Change of life

I need to change my life.

Actually, my life is pretty okay, by and large. My life is alright, Paul Simon might say, in a sort of a limited way for an off night. So don't take this as complaining.

But what it doesn't contain--my life, that is--is room for this:



I want to own a Redbone Coonhound.

The one you see here is named Lena. The photo was nabbed from Wikipedia. The one I'm most familiar with lives somewhere in the Wall Street area. I saw it walking its owner a couple of weeks ago and thought it was about the most beautiful dog I'd ever seen. In real life, the dog seems to be a richer, deeper red than the photo suggests. I asked the guy what breed it was and he told me.

Then I saw it again today and I was just stunned by the majesty of the thing. Plus, given the right conditions, who doesn't want to hunt raccoons? According to descriptions of the breed, it's also adept at treeing bears and cougars. I'm less keen to be interfacing with bears and cougars, but still...good to know.

I was talking to a cop outside the Stock Exchange today and, at some point, asked her if I could pet her horse.

Interesting sentence.
Why so?
Well, you start out by saying 'I talked to a cop..."
Right?
Which is the most normal thing in the world, assuming you need to talk to a cop.
Right?
But then you just let slide the fact that the cop is a woman.
They make 'em that way too, you know.
Of course I know. But when you say the word cop, the mind defaults to the male version.
Okay?
And then, just when the reader is reeling, you slip the fact that you 'asked her if I could pet her horse' into the mix.
She was a mounted police officer.
You almost said policeman, didn't you.
Yes, I did. But what's the point?
The point is, that's an interesting sentence from such an otherwise uninteresting person.
We're all gifted in our own way.
Apparently.
Like snowflakes.
To a degree, yes.

Anyway, so I tell the cop that I'll hold her horse if she'd like to go write something on the painting. I mean, she's a big fan. I mean, we're really talking about the painting. She tells me the holding-the-horse-thing ain't gonna happen, but I knew it wouldn't even before saying it.

Sometimes when the NYPD SWAT guys wander around to take a look at my paintings I offer to hold their M-16s if that would make it easier for them to write something. Not one time has one of those guys handed me their rifle.

Must be a rule.
Prolly.
Same thing, I guess, with the horse.
That's my guess.
I mean, imagine the uproar if the cop's supervisor were to come around the corner just as you are screwing around with the guy's assault rifle.
Exactly.
Same thing, I guess with the horse.
I haven't ridden in years.
Me neither. We should go sometime.

Anyway, to make a long story short, I am, at some point, thumping this beautiful auburn horse (I'm using the word auburn here, perhaps incorrectly, to describe the standard reddish-brown color of your basic horse) and thinking that a man needs a dog he can thump on the side.

Then, not moments later, the Redbone Coonhound strolls by, smelling for 'coons, I guess, and I'm feeling like it's a sign from God to go get one.