by Tom Schreck
Thirsty’s was a roadhouse on a road that headed out of town. It had a big parking lot, which was good because you could see people coming and going. There were about a half a dozen other cars, mostly pickups and I pulled in and just sat for a while thinking. Thinking about what I was about to do and thinking about the Mary Jo’s of the world. I also thought about the Burrows and Carpenters of the world.
Elvis was doing “I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry” when a big guy with a big handle bar mustache came out the back door and headed toward a maroon pick up. I told Al to stay and I got out of the El Dorado.
“Hey, You Burrows?” I yelled.
He stopped, tried to get his eyes to focus and looked in my direction. Before he could answer a patrol car that I recognized pulled into the parking lot and parked beside us. Kelley got out.
“Hello Officer,” Burrows said. He used that over polite almost mocking tone that cops are familiar with.
“That’s the guy, Kell,” I said.
“You Burrows?” Kelley asked.
“Yes sir,” Burrows said.
“You know anything about a couple of guys conning a woman at a trailer park?”
“Just what I read in the paper, officer,” he said and smiled.
“You mind if I look in your truck?” Kelley asked.
“Officer, I do mind. You have to have probable cause or a warrant to do that. It’s not that I’m trying to be uncooperative but I do believe that is my right.”
Kelley pursed his lips and had one hand on his belt. He stood there thinking, then looked up at me.
“Duffy, I have nothing on this man other than what our friend had to say. I got nothing,” Kelley said.
“Oh, c’mon, Kell...” I said.
“I got nothing, there’s nothing I can do. Let’s go,” Kelley said.
Burrows smiled and then started to giggle. He knew, we knew and he knew he was getting away with it.
“You go ahead, Kell,” I said.
“Duff—”
“Go ahead,” I said with more force.
“Duff—”
“Kell, Go”.
Kelley has known me for years and he does his best to keep me out of trouble. He also knows that there are times that he has to let me go. When he sees me go off, he calls it “Going Duffy” on somebody.
Kelley got in his squad car and started to pull away slowly and then hit the gas. It was me and Burrows.
“Who the fuck are you?”
He was standing tall and acting the badass now. “Yeah, I took the crazy bitch’s shit. What the fuck are you going to do about it? Nobody’s got anything on me, nobody can prove anything and no one can do anything.” He started to laugh and he slammed the door to his truck.
I didn’t let him set his feet after he slammed the door. I rushed him and cocked my left and drove it as hard as I could into his chest. He was back on his heels and wasn’t ready and I could feel the air leave him when my knuckles hit his breastplate. He fell back into the front fender and I threw a hook with my right hand that landed on his ear. He yelled in pain and fell on his back. I put my knee on his chest and straddled him. Then I made a tigers mouth with my right hand—an old karate move—and grabbed his thorax.
“Listen close. You feel where my hand is? I squeeze and pull and you’re fuckin’ dead.”
His eyes were as wide as they could get but nothing came out of his mouth.
“Where’s Mary Jo’s money and stuff?”
I let up just enough pressure so he could say “Truck”.
I let go of him and saw a neatly taped up box in the flatbed. He was still on the ground trying to get his breathing to catch up with him when I went over and put my knee back on his chest.
“Is that all of it?” I said. He nodded. “You sure?” I said. He nodded.
“Give me her money.”
He scurried to get his hands in his pockets and gave me a wad of twenties.
“That’s it, I swear,” Burrows half cried.
I loaded the box in the back seat next to Al, keeping an eye on Burrows. He half sat up propping himself up on an elbow.
“Who the hell are you?” he said.
I was just about to get in the El Dorado and I looked at Burrows and shook my head. I smiled just a little on one side of my mouth.
“Just a fan,” I said.
It was 3 in the morning and I still had to drive to Schorie. I didn’t doubt for a second that I should drive out to see Mary Jo right away. The adrenaline was still pumping through me so there was no chance of me sleeping anyway.
Al was already asleep in the backseat next to the box, not so much as a guard dog as he was a roommate. Elvis was singing “I’ll Hold You in My Heart” as the El Dorado whistled down Route 88. I was already a half an hour into the trip when it dawned on me that I hadn’t even checked the box.
I hit my blinker and pulled over to the shoulder. It was still humid and there was a mist of clouds hanging along the ground. The dome light barely shown any light but it was the best I had. I kneeled on my front seat and gently pulled back the flaps of the cardboard. On top of the box was a bowling trophy, a cheap Hummel figurine and then some loose silverware. Just below it was a neatly folded white shiny piece of fabric.
I carefully lifted the few items and placed them on the back seat. Al lifted his eyes looked at me, verified that I had no food and went back to sleep. There, lying on top of the box was a neatly folded white scarf with an “Elvis Presley” signature silk screened in the bottom corner. I decided not to touch it and to return to Mary Jo exactly how she left it.
I stared at it for a long time.
I turned and put the Cadillac into drive. “If I Can Dream” came on and I felt something come over me. Maybe it was the fatigue or the settling of an over amped nervous system finally cooling down but whatever it was it came over me. There was something right about tonight. There was something important about restoring someone’s faith and whether or not Elvis Presley as a person was any more important than anyone else, whatever he stood for or represented to people certainly was. Something told me if you asked him he would’ve laughed and made a joke and that was part of it too.
Special just is and it doesn’t have to be explained.
Elvis and I dueted on “The Impossible Dream” and we we’re half way through “Bridge over Troubled Water” when I felt something nose away my arm off the elbow rest. Al was making his trek to the front seat as he often did but he kept heading toward my lap like he wanted to sit on me. The motor vehicle department frowns on keeping an 85-pound hound on your lap while driving but it’s hard to push one off with one arm while going 65 miles per hour.
Abruptly, Al stopped his pushing and when I gave him a good forearm shove he fell over the elbow rest and lay on his back with all four legs pointing straight up. He immediately began to snore. The 8-track came to end and for the first time I noticed the scarf resting in my lap.
The same one Elvis had around his neck. The same one that I didn’t think I should touch. The same one that now had just a little bit of Basset Hound drool on it.
Well, I figured, it’s been touched. I smiled. I thought of Elvis and I thought of him laughing. I reached into the 8-track case, grabbed the Madison Square Garden tape and cued to the only song I could think of. Then, as Elvis was singing about a particular canine that wasn’t successful at catching little cottontail creatures, I slipped the scarf around my neck. Al woke up, looked at me and started barking. We were pulling into the trailer park and Al was doing that shuffle thing with his feet that he does when he wants out of the Cadillac. He was barking like a crazy dog.
I opened the door and looked at the streetlights reflecting off the fog that had settled all around Mary Jo’s trailer. Al ran ahead barking and running, running and barking and leaped into her door. He backed up and did it again. I walked slowly behind him.
A light went on and a backlit figure appeared in the doorway. The silhouette carried a shotgun.
“Who the he
ll—Sherlock?” Mary Jo’s voice calmed.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“Hey, Mary Jo,” I said.
I stepped into the glow of her stoop light. “I got something for you”.
“Duffy?”
I walked up her front steps and took the scarf off from around my neck. With both hands I held it up to the light. Then, I placed it around her neck.
“Don’t ever, ever, ever, let anyone take away that special feeling,” I said and kissed her gently on the cheek.
She opened her mouth but nothing came out. Tears ran down her cheeks and she wiped them with the scarf. Al jumped up on her side and kept barking. Mary Jo had her hand over her mouth and was shaking but her tears slipped away and she was smiling ear to ear.
She looked at me. Without even trying my lipped curled. There wasn’t anything left to say and I decided just to go.
I turned and headed back to the car. Al followed behind. Elvis hadn’t left the building. And he never, ever will.
* * *
Elvis: singer of
great talent; a lover of
hound dogs; my hero!
—Ginny Tata-Phillips
Photo: Elvis courtesy of GABR
* * *
Rescue Organizations: New England Basset Hound Rescue
By Tom
Despite my hatred for the Boston Red Sox I have nothing but love for the really cool people who, unfortunately, have to share the state of Massachusetts. New England Basset Hound Rescue, which covers Rhode Island, Maine and Connecticut, is an organization that is made up of some first class hound people.
In getting to know rescue people I’ve taken note of some things. I’ve noticed an intense love for Basset Hounds that brings with it some distinct personality traits. Rescuers are committed, patient, fearless, intense, and they always seem to have a good sense of humor. They also are persistent.
Take the case of the Basset, Frankie. Frankie is a Basset who just ran into a streak of bad luck through no fault of his own. He was actually “rescued” from a pet store. The local animal control officer saw him in his retail cage and didn’t want him going to the wrong place so he talked the store manager into selling him at a discount. The officer then got him to NEBHR who placed him in a good home. Then the couple had a baby and they realized Frankie was not getting the attention he deserved. You see Frankie started to develop an appetite for rocks which led to three surgeries. The couple couldn’t afford another one. Frankie got put up for adoption.
Lucky Frankie got another home with a loving mom who took real good care of him. Not-so-lucky Frankie developed an ear-infection problem. Now, anyone who knows Bassets know those great ears often cause some great troubles and ear infections come with hound territory. Frankie’s ears were way worse than usual. His mom, who loved him so lost her job right around the same time Frankie got a scary ear diagnosis.
Turns out Frankie was going to need some more serious surgery and some seriously expensive prescriptions. His mom just couldn’t swing it. Frankie got sent back to NEBHR one more time.
Now, you should know what happens at cool rescue places. Folks don’t get discouraged they just keep on keepin’ on. Frankie got placed in a foster home to be taken care of. He didn’t miss out on any lovin’ during the process—he just needed a forever home.
Sometimes I think Basset Hound rescue folks get a little help from upstairs, if you know what I mean. I think because rescuers are swimming in good karma good things seem to miraculously happen. In Frankie’s case he hit the karma jackpot.
You see Frankie’s foster mom just happened to take him to work at a job where it just happened to be okay to bring your hound to work. At that gig a delivery guy with a big heart happened to make a delivery one day. Turns out he’s a Basset guy who just happened to have a couple at home already. And it just happened that the delivery guy, being like every other Basset nut in the world, knows one or two Bassets aren’t nearly enough.
Well, our delivery guy fell in love and started to think about number three. He started to ask around about Frankie. It just so happened to be the case that the two were meant for each other. Today, Frankie’s ears are fine, he lives like a king in a house with plenty of human and Basset company and he acts like a hound who has had it good his whole life.
Why? Because he has it good. Hey, sometimes life makes it hard to have a hound. Thank God for rescue organizations that can keep transitions smooth and loving for hounds who need a hand.
Persistence and not giving up on a fine hound made all the difference in Frankie’s life .
And maybe a little luck, some divine intervention and a whole lotta good karma didn’t hurt either.
* * *
The yin and the yang
of the Basset body parts
always fit somehow.
—Ginny Tata-Phillips
Photo: Pete & Hannah by Ginny Tata-Phillips
* * *
Ed. Note—I was in the process of interviewing the folks at Basset Hound Rescue of Ontario and they sent me this from their newsletter. After reading it I knew there was no way I could improve on it. Instead I got permission from Shawn to reprint it.
A Sad, Yet Happy Tail: A Tribute to Dreyfuss
By Shawn Leslie
An Angel in Return: Dreyfuss’ Story
One cold winter’s day, three years ago, Basset Hound Rescue of Ontario (BHRO) was called upon to help a poor, old soul in need. Dreyfuss, a 10 year old basset was slated to be euthanized, merely for becoming old and being a burden to the family he was loyal to his entire life.
As Dreyfuss entered that veterinarian’s office trembling, he may have sensed his life was about to end before his time, as his family requested he be euthanized. But it is unlikely that Dreyfuss could have imagined how many angels he had in the wings that would ensure he went on to live his life to the fullest.
Dreyfuss’ first angel was the vet that could have simply taken the steps and carried out the wishes of his family, but instead he saw in Dreyfuss’ eye, the spark of a basset gent that had much more life to live and urged the family to allow the clinic to contact Basset Hound Rescue of Ontario (BHRO).
Phyllis Stapells, founder, and tireless volunteer of BHRO, was to become angel number two to enter Dreyfuss’ life. Without hesitation Phyllis opened her home to Dreyfuss, a safe haven for him to go, buying time for more miracles to come his way.
It wasn’t long before Dreyfuss would meet his most prized angels, Lynne and Lloyd Coddington, former BHRO adopters, with a soft spot in their hearts for the less fortunate, older hounds that find themselves without a family to love. One call was all it took and within an hour the Coddington’s were making a five hour round trip to bring Dreyfuss home… not counting getting lost on the return trip and detouring to a Tim Horton’s for timbit snacks for Dreyfuss… just the start of the spoiling he was about to experience for years to come. Dreyfuss was to be Lynne and Lloyd’s foster dog until BHRO could have him checked out thoroughly by a veterinarian.
Angel blessings for Dreyfuss did not end with the Coddington’s, but continued with countless BHRO volunteers who worked tirelessly to raise funds to ensure Dreyfuss received the best medical care when it was discovered he had a treatable heart condition. Dreyfuss even had himself a little angel, my then six year old daughter, Brooklynn, who emptied her piggy bank and hand delivered her coin offerings, carefully wrapped in tin foil, telling the Coddington’s it was to help Dreyfuss to get better. Despite his newly discovered medical condition, Dreyfuss had worked his magic on the Coddington’s and quicker than drool can hit the floor he became a permanent member of their family.
For the next three years Dreyfuss lived an envious life, showered with love, and gave as much in return to all he met. Dreyfuss was honoured in 2004 as the first amBASSETdor at the Basset Bustle Picnic, proudly wearing his regal cape as he rode along in a BMW… this boy had come a long way!
As much love and affection that was bestowed upon Dreyfuss, he too
gave in return, not only as faithful companion to Lynne and Lloyd, but to all the foster children that find refuge in their home. Much has been documented about the positive effects of animals on people with special needs, and although Dreyfuss only donned his regal cape that one day, he went on to be the perfect amBASSETdor to all the children he undoubtedly touched during his journey through life.
I too was fortunate to spend some quality time with Dreyfuss, as his doggie sitter while the Coddington’s traveled. Although I knew Dreyfuss was living the “good life”, it wasn’t until his first stay with me that I fully realized just how good. Dreyfuss arrived with more stuff than I suspect Lynne and Lloyd packed for themselves for their weeklong trip south. Some dogs arrive to stay with me with just their leash and a bag of food, Dreyfuss arrived with a picnic cooler full of homemade food, a bed big enough to make any Great Dane envious, enough written instructions to wallpaper a room and his very own “Dog Tracks” CD of calming music for him to sleep to, just to name a few. With so much stuff, if I didn’t know the Coddington’s better, I would have wondered if they were ever coming back for him.
With the help of all his angels, Dreyfuss was able to live life to the fullest, enjoying countless days basking in the sun, mastering his Bassetdom to get whatever his heart desired, using those big, brown eyes to his every advantage—just truly enjoying his senior years.
