A Fish Story

Back when I was living in West Virginia, I went fishing one day with my friend Ted and his son, Chuck. We went down to Back Creek, which was near my home and we ended up at this spot that was known locally as "The Waterfront". Yeah, you got me, but that's what the hillbillies called it. Anyway, "The Waterfront" consists of a high cliff wall that was an easy climb down to the creek below. Back Creek was deep enough in this spot to be a popular swimming hole and it was equally popular as a fishing hole. This place was about as close to hillbilly heaven as it gets.

Ted... I loved that guy and I can't help but laugh like hell, whenever I think about him. Ted had transplanted himself from Minnesota and he had the accent to boot. Ja? If you know what I mean. Ted was tall, a bit over six feet, with a curly mop of grey hair that adorned his scalp and a big, bushy porn star of a mustache that was the same steel grey as his hair. Ted was just the sweetest guy ever, just as jolly as could be, but man, that guy was fucking burnt. I'd never imagined that anyone could possibly be stoned twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week and three hundred sixty-five days a year, but Ted laid my any doubts that I had to rest. That motherfucker was always fucking stoned. The amounts of alcohol and pot that Ted could consume were absolutely staggering. I was kind of in awe, to be honest.

Chuck, Ted's son, was basically just a shorter, younger version of Ted, with brown hair and without a mustache. Chuck definitely followed in his father's footsteps. Great kid.

The three of us had been at the creek for hours, drinking beer, sippin' corn likker and we probably smoked enough weed to get half of the fucking county stoned. Good times.

Ted and Chuck caught a lot of fish that day, reeling them in one right after the other. Meanwhile, I caught nothing but ridicule. Fucking assholes. Every time that Ted or Chuck would catch a fish, they would look my way, start laughing and give me a huge ration of shit. Those dirty fucking motherfuckers.

This shit was not only intolerable, it was humiliating. I really needed to catch a fucking fish.

After a while, Ted asked me to reel my line back in and I did. He told me that he knew that I was used to salt water fishing, not fresh and he told me that he wanted to check my tackle. Ted adjusted the weight on my line, changed the hook and he changed my bait for shits and giggles I guess, before handing the fishing rod back to me.

I cast my line back out and waited... And waited... And then I fucking waited some more.

Nothing. Zip. Nada.

Son of a bitch.

Those bastards kept right on laughing at me. Motherfuckers kept catching fish, too. I could have shanked a bitch.

I really, really needed to catch a fucking fish or I was never going to be able to live this shit down. It was unbelievable and it seemed that no matter what I did, no matter what I tried, I just couldn't catch a fucking fish. There were times that I cast my line out to virtually the same spots where Ted and Chuck had their hooks in the water and still those fucking pricks managed to catch all of the fucking fish. Fuck me.

Around half past three, my ex-wife showed up, with both of our sons in tow. Anthony, our oldest, was five years old at the time and he jumped out of the car and ran towards me. He was so excited. Anthony loved fishing.

"Hey Dad," Anthony yelled, "Did you catch anything yet?"

Ted and Chuck erupted with fresh gales of laughter. I felt my face burn red from embarrassment.

Fuckers.

"Not yet, buddy," I replied, "But I'm trying."

I really, really, really needed to catch a fucking fish. There was no way that I could allow myself to be humiliated like this in front of my children.

Medusa walked up holding our youngest son Dominic's hand. Dominic didn't seem very interested in what was going on and he certainly didn't give a fuck about fishing. He still doesn't. Now that I think about it, Dominic seems to have that attitude about a lot of things. The not giving a fuck, I mean.

Medusa asked how the fishing was going and those two assholes started laughing again. They told her that they were having a great time, but I evidently had the fishing skills of an old, blind goat, but even an old, blind goat would have surely caught something by now.

Medusa started laughing at me too, that traitorous bitch. Fuckers. They were all fucking fuckers. I was going to show them. Yes sir, I most certainly was. It was on like motherfucking Donkey Kong.

Yeah, why don't you guys go eat a big bag of dicks or something.

I really, really, really, really needed to catch a motherfucking fish.

Anthony asked me if he could fish for a while and I brushed him off, asking him to wait for a little bit. I was going to catch a fucking fish any second now and I just knew it was going to be a whopper, I was sure of it and there was no way in hell that I was going to give up that fishing pole, not until after I had caught my prize..

Ted caught another fish. More laughter and more insults followed. Bitches.

"Please, Daddy," Anthony asked again, "Can I please fish for a little while?"

"In a minute, buddy," I replied.

I was mere moments away from glory, I just knew it.

"Please, Daddy," Anthony said, "It's not like you're going to catch anything."

I looked at my son, startled.

Et tu, Brute?

All of those motherfuckers started laughing at me again.

I felt the sting of Anthony's betrayal like a knife piercing my heart, but I reeled in my line and I attached fresh bait to the hook. As I prepared to cast the line back out and hand the rod to Anthony, I got a queasy feeling deep in my gut. Somehow, I just knew that as soon as Anthony touched that fishing pole, he was going to catch a fish and then my humiliation would be complete. I shook off my premonition and my angst, cast the line back out and I handed the fishing rod over to Anthony.

I don't even think it took ten fucking seconds before Anthony let out a whoop of joy.

"I caught one. I caught one," he yelled excitedly.

Son. Of. A. Bitch.

Let's just say that someone, and I'm not going to name any names, but someone came very close to getting a combination cliff diving/swimming lesson that day.

Those fucking assholes started laughing at me again and gave me even more shit than they had previously. I felt my face grow red again. I'm sure glad that those motherfuckers were having a good time, because I sure as shit wasn't.

I remember thinking to myself, "That's okay, motherfuckers, y'all are staying for dinner and I'm going to poison your asses. I couldn't poison Medusa, though. That bitch had built up a tolerance over the years, despite my best efforts.

I helped Anthony reel his fish in. He was proud of his catch and rightfully so. Anthony had caught a fairly large striped bass and was excitedly showing it off to everyone, the little shit. Good for him and all, he's my son and I love him, but that little shit had caught what was supposed to be my fucking fish! I had been taken down by a snot nosed kid.

Meanwhile 3/4 of the supposed adults in this story were busy pissing themselves with laughter and it was all at my expense. Yeah, real fucking funny. Assholes. Had our situations been reversed, I'd never have given any of them a hard time. No sir, not me. Honest. Like, cross my heart and shit.
Dejected, I called it quits and I let Anthony continue fishing. He caught another fish and then another. Every time that he caught a fish, my pride and dignity were assaulted and brought down to a new low.

That's fine, motherfuckers, I know how to make bodies disappear.

Around five o'clock we packed it all in and headed back to my house to get cleaned up and grab some grub. Apparently, Ted and Chuck evidently had an immunity to poison as well. Lucky fuckers.

I haven't fished since that day, the scars run too deep.

Fuck fishing.

Catch this...

If you liked this story, here's a link to another one. You won't find this story anywhere else.

The Middle Aged Man and the Sea

Patch

Many years ago, when I was still married and living in West Virginia, my ex-wife and I owned two Dalmatians, Caesar and Cleo. I've written about Caesar previously in the stories "Hosed" and in "Who's the Boss?", but I've never written anything about Cleo.

While I've mentioned Caesar's casual insanity and the fact that he was just the worst dog ever (still loved him, though), Cleo had a heart of pure gold. Caesar was aggressive, hyperactive and just plain dumb, whereas Cleo was his complete opposite. She was sweet, gentle, intelligent and extremely well behaved.

We'd had Caesar for about a month and his behavior was making us crazy. As a possible solution, Medusa and I had talked about getting another puppy as a companion for Caesar and we hoped that having a friend might have somewhat of a calming influence on him. By the time we had finished our discussion, we had decided that we would get another Dalmatian, a female this time and I would be the one that would pick out the puppy that we would be bringing home. We also talked about the possibility of breeding the dogs, in the future.

We scoured the local newspaper, looking for local breeders that had a current litter and we found one right away. Even better, the puppies were weaned and ready to take home. I called the number and made an appointment to look at the puppies. Medusa and I were both in high spirits when the day of the appointment arrived. It's always tons of fun playing with a pack of puppies.

We drove out to the breeder's home, where we were greeted by a mother and her two very young children, a boy and a girl. We introduced ourselves and she asked the children to show us where the puppies were. The children led us over to an old car, explaining that they had just corralled the puppies so that we could look at them. We walked up to the car and the boy, who was around four, opened the rear door of the car. We were immediately assaulted by a gaggle of hyperactive puppies, the majority of which soon ran off to whatever mischief they could find to get into. Only one puppy remained and it had been sleeping on the back seat. The tiny white bundle of fur cocked its head, looked at us and yawned.

My kind of dog.

Medusa and I looked at each other and we both said, "We'll take that one."

"You don't want that one," the little girl said, "All she does is lie around all of the time. She's no fun."

"Oh, no," I said, "That's exactly what we want,"

I reached in and I picked up the puppy. I held her close to my face, so that I could take a good look at her. I gave her a good once over and I looked deeply into her eyes, searching for something that can't really be quantified, but I recognized it when I saw it and it was sweetness and gentleness and love. She licked the tip of my nose and wagged her tail. I was smitten; it was love at first sight.

We paid for the dog and Medusa drove us home, while I snuggled with my new puppy. I was as happy as could be and the little one and I became fast friends as I held her in my arms and tried to play with her. Since I had naming rights for the puppy, I decided to name her Cleopatra, because every Emperor needs an Empress to love.

When we arrived home, I set Cleo down to explore, but she wouldn't leave my side; she followed me everywhere. We had hidden Caesar away in our bedroom and he must have known that something was up, because he was chafing at the bit and scratching at the bedroom door like the maniac that he was, trying to escape and find out what was going on. Medusa released him from his puppy prison and he was out the door and down the hall in a flash, scampering downstairs in a little blur of black and white, just as fast as his little legs could carry him. He spotted Cleo and ran toward her. We held our breath, unsure of Caesar's reaction to the new puppy invading his territory, but we needn't have worried, because tails were wagging, butts were sniffed and a great love affair had begun. A love to last the ages.

The puppies ran around and played with each other until they were both exhausted and on the verge of collapsing. Caesar just stopped where he was and pretty much fell over, fast asleep. I was playing on my computer when I noticed that Cleo had decided to use my feet as a makeshift puppy bed. I reached down and picked her up, placing her on my lap, where she promptly fell asleep. She was so stinking cute.

We almost lost Cleo as a puppy, but after a long, determined and emotional roller coaster of a battle, and some very expensive treatment, we saved our girl. It only made us love her more.

Time passed by, the way it always does, and always much too fast. Our puppies grew up before we knew it.

When the dogs were both two years old, we decided to mate them and have a litter of puppies. We thought it would be a great experience and we also thought that we might be able to make a little extra money by selling the puppies. It really was a great, if vexing experience and to be honest, we didn't really make all that much money. Cleo had nine puppies in her first litter, which was just in time for Christmas and as expected, Cleo was the perfect mother for her babies, who all seemed to have the extreme ADHD that is so typical of the Dalmatian breed. Poor Cleo! Surprisingly, Caesar turned out to be a great dad, but we were always nervous whenever he was around the puppies and I think that Cleo was a bit nervous too, but everything went smoothly. Having a houseful of puppies was a lot of fun, but it was also exhausting and cleaning up after them wasn't exactly a barrel full of monkeys, either. Nine puppies make piles and piles of puppy poop and cleaning up after them could be pretty gross. Trying to navigate their basement den when I got home was literally like playing hopscotch in a minefield, as I jumped around the little piles, trying to get the floor cleaned up.

After the last puppy had left, life went back to what passed for normal. Medusa and I discussed the possibility of Cleo having another litter and we were pretty unsure of putting all of us through the ordeal again. We decided that if we were going to let the dogs mate again, we would wait at least a year, in order for Cleo's body to have time to recover and that as soon as practical after her seconed litter, we would have Cleo spayed. We separated the dogs when necessary and all was going well. We revisited the topic of mating the dogs again and decided not to. We made a Cleo a veterinary appointment, to get her spayed.

Well, one day  before the appointment, Medusa and I went to a nearby wine festival and we didn't want to leave the dogs in the backyard, because they would always escape, get picked up by animal control and then I would have to go bail them out of the dog house. We decided to leave them out on our second floor balcony, which was spacious, sheltered, shaded and just as importantly, easy to clean, if the dogs had an accident. We left the dogs plenty of food and fresh water and we went off on our way.

The wine festival was a lot of fun. We sampled everything that we could, bought a few bottles of Blueberry Mead, Honey Mead and a Cabernet Sauvignon/Riesling blend from a winery in Virginia that was surprisingly excellent. We also bought a few baubles, listened to a little jazz, which wasn't very good, but we were glowing from the wine and so it was good enough. A little dancing and some food to top off a beautiful, early summer day and it was time to head back home to take care of our furry kids.

When we arrived home, Medusa and I went upstairs to let the dogs out. When Medusa opened the door, she and I found two exhausted dogs that could barely stand and both of them were literally quivering. Caesar and Cleo staggered inside the house, both wandering off and both immediately going to sleep. This behavior was so unlike the two of them, that I was slightly concerned and confused as to what was going on, but after a nap, the dogs were back to their usual selves, so we dismissed this aberration in their behavior.

After the dogs woke up from their nap, we quickly came to the sobering realization that Cleo was in heat and that the reason both dogs had been so exhausted was because they had evidently been going at it the entire time that we were at the wine festival, and as the days and weeks went by, Cleo started to sport a baby bump.

Great...

Once again we prepped our basement for a puppy invasion as we awaited the oh, so joyous day and when it came, we were ready. So we thought. Cleo started to deliver at a little after six o'clock in the morning. Medusa had the day off, but I had to be at work in just a few hours. Based upon our previous experience, I thought that everything would be over soon enough and that I would be able to get to work on time with no problem.

As we attended the birth, we counted the arrival of each puppy with excitement. "Another boy! Another girl!" I would announce. She hit nine puppies and kept going, surpassing her previous litter. Ten, eleven, twelve. It looked like Cleo was finally finished delivering her puppies. The poor dog was completely exhausted, but to our surprise, she wasn't finished just yet. A thirteenth puppy appeared and then a fourteenth, the runt; a tiny little patch puppy that could barely move and was less than half the size of the other puppies. The patch covered more than half of the puppy's head. It was so cute! It squealed. Cleo pushed it away. I pushed it closer. Cleo pushed it away again. The puppy struggled, seeking warmth and food. I picked it up,wrapping my hands around it to give it some warmth and I brought its mouth up to one of Cleo's nipple to nurse and I put it down on her belly. The puppy couldn't nurse, it was too weak. Cleo pushed it away again. I asked Medusa to get on the phone with the vet, so that we could get or do whatever it was that we needed to do to save this puppy.

Medusa ran upstairs to get the phone. I picked the puppy back up and held her in my hands to keep her warm. Medusa came back into the basement with the cordless phone. We were both frantic, the scene was chaotic and emotionally charged.

Medusa was saying something about getting the puppy to the vet and puppy formula and I remember saying, "Let's go!" I decided to take one last shot at getting the puppy to nurse from Cleo. I opened my hands, the puppy took a breath, shuddered and stopped breathing.

Oh, no! No, no, no, no, no. Not on my watch.

What I did next was instinctive. I leaned down over the puppy and I brought my mouth to hers. It was covered in viscera, but I didn't care and I very, very gently blew into her mouth, inflating her lungs. I did it again. And again. Finally, the breath of life and the puppy started breathing on her own again. I let out a sigh of relief as I reached for the towel that Medusa was handing to me. I wanted to get the puppy wrapped up and as warm as possible for her trip to the vet.

She stopped breathing again before I could wrap her up. Once more, I gave my breath to her. Over and over. I felt her tiny little chest and there was no discernible heartbeat, but I wasn't ready to give up just yet. I gently rubbed her chest and then I breathed for her again. I repeated these actions a few more times until finally, the puppy responded, breathing on her own again. I wrapped her up and we headed for the stairs.

"Medusa. " I said, "I know that we agreed that we weren't going to keep any of these puppies, but if this one lives, we're keeping it, because you'll never get it away from me."

I was too emotionally invested to give up on that puppy. If I managed to help save her, I would never let her go.

Before I could even make it to the first step, she stopped breathing for the third and final time. I shared my breath with her, I rubbed her chest, I wouldn't let up, wouldn't give in, couldn't give up. I tried and I tried and I tried and I cried and I cried and I cried. Tears of sadness. Tears of frustration; frustration at my inability to save the life of this beautiful little creature and I felt broken for it.

Medusa had to pull me away. Even old stone face had tears in her eyes.

I looked at the pathetic and sad little bundle in my hands and I cradled her to my chest, leaned over and gently kissed the top of her head.

"Rest easy, little one," I remember saying, as I walked out of the basement door with my head bowed and I stepped into the backyard. I placed my sad little bundle into the warm rays of the sun and I walked back inside of the basement, grabbed a small box and a shovel. I walked over to the back corner of the yard and I began to dig. When the hole was deep enough to accomodate the box, I placed the puppy inside and buried her deepy enough so that her sleep would be undisturbed. I then built a small stone cairn on top, to mark her resting place.

After I buried the puppy, Medusa and I held each other and we cried for a bit, letting our grief wash over us. Everything had been so emotionally overwhelming and the two of us needed the release. It helped. For the briefest of time, that puppy had become the center of our universe and we had both fallen in love with her and we had done everything in our power to try and save her, but it just wasn't meant to be.

I didn't go to work that day, I couldn't. My heart was broken, I was emotionally spent and I looked afright, covered in blood and other nasty things. I headed for the shower.

In retrospect, I realize that Cleo instinctively knew better than I did and she was right, when she pushed the puppy away, but I had to try to save her; I was compelled to, you see, because every life is important to me. All lives matter, even that of a runt puppy. I'd have been less of a man and much less of a human being had I never tried. We do what's right and we do it simply because it's the right thing to do.

Life is such a beautiful and tragic thing.

Thanks for stopping by!

A very special thank you for my new editors, Kristina and Lisa!

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Primal Forces