and smiled. “Good morning, Ernie. Grandma and Grandpa will be here at one o’clock. Don’t forget to wear your new shoes.”

     The thought of opening the box and letting the shiny, message-sending demon out made me tremble. “But Mom,” I stuttered, “I want to wear my sneakers. I can run better in them.”

     “You won’t have time to run today. We’re going to have a nice lunch and go to an early movie. You have to wear the shoes. I don’t want to disappoint Grandpa. He will expect to see them on you.”

     “But Mom . . .”

     “No buts. Just do as I say. Now sit down and eat your blueberry pancakes. I made them especially for you.”

     Mom’s ultimatum caused my stomach to feel queasy. What was meant to be a great breakfast turned into a force-feeding nightmare. I finished and rushed out of the kitchen and headed to the bathroom, fully expecting to throw up the two pancakes I’d eaten. However, to my surprise, it didn’t happen.

     How I could avoid opening the box under the bed eluded me. It was 9:00 a.m. I had exactly four hours to come up with something believable—something that would not make Mom mad or Grandpa unhappy.

     I went into the bedroom and took the shoebox out from under the bed, placed it on the rug, and twirled it around. Maybe I could drive the evil demons from it by making them dizzy, I mused. Nothing jumped out of the box, so I picked it up and placed it on the bed. I knew I had to open it sooner or later, but now wasn’t the time.

     There also was another box under the bed, but this one didn’t worry me. It contained my baseball cards—all two hundred of them. I hadn’t looked at them for more than three months. I got down on my knees and pulled it out from under the bed. I picked it up and put it down next to the other one. They were almost identical, with one exception—the writing on the top of the box, in bold printed black letters, read, “ALWAYS WEAR POLISHED SHOES.”

     I started shaking. Could the shoes in the other box have sent the message to this box? But how did it get out of the box containing the shoes and end up printed on the top of this one? I was frightened and confused. Should I tell Mom? And what do I say to Grandpa? For now, more than ever, I didn’t want to open the box containing the highly polished shoes. “But Grandpa will expect me to be wearing them when he arrives,” I grumbled.

     My eyes moved in the direction of the clock on my nightstand. “Oh, my God! It’s noon already. Grandpa will be here in one hour,” I shouted.

     Mom yelled from the kitchen, “Ernie, what’s all the screaming about? Are you all right?”

     “Yes, I just hit my elbow on the dresser. I’ll be fine.”

     “Okay, I hope you’ll be dressed by the time Grandma and Grandpa arrive.”

     “Yeah, I will.”

     “And remember, no sneakers.”

     “But maybe the shoes won’t fit.”

     “You mean you haven’t tried them on?”

     “No, I’ve been busy.”

     “Ernie, you’re trying my patience. I want you down here at one o’clock when the doorbell rings. When I open the door, I want you dressed in your new shoes so Grandpa can see them. Do you understand me?”

     “Yes,” I muttered.

     “I didn’t hear you.”

     “Yes,” I yelled in a way that made me shake. Mom didn’t respond.

     I had no idea how I was going to survive this. What I did know was there was no way those shoes were coming out of the box.

     Opening my closet door, I pulled my nice light blue shirt down off the hanger and then grabbed my good, dark blue dress pants from the hanger next to the shirt. After putting the shirt and pants on, I put on some blue sox. And now the shoes. Oh my, what am I going to do?

     Just when I felt my anxiety level would make me burst, a light bulb went on in my head. I remembered our carpets had been cleaned last week. The guy doing the cleaning gave me shoe covers so I wouldn’t dirty the rugs. After the rugs dried, I took them off and stuffed them in the back of my sock drawer. I opened the drawer, stuck my hand in, pulled them out, and placed them on the bed.

     Now the hard part began. I had to get the new shoes out of the box without looking at them. I stared at the box on the bed—my enemy—and began to wobble back and forth. Then it all became clear.

     I steadied myself, closed my eyes, and lifted the lid off the shoebox. I grabbed a shoe and placed it on the bed. With my eyes still glued together, I felt around for a shoe cover and managed to pull it up over one of the shoes. I breathed a sigh of relief and, with success under my belt, performed the operation a second time with the other shoe. Happy to find the shoes didn’t have laces, I slipped them on my feet, just as I heard the doorbell ring.

     I hurried down the hallway and stood next to Mom as she grabbed the handle and opened the door. With a big smile on my face, I shouted, “Hello Grandpa. Hi, Grandma.”

     We hugged and kissed. I helped Grandpa drag his and Grandma’s suitcases in. Just as I thought everything was going so well, I noticed Grandpa looking at my feet.

     “Ernie, why have you covered up your shiny new shoes?” he asked.

     Feeling very uncomfortable, I stared down at my covered shoes and whispered, “I don’t want to get them dirty.”

     “Well, you’re going to have to face that possibility someday, so it might as well be now. Off with the covers, young man.”

     “Come on Ernie, do as Grandpa says,” Mom stated.

     I stood motionless. But gathering courage, I dragged myself over to the bench beside the door, sat down, shut my eyes, and pulled off the first shoe cover.

     “One more to go,” Grandpa sang out.

     I knew I had no choice, so I ripped off the second cover exposing all to my audience. I heard Mom giggling and wondered why.

     “Ernie, you must open your eyes,” Grandpa commanded.

     Squirming around on the bench, I opened them and saw Grandpa, Grandma, and Mom with broad smiles on their faces. I sat looking straight ahead.

     “You have to look at the shoes, Ernie,” Mom gushed.

         So I did. Slowly, I bent my head down and saw the words, “Love you, big boy,” taped to the top of the shoes. I felt like the luckiest kid in the world. And although I now believed Grandpa had written “ALWAYS WEAR POLISHED SHOES” on the other box, I wasn’t about to ask him if he did, for he might say, “No.”

Copyright © 2017 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.

Love comes in many forms. We love our family, our friends, and our pets.

But sometimes we lose one of those we love. This is what occurred in the story . . .

 

Love On Lake Avenue

     Three days of rain—pouring rain—were about to drive me crazy. I’m a sun type of guy. I didn’t know how much more of this I could handle. However, I had to get out of the house, even if it meant getting soaked. So I grabbed my raincoat from the hall closet and my umbrella from the round barrel sitting alongside the Japanese credenza next to the front door, opened the door, and headed out.

     There was only a slight wind, so I felt I could avoid getting drenched. And my double canopy 68” umbrella with nine different breeds of dogs imprinted on it would be my ultimate protection. From the description of my umbrella, you might have guessed, I’m a dog person.

     Jasper, my fourteen-year-old cocker spaniel, went to heaven eight months ago. I never imagined life without him. We were pals. We’d bonded instantly in the small pet shop on Lake Avenue. His eyes met mine and we knew the relationship would be forever. I guess we had different ideas about what forever meant.

     Well, I’m ready to look for another partner, someone to share my home and my life. I’ve already picked out a name—Jasper II. I trudged down the block toward the same little pet store where I found Jasper—Uncle Willie’s Doggie Paradise.

     When I got to the store, I ducked under the awning, closed up my umbrella, and entered the shop. The tiny establishment bustled with excitement. Customers, young and old, peered in at the dogs in the cages trying to get their attention.

     I pushed my way through the crowd. As I did, I bumped into a woman who turned and yelled, “Watch where you’re going mister. I was here first.”

     “Sorry, lady,” I replied. If looks could kill, they’d be picking me up off the floor. The small shop accommodated about thirty cages, all very close together. Every cage had a slash mark through the original price with a pretty reasonable sale price above it on the tag that hung on the cage door handle.

     I tried to maneuver between two male patrons. One whirled around and sputtered, “He’s mine. Just move on.”

     “All right, the two of you look like you deserve each other,” I responded.

     “What do you mean by that, fella?” he barked.

     At that point, the other guy gave me a penetrating stare. “Just leave my father alone and keep moving. This is his dog.”

     I wanted to ask him to show me the receipt for the purchase, but decided it would be better to keep my mouth shut. I moved on down the row of cages trying my best to see the charming critters attempting to make sense out of the throng of people staring at them—some actively seeking the mob’s attention, while others sat shaking in the corner of their temporary home. I wondered if this was an impossible journey.

     Then I saw him—a golden brown cocker. “Wow!” I muttered under my breath. “He’s the one.” But there were two other people standing in front of me trying to get his attention. And it appeared as if one of them was talking to a salesperson.

     This can’t be, I thought. Don’t you know he’s mine? I had to make this happen. I hadn’t walked all the way down here in the pouring rain just to miss out on the opportunity to find my future mate—my "forever partner."

     Then I heard what I didn’t want to hear. An attractive young woman, about my age, gushed to the sales clerk, “I think he’s really cute. Can I hold him?”

     “Yes, ma’am. Let me in front of you so I can open the cage door.” The woman slid over and the slender male employee squeezed by her and inserted the key into the lock.

     I began to shake as I saw my chance for future happiness disappearing right before my eyes. I watched the clerk insert the key into the lock. But nothing happened. The door remained closed. He tried another key from the key ring and still the door didn’t budge. Was this an omen—the perky little guy was meant for me? I smiled.

     I didn’t realize the young woman had turned toward me. She smiled back. Oh, my. The smile wasn’t meant for her. But, I figured it was all right—just a friendly gesture, I thought.

     I guess the salesman had tried a number of keys while I was distracted, for he muttered to the young woman, “I think I need to talk to the owner about what to do. None of the keys work. Please wait here. I’ll be back as soon as I get an answer.” He left and headed toward the rear of the store.

     Then I noticed her glancing in my direction again. Her smile seemed broader than before. She’s probably thinking about the wonderful future she’ll have with Jasper II—my Jasper II, I reflected. However, she is pretty. But no, she’s my competitor. I didn’t come here for this. I must keep my distance and figure out my plan of attack. It’s Jasper II I want.

     I became antsy waiting for the clerk to return. I tried not to stare at the cage to catch a glimpse of my dream, but I couldn’t control my craving to do so, and so I did. But all I saw was her gazing in my direction. Her eyes fluttered. She was beautiful.

     But then it came to me. This was her ploy to distract me, to get my mind off Jasper II, so that when the clerk returned she would have the upper hand. Oh, my God! It seemed to be working. I’ve got to refocus on my purpose—what I came here for.

     I pulled myself together and waited for the salesperson to return. It seemed as if it took forever. Then he came around the corner. Following him was the owner of the store. Wow! He hadn’t changed much since I saw him when he sold Jasper to me over fourteen years ago—short and pudgy, with a little less hair, but I’d recognize him anywhere.

     They both approached the cage. “I had to get the boss. He’s the only one with a master key. He’ll get it open for you, sir,” the salesperson declared.

     “Huh, it’s the man who’s going to get my Jasper II,” I whispered. “What about the woman? What about me?” I stood frozen in disbelief at what’d just happened. Then it got worse. The boss removed Jasper II from his jail cell and placed him into the arms of the fifty something, short, balding gentleman, who ran his hands up and town Jasper II’s body, as the pup’s tail wagged back and forth.

     Then the man, now holding Jasper II close to his chest, followed the shop owner to the front of the store to check out. My mind boggled and my eyes glazed over. I wanted to say something like, “This isn’t fair. It’s all wrong. He’s my dog.” But I didn’t.

     As I stood staring at the empty cage, I felt someone touch my arm. I swung around and looked into the eyes of the gorgeous young woman. “You seem so disappointed. But the puppy is going to a good home.”

     “How do you know? And why aren’t you feeling bad about not getting Jasper II?”

     “Jasper? Who’s Jasper?”

     “Oh, don’t mind me. I gave him a name I thought fit him.”

     “To answer your questions, I knew I was second in line to get the pup, so I had to be prepared for not being able to take him home. I spent about twenty minutes talking to the gentleman who did and found him to be good-natured and devoted. I was happy for both of them.”

     “God, you must think I’m pathetic—a real loser.”

     “No, just the opposite. I think you’re warm and caring.”

     I began to blush, as I knew I’d discovered “Love on Lake Avenue,” and I was certain our first furry child would be named Jasper II.

 

 Copyright © 2019 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.