Cottonwood, AZ, lacks a full complement of big boxes. They also lack stores with names like Fragrant Candles 'R Us, or a kiosk in the mall that monograms granite countertops while you shop.
Thus the locals descend on the Walmart with a vengeance. I've only heard the legends. I just didn't have the courage to go over there. Too bad--it might have been amusing.
You can tell where this post is heading. But there really are lots of people besides your editor who hate the holidays. Granted, Thanksgiving is one of the more likable ones. Still, the reader will be spared anymore of my anti-holiday rant.
I opened snail mail and found a letter from a relative of mine. She was capable of writing remarkably kind and thoughtful letters when just a kid. Old age (mid-twenties) hasn't dulled her gift. I didn't think she would take the time to write anymore, now that she is an ethanol Moghul back in the Midwest.
But there it was, written all of three days after I posted the bad news about my RV travel companion of ten years, a miniature poodle who uses the nom de plume, the Peripatetic Poodle. He had been frightened by gunfire at the foot of Book Cliffs, north of Grand Junction, CO. He had disappeared for good, or so I thought.
Her poem is a far better Thanksgiving sermon than anything I could come up with:
Remembering the Peripatetic Poodle
More than just man's best friend,
a true blue loyal companion.
Always up for any adventure,
Right there, ready to go.
From the moment you came into each other's lives
a strong bond had begun.
There was a look of pride in that little dog's eyes
that every picture would show.
Unlike most furry friends on a leash or behind a fence,
the open road was his home.
Side by side with his master,
together they lived out their dreams.
Early to rise, the bright sunshine
would lead them to the trail in which they would roam.
How sad it is that the Peripatetic Poodle is lost
and cannot hear his master as he pleads.
He calls into the hollows of the earth
and in his voice you can hear how it hurts.
For ten years that little dog changed him,
bringing out his softer side.
We all are left to ponder why bad things must occur.
In spirit and in our hearts the poodle is still wandering
the western states far and wide.
