No-Name washed up back when I was living in the Bywater, recovering from Cheryl and other binges.\u00a0 He came strutting down the middle of the street, waggling his cock like a jig lure, this piss-eyed, drool-fanged mongrel, built like a hyena only half the size and also hairless.\u00a0 Somebody\u2019s got to legislate that, I thought as I looked on from the kitchen window, but by the time I popped the shells into my twelve gauge and stepped onto the porch, he was curled up on my inflatable couch, licking his paws like hygiene was a thing he valued.<\/p>\n
I took pity.\u00a0 That was my first mistake, letting him crash in the garage until I located the owners.\u00a0 His tags read N_W__X09_1_977 so I scanned the yellow pages for numbers ending in 977 and kept my eyes peeled for flyers and thought about the reward money and what I\u2019d do with it.\u00a0 I even posted my own flyers, such as, \u201cFOUND: ONE SAD MUTT,\u201d but we only had one taker, this slick uptowner in a sportcoat, dude drove a Porsche.\u00a0 He told me No-Name didn\u2019t fit the description, not even close, and also to get him vaccinated for rabies.<\/p>\n
\u201cPal,\u201d I said, \u201cAre you some kind of veterinarian?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cA veterinarian-in-training perhaps?\u201d<\/p>\n
He said he was a lawyer. Samuels.\u00a0 Setson, maybe.\u00a0 He looked a little depressed about that, so I offered him a beer.\u00a0 We sat on the porch, talked dog-owning\/drawbacks thereof as the sun fell behind the billboards.\u00a0 I felt strangely important, as if a duke had come to visit, and welcomed his foreign opinions with studious nods.\u00a0 At some point, Stetson gave me some alimony advice, which I probably should\u2019ve written down.\u00a0 Story of my life, you might say.<\/p>\n
As for No-Name, we tolerated one another.\u00a0 Judging from the scars on his snout, he didn\u2019t know how to eat without scrapping for it, so I slid his Big Burgers through a doggy door I\u2019d kicked in the drywall.\u00a0 After a month or so, I let him out of the garage.\u00a0 He listened to CDs with me in the den, and slept ostrich style under the recliner, and never once did he drink from my beer, like if I passed out on the couch, which is more than I can say for Cheryl.\u00a0 On weekends, I walked him along the levee, let him sniff whatever he felt like sniffing, and once we even went camping on the Redheart River.\u00a0 No-Name loped along the river bank, chasing dragonflies and turtles and tubers with a big doggy smile on his face.\u00a0 Then, last Wednesday, he died.<\/p>\n
The taxidermist said No-Name would set me back a grand.\u00a0 I asked him to quit messing with me.\u00a0 That\u2019s half my monthly income, minus any pull on the aboveground circuit.\u00a0 So I tried the discount taxidermist across town but he quoted me higher.\u00a0 Yakked away about replacement skins, fiberglass mounts, German tanning chemicals.\u00a0\u00a0 I stopped him before he finished outlining the fine selection of fire alarms, explained how I\u2019d gotten used to No-Name, how you tolerate something long enough, it becomes normal, and was it so much to ask for affordable normalcy?<\/p>\n
\u201cI feel you.\u201d\u00a0 The taxidermist slid a brochure across the counter.\u00a0 It was titled The Power of Pet Prayer<\/em>.\u00a0 On the cover, a haloed golden retriever pawed at a white staircase. \u201cYou might flip through there,\u201d he suggested, \u201c I can\u2019t budge on the price.\u00a0 But sometimes price isn\u2019t the real issue.\u201d<\/p>\n I told him what I thought about that.<\/p>\n \u201cSir,\u201d he replied, \u201cI\u2019m sorry about your loss, very sorry.\u00a0 You\u2019re free to take your business elsewhere.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s just what you\u2019d prefer, ain\u2019t it?\u00a0 Send me off to one of your so-called competitors?\u00a0 Collect a handsome finder\u2019s fee?\u00a0 I think not.\u00a0 I won\u2019t stand for no conspiratorial taxidopoly.\u201d<\/p>\n I wouldn\u2019t stand for it, not in this America.\u00a0 I stormed out, knocking over a revolving postcard kiosk that had no right being there, but driving south on St. Claude, I started to feel like a cheapskate, like maybe his prices weren\u2019t so unreasonable.\u00a0 It was the middle of the day, the sun softening the asphalt.\u00a0 On the neutral ground one of these chronically unemployable south-siders was out walking his Rotweiler.\u00a0 I pulled onto the shoulder, asked him how much he planned to shell out when Butch there died.\u00a0 He looked at me like I was speaking Siamese.<\/p>\n Right idea, wrong audience.\u00a0 What I needed was a professional opinion.<\/p>\n As luck would have it, Mr. Nakayama was on his lunch break at Fifer\u2019s.\u00a0 Naki works as a secondhand garments speculator, serves on the side as a licensed reverend in the Church of Unified Solace.\u00a0 We split a few pitchers over my No-Name dilemma, and Mr. Nakayama made the following observations, which he was generous enough to scribble on a napkin:<\/p>\n \u2014No-Name was a no good dog, on account of the mange, the depression, the temper, and the halitosis.\u00a0 If you hadn\u2019t put him out of his misery, he probably would\u2019ve himself.<\/p>\n \u2014The average human funeral costs twelve hundred dollars.\u00a0 Would it not be both disrespectful and wasteful to spend twelve hundred dollars on a canine funeral?\u00a0\u00a0 Furthermore, given your financial situation, taxidermy would significantly decrease the range of your own post-life possibilities.<\/p>\n \u2014Of No-Name\u2019s remaining options\u2014incineration, ground-burial, burial-at-sea\u2014ground burial is the most preferable, as stipulated by chapter seven of CUS doctrine, thereby raising his chances for admission into circle nine.<\/p>\n \u2014If ground burial is indeed No-Name\u2019s chosen path, it might be wisest to find a place No-Name enjoyed, or perhaps belonged.\u00a0 Only then might he secure a place in after-life\u2019s kennel.<\/p>\n I should mention Mr. Nakayama and myself, we don\u2019t always see eye to eye, for example, when he contested my candidacy for mayor, or brain-fucked my sister with that fundamentalist CUS voodoo, but on the whole he\u2019s got some handy perspectives.\u00a0 To be specific, ground-burial did<\/em> seem like the second best option, and once we settled on the Redheart, I liked the idea even more, to imagine if No-Name was still living\u2014which, obviously, he wasn\u2019t\u2014he might recall what a decent time we had there.\u00a0 Who knows if dog memory works that way, but mine does, and I\u2019m the one left remembering.<\/p>\n In retrospect, that was my second mistake.\u00a0 Not necessarily following Mr. Nakayama\u2019s advice, but doing so without consulting someone trained in the mortuary sciences.\u00a0 The exit for the state park was not where I remembered, and after two hours on the interstate, the cooler was sloshing in the backseat, flooding my truck with an odor I would describe as dead wet dog.\u00a0 I rolled down the windows.\u00a0 Somebody was burning leaves in a nearby pasture.\u00a0 The smoke stung my eyes, making it difficult to hold my lane.\u00a0 In my concentration, I failed to notice the police cruiser parked behind an underpass.\u00a0 Strike three.<\/p>\n Now this officer looked young enough to be my son.\u00a0 Not a single follicle on his upper lip and I swear that badge was tinfoil.<\/p>\n \u201cLicense and registration,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n \u201cYou know it\u2019s a lucky thing I found you.\u00a0 I\u2019m lost is the problem.\u00a0 These highways are one big d\u00e9j\u00e0 vu.\u201d<\/p>\n He told me it was no excuse for driving that slow.<\/p>\n \u201cI couldn\u2019t agree more\u2026Officer Boulder, is it? \u00a0Live and learn, as they say.\u00a0 Boulder\u2014did I pronounce that right?\u00a0 Say I used to know a Boulder\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cPlease step out of the vehicle,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n I volunteered my license, braced for the ceremonial pat down.\u00a0 Afterwards, Boulder asked if I\u2019d been drinking.<\/p>\n Trick question.\u00a0 Anyone who concerns themselves with civil liberties in the state of Mississippi will know that legal code 60-30-11 directly contradicts the Fifth Amendment, which guarantees that no man shall forcably self-incriminate.\u00a0 I was under no obligation to answer, nor was I required to subject myself to a breathalyzer, that unconstitutional (not to mention inaccurate) vessel of oppression.\u00a0 Furthermore, technically speaking, even if<\/em> I registered a BAC of .08% or above, there was no way of knowing whether I\u2019d just been knocking back Scotch or preventing gingivitis.<\/p>\n \u201cI know the laws,\u201d Boulder said.<\/p>\n I debated him on that.<\/p>\n \u201cMr. Hester,\u201d he replied.\u00a0 \u201cYou\u2019re under arrest on the suspicion of driving under the influence.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOh yeah?\u201d\u00a0 I might have taken him more seriously if he looked a day over twenty.\u00a0 \u201cI got a lawyer who\u2019d beg to differ.\u00a0 Ever heard the name Stetson?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cPut your hands on your head.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOr what?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDon\u2019t make this harder than it needs to be.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhy,\u201d I said, in more colorful language.\u00a0 Then he hit, me right in the jaw.\u00a0 I couldn\u2019t believe my luck.<\/p>\n \u201cStetson ain\u2019t going to like this one bit,\u201d I shouted as he shoved me onto the hood.\u00a0 \u201cNo sir, I bruise like a banana.\u00a0 He\u2019ll bust your ass on brutality.\u00a0 You\u2019ll be pushing paperwork until retirement.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThat,\u201d he replied, pointing to my blooming welt, \u201cwas already there.\u201d<\/p>\n Touch\u00e9.<\/p>\n The Jaspar County Jail was not much to speak of, a sorry looking bunker that butted up to the courthouse.\u00a0 I went with righteous rage for the mugshot, it turned out well, but bail was another story.\u00a0 Boulder slapped me with resisting arrest, a cocked up charge in my opinion\u2014questioning arrest, maybe, doubting arrest, sure, but resisting seemed a little strong.\u00a0 Objections aside, I had a lone phone call problem on my hands.\u00a0 Normally, I would have buzzed Naki, but most of his money is tied up in silver, and as for my sister, let\u2019s just say I was unprepared to accept her conditions\u00ad.\u00a0 I only knew one other person with that kind of capital, an upstanding woman of cherubic countenance, whose beauty was matched only by her generosity, a woman who\u2014<\/p>\n \u201cCut the crap,\u201d Cheryl said, in that way of hers.\u00a0 On the other end, I could have sworn I heard the pok-pok of tennis racquets.\u00a0 \u201cHow much do you need?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cLow five figures.\u201d<\/p>\n She sucked her teeth.\u00a0 \u201cWhat did you do?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cLong story.\u201d I told her about No-Name, the taxidermists, my burial plans and subsequent detainment.\u00a0 Actually, it wasn\u2019t a long story at all.<\/p>\n \u201cI can\u2019t give you ten thousand dollars.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBorrow.\u00a0 There\u2019s a difference.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNot that you\u2019re aware of.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI am a changing man,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n \u201cI wish I could help,\u201d she said with a long sad sigh.\u00a0 \u201cMy answer is no.\u201d\u00a0 But here\u2019s the skinny on Cheryl\u2014no matter how much she denies it, she has thing for the downtrodden, for the diseased and delinquent, because not three hours later, who should come waltzing into the booking area gussied up like a ghost-flick starlet?\u00a0 She looked good, always had, even before the surgeries.\u00a0 And that afternoon, as Cheryl sweet-talked the deputies and flaunted her apple-hard calves, her eyes seemed greener than I remembered, her hair, bouncier, her tits, sweeter than soft serve. Within minutes, she flirted them down to disorderly conduct, though, in all honesty, the fuzz probably were probably more than happy to send me packing.<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019re welcome,\u201d Cheryl said afterwards in the car, by which I mean Mercedes, flush with the scent of six-figure leather.<\/p>\n \u201cLook at you,\u201d I said, fiddilng with the seat warmer.\u00a0 \u201cAll grown up.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDon\u2019t touch that.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHey what happened to your tattoo?\u201d\u00a0 Washed from the nape of her neck: One palm tree swaying on a sleepy spit of sand, the brainchild of honeymoon bourbon.<\/p>\n \u201cMike took care of that years ago.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI forgot about Dr. Skin,\u201d I said.\u00a0 \u201cSaving the world one pimple at a time.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt beats cleaning pools.\u00a0\u00a0 Besides, I thought you hated Paradise.\u201d<\/p>\n That was true.\u00a0 Too idyllic for my liking.\u00a0 Too permanent.\u00a0 \u201cThe color was off.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt doesn\u2019t matter now.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOr maybe symmetry was the problem.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cLet it go,\u201d she said.\u00a0 I tried, but when Cheryl turned on the radio, some country crooner was laying it on thick.\u00a0 For a moment, it bought me back to bygone roadtrips, the two of us on airier terms, north to Memphis, or St. Louis, even as far as Chicago, when I was too young to see the storm clouds up ahead, too young to care.\u00a0 But what can you do?\u00a0 It\u2019s like Naki always says: Hindsight is 20\/40.<\/p>\n \u201cAre we close,\u201d Cheryl asked.<\/p>\n \u201cGood question.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou don\u2019t remember?\u201d<\/p>\n To remember, I explained, you have to pay attention in the first place, and in the first place, I was already lost.<\/p>\n \u201cTypical Ray.\u00a0 You never finish anything you started.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI finished our marriage.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAnd it took you how long to sign off?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDetails.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThree years,\u201d she said, which, I Cheryl time, is yesterday.\u00a0 But I\u2019ll give her that one. Closure has never been my strong suit.\u00a0 When No-Name stopped eating, I couldn\u2019t bring myself to get him checked out.\u00a0 I tried ginger ale, six different cuts of steak, a splash of Pepto.\u00a0 He wouldn\u2019t even raise his head.\u00a0 In the end, I didn\u2019t know how to say goodbye, so I didn\u2019t.\u00a0 I just crept up behind him and squeezed the trigger.\u00a0 Quick and painless.\u00a0 That\u2019s how I\u2019d want to go.\u00a0 Maybe I should have rubbed his belly, or taken his picture, or thought more about the mess, but you can\u2019t live your life looking backwards, otherwise you\u2019ll run into something.<\/p>\n It was another half an hour before we found my car.\u00a0 Cheryl laughed when she saw the vultures perched on my hood.\u00a0\u00a0 If the stench was bad before, stir in the midday sun, marinade for hours, and well, you can imagine.<\/p>\n \u201cThis is as far as I go,\u201d she said, pinching her nose.<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019ve done enough already.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMore than enough.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cCall me sometime,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n \u201cYeah right.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDon\u2019t miss me too much,\u201d I said before planting one square on her cheek, which must have struck a chord.\u00a0 I say that because after I fended off the buzzards, after the backdraft hit me like a mouthful of mace, after I dragged the cooler down the embankment and scoured the floodplain for a suitable resting place, Cheryl emerged from the dusk with a gallon of drugstore lemonade.<\/p>\n \u201cYou call that a grave?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019re next,\u201d I said.\u00a0 \u201cYou know some people wouldn\u2019t even dig a grave.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSome people wouldn\u2019t even go to the trouble.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s getting dark,\u201d she said, sitting on a nearby stump, \u201cyou should hurry,\u201d and I did,\u00a0 I sunk my shovel into the soft clay again and again until my arms burned, and it was good, not just giving No-Name the peace he deserved, but having someone there to bear witness.<\/p>\n No-Name washed up back when I was living in the Bywater, recovering from Cheryl and other binges.\u00a0 He came strutting down the middle of the street, waggling his cock like a jig lure, this piss-eyed, drool-fanged mongrel, built like a hyena only half the size and also hairless.\u00a0 Somebody\u2019s got to legislate that, I thought […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":22,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"spay_email":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_is_tweetstorm":false},"categories":[12],"tags":[20],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p6Jypy-23z","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7909"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/22"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=7909"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7909\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":10201,"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7909\/revisions\/10201"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=7909"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=7909"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=7909"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}Edward Helfers<\/a><\/h6>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"