Eddie’s Story

Writing Eddie’s story is a difficult task. Much of the difficulty stems from having to reveal an unflattering image of myself. I am definitely not the hero of this story, neither am I the villain in the old arch-typical sense. I am guilty of not thinking through the consequences of my actions. I am now required to take responsibility for my part in this saga my telling Eddies Story.

Before we go much, further I should explain that Eddie is a dog. His ultimate fate remains unknown to me. That is par of the pain. I do not know how Eddie’s story ends, and personally, I hate that.

Eddie was a Golden Lab with a no nonsense sense of duty. And a duty he certainly had. He looked after a herd of cows, and one sheep in the field next to my house. He took his duty seriously. He brooked no interference in his task, which is why it took so long for me to get to know him.

Eddie carries his 60 pounds on a thin tidy frame. He walked his beat with a slight limp, a condition that caused me to misjudge his age. His coat reminded me to those golden-rod coloured envelopes you mail important documents in. He hardly ever barked unless he perceived a threat to his wards.

Every morning he would come down the field with the cows, pace the parameter of the field, and then settle down under a tree t quietly watch the day out. From my backyard deck, I observed his routine. He never left the cows. He drank in the nearby stream, never seemed to hunger after a biscuit or a bone. He found contentment in his duty. And at the end of the day he followed the cows home, hurrying up any straying animals.

In my mind, I mocked up an image of s grateful owner giving a hug and a well-deserved meal at day’s end. In my mind, he would curl up beside his master’s feet on a soft rug beside an open fire. How wrong our images can be. However, that knowledge came later.

Eddie’s routine carried on rain or shine, fine weather or foul. Nothing disturbed his routine. No variable entered in the rhythm of his days.

O course I changed all that.

In science there is a phenomena called the ‘observer effect’. The phenomena states that the very act of observing changes what is observed. This is very Einsteinian stuff applied to particle physics and relativity theory. Sure as the universe is big, it also applied to Eddie and I.

At first, Eddie ignored me completely. I didn’t exist. I wasn’t there. I watched, amazed by his aloofness. He didn’t acknowledge my existence in any manner. I attributed this to shyness. It couldn’t be me. I love dogs. I always talk to them when I meet them I’m use to that canine specialty, a tail-wagging, cheerful greeting. Not for Eddie. His aloofness became a challenge to me. And the first insidious consequences of my observations crept in.

At this point, I did not even know Eddie’s name. Whistling at him failed to attract his attention. Yelling “here boy,” evoked no response. Things may have gone on like this indefinitely. However, as time went by I became more intrigued by Eddie’s stoic, focused nature.

Then I leaned Eddie’s name from a neighbourhood kid. Kids know everything. They are the modern jungle telegraph. If you want the goods on the neighbourhood ask the kids who live there.

I now had a name to call this noble, unflappable, golden lab, Eddie. Somehow, the name just fit him. Eddie. Wes the name fit. Names are very powerful words. Moreover, I possessed Eddie’s.

Summer gave me the excuse I was searching for. Summer came and dried up the stream Eddie drank from. Before the last trickle dried in the stream out came a bucket of cool fresh water. I hoisted the white, plastic bucket over the fence near my deck. Then I backed away some distance, and waited.

Nothing happened. Eddie ignored my presence and the water. But I had my powerful new weapon.

“Eddie, “ I called, “here boy, fresh water.”

Eddie didn’t come over right away. He was not a beggar. He was a dog with an important job to do. But eventually the heat drove him to me.

He came to drink.

Of course, I could not be happy with this simple food deed. No, I had to reach over and offer him my hand to sniff. And when he accepted me, I rubbed his ears and fell in love.

Not long after this milestone, Eddie’s world fell apart. His owner sold the herd, all but the one pathetic sheep. Eddie joined the ranks of the unemployed. Oh, each morning he would wander down the field with the sheep but you could see the passion was gone.

Eddie started to stray. He'd disappear all day. I’d see him briefly at night when he came over for a drink from my bucket. He’d wag his tail in greeting and then he would wander the long field home.

I reflected on the anguish of those who loose their purpose in life. For far too many of us, our job is that purpose and when it’s gone, the purpose goes too. That shouldn’t be the case, but far to often the news stories detail the horrible consequences of aligning purpose and job too closely together. Eddie was a prime example. He was lost.

My summer holidays started about this time so I tool on Eddie’s case. I became a do-gooder, self-righteously patting myself on the back for my noble aims, unaware of the terrible road down which we were both soon to go.

To be continued, watch for part two.