Author: Betsy Howard

Publisher: AuthorHouse

Published: 2011-04-28

Total Pages: 833

ISBN-13: 1456726234

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She wasnt a dog anyone wanted. Bald from the nape of her neck to the tip of her tail, she was a scrawny little black dog with little to recommend herself to anyone other than the little tricks she used to perform to amuse people. A loser dog. But then, I wasnt a person anyone wanted either. A loser in the eyes of the world. A neer do well named Jamie Fairchild, who, at the age of forty-one, had tried his luck in many places and invariably had failed. For twenty years, I had become a stranger even to the members of my own immediate family. I didnt want a dog. I wasnt even looking for one. But God has a way of intervening, regardless of our hopes, dreams, and personal wills, not necessarily giving one what one wants but what one needs. Th ey tole me you needed me, Betsy told me. Who told you? My superior offi cers, she smiled, elevating her chin toward heaven. Th ings hasnt been goin so well with ya these past twenty years. I hear tell ya had big dreams once, but you went bust, was homeless jes like me fer awhiles. I also hear tell them folks of yourn aint much of a family. But then, mine twerent neither. I hears ya likes adventure, aint afeerd of takin risks. I aint either. I also hear tell ya likes to perform. I does too. But ya lost your confi dence along the way. Well, Im here to give it back to ya. Before long, Betsy was putting me through my paces. Ah-ten-tion! shed bark at me. Th ats what our C.O. always barked at the fellas I worked with in New Guinea. Saunders was his name. Man, he was a doll, but he could also be one mean sonofabitch, let me tell ya. When Saunders barked them orders, them guys all shot up straight as ramrods. Shoulders up, ass in, chest out. Now, lissen up, Pop. Ah-ten-tion! Git that chin up! What goods it doin hangin down thataways on your collarbone? Well, no one would be able to cuff me under it if its hanging down. Lissen, Pop, she would say. No ones gonna cuff you under the chin. And if they does, Ill take care of em so good, they wont need to wear no shoes! No one messes with a Marine. Not if they know whats good for em. Now lissen up! Chin up! Shoulders back! Ass in! Awkward as these unaccustomed positions felt to me, I complied with her commands. Yeah, her muzzle widened into a grin. Th ats more like it, Daddy. If Betsy had set me onto the road of physical exercise, she also corrected my posture. If it hadnt been for the disciplines that she imposed upon me, Id now be a walking question mark. Why are ya walkin with your shoulders down on your chest? shed bark. You wanna be a hunchback one day? No, I said. Th en stand straight and stop hangin your head, she said. How are ya ever goin to see where youre a-goin lookin down at the ground all the time? You look at the ground when you sniff , Id say. Yeah, but thats only to get the smell of direction. Its in the dog world what you call a map in the human one. But ya caint go nowheres by always lookin at the map. Time comes when youve gotta keep your eye on the road. Th is was the army now, and I had become Private Jamie to Sergeant Betsy. When I would slump down into that easy chair, one of whose armrests she had completely disemboweled, and had sunk into those pointless ruminations about what I should or should not have done so many years before, Betsy would approach my feet and deposit at them the tug o war rope, fall back on her rear haunches, her big brown eyes shining with excited anticipation, her muzzle dropped open in an eager smile. Come on, Dad, lets play. Oh, please, not now, Betsy, Id say. Oh yes, now, she insisted. Come on. What goods settin there goin over things you caint do nuthin bout? When you does stuff like this, youre like me when a fl ea gets on my tail and I keep tryin to bite it off of it, but the more I turns around, that tail jes keep gittin further away from me. Memories is like fl eas, Dad. You chew on em too long, they gets your tail sore. Ya gotta keep your eye on your star. Th eres one up yonder thats yourn and yourn alone. Keep your eye on it, and it wont be forgettin ya. You jes take a hold on my tail, Pop, and Ill take ya to your highest dreams.

Download or read book Portrait of Betsy written by Betsy Howard and published by AuthorHouse. This book was released on 2011-04-28 with total page 833 pages. Available in PDF, EPUB and Kindle. Book excerpt: She wasnt a dog anyone wanted. Bald from the nape of her neck to the tip of her tail, she was a scrawny little black dog with little to recommend herself to anyone other than the little tricks she used to perform to amuse people. A loser dog. But then, I wasnt a person anyone wanted either. A loser in the eyes of the world. A neer do well named Jamie Fairchild, who, at the age of forty-one, had tried his luck in many places and invariably had failed. For twenty years, I had become a stranger even to the members of my own immediate family. I didnt want a dog. I wasnt even looking for one. But God has a way of intervening, regardless of our hopes, dreams, and personal wills, not necessarily giving one what one wants but what one needs. Th ey tole me you needed me, Betsy told me. Who told you? My superior offi cers, she smiled, elevating her chin toward heaven. Th ings hasnt been goin so well with ya these past twenty years. I hear tell ya had big dreams once, but you went bust, was homeless jes like me fer awhiles. I also hear tell them folks of yourn aint much of a family. But then, mine twerent neither. I hears ya likes adventure, aint afeerd of takin risks. I aint either. I also hear tell ya likes to perform. I does too. But ya lost your confi dence along the way. Well, Im here to give it back to ya. Before long, Betsy was putting me through my paces. Ah-ten-tion! shed bark at me. Th ats what our C.O. always barked at the fellas I worked with in New Guinea. Saunders was his name. Man, he was a doll, but he could also be one mean sonofabitch, let me tell ya. When Saunders barked them orders, them guys all shot up straight as ramrods. Shoulders up, ass in, chest out. Now, lissen up, Pop. Ah-ten-tion! Git that chin up! What goods it doin hangin down thataways on your collarbone? Well, no one would be able to cuff me under it if its hanging down. Lissen, Pop, she would say. No ones gonna cuff you under the chin. And if they does, Ill take care of em so good, they wont need to wear no shoes! No one messes with a Marine. Not if they know whats good for em. Now lissen up! Chin up! Shoulders back! Ass in! Awkward as these unaccustomed positions felt to me, I complied with her commands. Yeah, her muzzle widened into a grin. Th ats more like it, Daddy. If Betsy had set me onto the road of physical exercise, she also corrected my posture. If it hadnt been for the disciplines that she imposed upon me, Id now be a walking question mark. Why are ya walkin with your shoulders down on your chest? shed bark. You wanna be a hunchback one day? No, I said. Th en stand straight and stop hangin your head, she said. How are ya ever goin to see where youre a-goin lookin down at the ground all the time? You look at the ground when you sniff , Id say. Yeah, but thats only to get the smell of direction. Its in the dog world what you call a map in the human one. But ya caint go nowheres by always lookin at the map. Time comes when youve gotta keep your eye on the road. Th is was the army now, and I had become Private Jamie to Sergeant Betsy. When I would slump down into that easy chair, one of whose armrests she had completely disemboweled, and had sunk into those pointless ruminations about what I should or should not have done so many years before, Betsy would approach my feet and deposit at them the tug o war rope, fall back on her rear haunches, her big brown eyes shining with excited anticipation, her muzzle dropped open in an eager smile. Come on, Dad, lets play. Oh, please, not now, Betsy, Id say. Oh yes, now, she insisted. Come on. What goods settin there goin over things you caint do nuthin bout? When you does stuff like this, youre like me when a fl ea gets on my tail and I keep tryin to bite it off of it, but the more I turns around, that tail jes keep gittin further away from me. Memories is like fl eas, Dad. You chew on em too long, they gets your tail sore. Ya gotta keep your eye on your star. Th eres one up yonder thats yourn and yourn alone. Keep your eye on it, and it wont be forgettin ya. You jes take a hold on my tail, Pop, and Ill take ya to your highest dreams.