Slick's Story

As a new widower, I increasingly found myself playing hours of solitaire on the computer, unable to cope with even the simplest of tasks. Lucky, my Labrador Retriever was my constant companion, seeming to sense my pain. On the days when I could gather the strength to drive to my office, Lucky would come with me. He did more to ease my transition back to a fully functioning human being than anything else.

As time diminished my pain, I immersed myself in the business of writing and finding oil and gas. I often needed to leave Lucky at home to conduct the business that I had neglected for nearly two years and quickly learned the big boy did not like being alone.

It got to the point that I would have to sneak out of the house in the mornings. I do not take guilt well and was already shouldering an accumulated load. At least, that is how I felt. I tried to compensate for my daily absences by overfeeding him. I had already gained twenty-five pounds myself.

One day, on a trip to the local pet store, I found what I thought was the solution to my problem. As it turned out it was the start of many new issues. A local pet group was adopting out dogs and cats. There were many people there and it seemed like every one of them was standing in front of a single cage. When I investigated, I saw why.

Slick was a full blood Gordon Setter. For those of you that have not heard of the breed, a Gordon Setter looks like a small, black Irish Setter. Gordon Setters are Scottish in origin. What a gorgeous dog! I adopted him on the spot before anyone else could get their clutches on him. Here is the perfect companion for Lucky. It will end his separation anxiety. At least that is what I thought.

Slick and Lucky did hit it off, just like brothers. What I soon learned was that Slick liked to run. I also learned he could jump a chain link fence and climb over a stockade fence. I came to expect a message on my answering machine when I got home saying, "I have your dog Slick. Can you come and get him?"

Get him I did for nearly a year. Three boys rode bikes in the neighborhood and when Slick saw them, he would jump the fence and chase after their bikes. The doorbell would eventually ring, the boys bringing Slick home for the night. One evening I answered a knock on the door. It was the boy's mother.

"We just love your dog and he spends more time with us than he does at your house."

"Are you asking me to give Slick to you?"

She was and I did. I loved him but their whole family also loved him and he had two boys and their sister that adored him. It was just Lucky and me again. I began taking him wherever I went, even on a 360-mile trip to Louisiana. Then one day the pump went out on my pool. A friendly puppy came up to me as I was talking with the people at the pool repair and maintenance place.

"What a great little dog," I said.
"Then you better take her. The boss told us to throw her out on Western Avenue at five before we go home. She's just a stray.”

I was horrified. I took the puppy home with me, intending to post a note at the vet and give her away. That never happened. Within a day or so, I found myself permanently attached. So was Lucky. Velvet is the dog on the back cover of all my books. Slick still lives nearby. He often dropped by to see Lucky and me but his visits became less frequent as the years passed.

Not long ago, one of the boys dropped by the house and brought Slick with him. James is now twenty-four and Slick much older also. Lucky is twelve and we estimated Slick’s age at fourteen.

“Mom doesn’t want to take a chance on having the tumor on his chin removed. She loves him more than anyone does. He’s getting old and doesn’t run as much as he used to,” James said.

I understood how James’ mom felt.

“It doesn’t matter how fast you are when you reach our age,” I said, patting Slick’s head. “You still get to where you’re going, sooner or later.”

Louisiana Mystery Writer