Posts Tagged ‘war wound’

Re-Introducing Colonel Bob, Part 3: From Thereby Hangs A Tail

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March 8th, 2010 Posted 8:04 am

Bernie searched the cabin, went over it on his hands and knees. Something about Bernie – or any human – on hands and knees always got me going so I had to wait outside with Colonel Bob. We walked around the pond. The sun was hot on my back. I paused for a drink.

“Taste good?” said Colonel Bob.

It did. We walked some more. “This PI gig pay at all?” the colonel said. “That car of his looks pretty beat up.” Huh? He was talking about our car, the Porsche? I glanced up at him, saw the faraway look in his eyes. Sometimes humans got that look when they were talking to themselves inside; I was pretty sure of that. And if no other humans were around, sometimes bits of that talk leaked out. Like now, when he stopped and said, “Saved my goddamn life.” He took out a pack of cigarettes and lit up. I loved the smell of cigarette smoke, but Bernie was trying to quit so I didn’t get to enjoy it as much as I’d want. Colonel Bob tossed the match into the pond. “Hell on earth,” the colonel said. The match sizzled. What a sound! The things it did to my ears! Do it again, Colonel Bob!

But he didn’t, just stood by the pond with that inward look, taking deep drags off the cigarette, and soon Bernie came out of the cabin, tucking away the surgical gloves.

“Find anything?” said Colonel Bob.

“Just the spotlessness,” Bernie said.

“Meaning?”

“Don’t know yet,” said Bernie. He glanced at me. “But something not good.”

Colonel Bob held out the cigarette pack like he knew Bernie would take one, and Bernie did. The colonel flipped him the matches. Bernie lit up. I got ready for another sizzle, but it didn’t happen. Instead Bernie blew out the match, shook it a bit, then put it in his pocket.

“Pack in, pack out?” said the colonel.

Bernie shrugged.

“It’s the way to go,” the colonel said. “Wish I had your discipline.”

“Me?” said Bernie. “Discipline?” Was that a new word to Bernie? Sure was to me.

“Yeah,” said Colonel Bob. “You.”

Bernie was silent. They smoked by the side of the pond.

“How’s the leg?” said the colonel.

“Perfect,” said Bernie.

“No ill effects?”

“I was lucky.”

“Sure looked bad that night,” the colonel said. Bernie stayed silent again. “That fuckin’ night,” said the colonel.

“Yeah,” Bernie said.

“Think about it much?”

“Nope,” said Bernie. And then: “Some.”

There was a long silence. The smoke from their cigarettes rose in the still air and slowly mingled. The  colonel said, “Life is pretty good.”

“Yeah,” said Bernie.

Pretty good? Life was great! How could anyone miss that? It was right out there every day.

“We done here?” said the colonel.

“For now,” said Bernie.

“Want to fly us back?”

Huh? Bernie could fly the chopper? He looked at the colonel, a funny expression on his face, and started laughing. The colonel laughed, too. They laughed and laughed, doubled over, laughed till tears came.

“Hey, Chet, down boy. Easy.”

That laughing till tears came thing: always too much for me, but I tried my hardest to stay down.

Bernie wants to follow the Iditarod Race. Any suggestions on how?

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Re-Introducing Colonel Bob (From Thereby Hangs A Tail)

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February 20th, 2010 Posted 9:06 am

I’d never been in a plane, had no desire to, but pilots! They turned out to be great. At least these pilots were. They had a cool lounge beside the runway, with a grill out front. And what was cooking on the grill? Burgers, burgers by the ton! Not sure what by the ton meant, exactly, but anytime it had to do with food good things happened.

“A burger lover, aren’t you, Chet?” said the driver, who maybe was a pilot, too, possibly even the boss; everyone called her Major. And, yes, I was a burger lover, no denying it. “Room for one more?” she said.

What a question.

I had one more, plus part of another I split with the major. After that, someone found a rubber ball and we had a  game of fetch. One of the guys, Colonel Bob – who may in fact have been the top boss, hard to tell, what with the whole pilot world being brand new to me – was a pretty good thrower, his arm almost as strong as Bernie’s.

“Got a set of wheels on you, huh, Chet?” said Colonel Bob.

Wheels? What was he talking about? But I liked Colonel Bob, especially his big red face and short gray hair, cut flat on top. He gave me a nice pat. So did the major. And some of the others. After some more fetch, I got tired – not like me at all, getting tired in the middle of fetch – and lay down in a shady spot overlooking a strange black plane on the runway, scary just to look at. My eyes closed.

“He’d be fun to have around,” someone said.

“Who could afford to feed him?” said someone else.

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Box Canyon Mystery

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June 15th, 2009 Posted 10:14 am

Those ribs Rebecca made – can’t stop thinking about them! 

But – where were we? Oh, yeah. Bernie was talking about how we squeezed out of the back end of that cave and found ourselves on a steep hillside looking down at this strange tiny box canyon. “Only visible from straight up in the air,” Bernie said at the time. “See what that means?”

I did not. All I saw was wreckage way down on the canyon floor: an airplane prop, a wing, other pieces I didn’t know the names for. 

“That’s an old biplane,” Bernie said, “so old it was made of wood. Wonder how long it’s been down there?”

We started down the steep hillside, easy for me, not so easy for Bernie. His war wound bothers him sometimes, but he never talks about it, not even to me.

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The Books



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