His Dogness

The first time I wrote about Mr. Whitfield in the newspaper, I decided to make it a surprise. I thought he would like it but I couldn’t know for sure. So I was a little nervous about seeing him for the first time after the column came out.

I hoped to see him sooner rather than later in order to get it over with. I thought it might be right away because the weather was nice on that particular Sunday morning. And, when I take His Dogness out on mild days, Mr. Whitfield is often sitting on his front porch. So, when His Dogness and I headed out first thing, I looked over.

Nothing.

I didn’t see him the next few times I was out and about either. By the afternoon, I had more or less forgotten about it. I was at the back of the house hooking up the garden hose when he came up from behind and startled me by saying, “I can’t believe it!” in a voice that had the volume turned up a couple of notches for effect.

When I turned around, he said, “I can’t believe it! I spend all those years developing a reputation for being mean and then you go and write that. People will start getting the idea that I’m nice.”

After that, I didn’t fret about writing about Mr. Whitfield in the newspaper.

With some other people, I have asked beforehand. Sometimes, it’s a yes. Sometimes, it’s a no.

As it was for Sparkle Girl’s mom when I wrote about Sparkle Girl for the first time. She decided that she would rather leave the spotlight to Sparkle Girl. As Sparkle Girl’s younger brother, Doobins, became more verbal- he often greets me at the door with a “Not you again, Kim” – he, too, become a source of amusing anecdotes and joined Sparkle Girl on stage.

Their mother continued to appear only in passing, perhaps as “Sparkle Girl’s mother” or “Doobins’s mother” in a list of those present in the scene being described.

Something that never crossed my mind until it was pointed out to me is that, over time, nothing more than the shadowy presence of an unnamed mother could create the impression that she is not as present in her children’s lives as she might be.

Nothing could be farther from the truth. It would be absurd to suggest that Garnet loves her children more than other mothers love their children. In healthy relationships, each mother’s love is absolute. It’s a love that enables a mother to do a 25-yard-dash in 1.7 seconds when she hears a cry of distress.

And so it is with Garnet. This morning, Doobins, who was washing his hands in the bathroom, let out a cry that made thinking he had been burned by scalding water the only natural conclusion. Garnet was there in an instant, to discover, thank goodness, that his anguish was not physical. Mr. Fastidious had gotten cold water on one sleeve of his shirt. Garnet helped him slide off the offending garment and put on a dry one.

One of the great pleasures of my life is watching Garnet do things for her children. Yesterday, I sat at the kitchen table as she fixed Sparkle Girl a special breakfast. I watched her fry apples, mix them with freshly made white rice and milk, top the concoction with fresh blackberries, sprinkle just enough sugar on the blackberries to temper their tartness and then drizzle honey over everything.

If you had said to me, “If you could be doing anything in the world right now, what would it be?,” I would have said, “I’m doing it.”

Anyway, as of today, we’re making the switch from “Sparkle Girl’s mother” and “Doobins’s mother” to Garnet. You still might not be seeing a lot of Garnet. She thinks I’m a little free with the personal anecdotes so I’m going to try and keep that in mind.