I awoke way too early this morning. It was still dark. This morning, I was missing my late bloodhound.
Last year around this time, she was still alive, and she would sit beside me while I fiddled with the coffee pot. But she’s not here. Pancreatitis took her.
I’ll never forget it, last year we checked her into the pet hospital, they put her in one of those cones. They locked her in a cage. They shoved needles in her.
I was able to wedge my hand through the kennel door to pet her nose. It was the last time I ever saw her.
My mother always told me, “Don’t just tell someone you love them, write it down for them, then they can remember it always.”
Too bad dogs can’t read.
But then, Mama was full of country wisdom. I think she was a little like your Mama, Clark.
She’s the one who told me: “A bumblebee is faster than a John Deere.”
And: “Never judge a family tree by the nuts falling off it.”
And: “If you ever start to think you’re somebody, try telling a house cat what to do.”
Anyway, the reason I am writing you is because yesterday afternoon I opened the mailbox to find several bills, junk mail, real estate advertisements, and one manila envelope with no return address. Inside was an Action Comics comic book.
“Great Ceasar’s Ghost!” I thought to myself.
It took me back in time. I used to subscribe to Action Comics when I was a boy. I kept my subscription until I was 27 years old.
You were my childhood obsession. This began in earnest the week after my father’s funeral. My friend brought me a stack of your comics he’d gotten at a flea market for a few bucks.
There must’ve been a hundred…