by Linda Seals
Betty left the next afternoon, amid hugs and thank you’s, after she and I took Patsy Cline on a walk down by the river one more time before Patsy went back to the ranch. We spotted a great blue heron standing bank side in the shallow water as Patsy waded in. I tried to keep her out of the mud, since I knew Carol Griffin was coming in to take her back and I didn’t want to mess up Carol’s truck upholstery with a wet, slimy dog. By the time we walked back home in the August heat, she was dry anyway.
Soon after Betty left, Carol showed up and Patsy jumped up on the front seat of her truck as if it were her rightful place in dogdom. As they drove off, Patsy Cline stuck her head out of the truck window, looking excited for adventure, her black-spotted tongue lolling out. I was reminded of an observation Shannon had shared one afternoon after work, when the crew and I sat out on the back steps and rested with iced drinks after a hot day. The dogs were thrilled to have company, so they were squirming around the group looking for attention. Shannon was fond of the dogs, and had remarked to us that Patsy always seemed primed for action, ready to take on the world. Thinking of the crew, I remembered I needed to call my crew chief Liz.
Liz “I’m Italian!” Burzachiello had worked with me for a few years, and we made a good team. Although she was small of stature, she was incredibly fit. Liz was also steady, funny, and easygoing; and very much a twin.
Her twin sister, Louie Burzachiello, was as opposite in nature as could be imagined. Although the two of them looked disconcertingly identical to the eye, their mental and social attributes were unalike. I’d had Louie on the crew a couple of times, and found her to be delightful, a hard worker, and opinionated. The sisters were converse personalities, but always connected at their cores.
Liz first wanted to tell me about the hikes she and her partner, Emma Johanssen, had enjoyed, and it sounded as if they had walked most of the foothills west of town that weekend. I was only in my late fifties, but endurance hikes were never my thing, even in my thirties, so it didn’t sound appealing.
“I hope you’re not too tired from all your fun. We have the Cramers’ project next week and—” I said.
“I know, I know! It’s all you’ve been obsessing about for days,” she said.
The news about Shannon made obsessing about work seem trivial, I realized. So I told Liz the sad story of Shannon’s death, and we spent some time in silence as Liz digested the news. We shared some stories about working with Shannon, and then Liz rung off so she could call Emma, at work resolving a software issue, as usual.
