A Piedmont Porchlight Story
The Coffee Cup was unusually peaceful this morning. Even Curtis Pope was behaving himself. That should’ve made me suspicious. Hattie came by with the coffee pot.
“You boys look mighty quiet.”
“We’re thinkin’.”
She laughed. “That sounds dangerous.”
Curtis nodded. “It usually is.”
I looked out the window for a minute before saying, “You know…”
“What?” Hattie asked.
“I’ve always figured dogs know more than preachers.”
The whole restaurant got quiet. Curtis slowly folded his newspaper.
“Jim, you better explain that one before somebody throws a biscuit at you.”
Hattie put the coffee pot on her hip. “I’m listenin’.”
I smiled. “I ain’t never met a dog that cared what church you belonged to.”
Curtis grinned. “That’s true.”
“I never met one that cared whether your overalls had patches.”
“Nope.”
“Or whether you drove a Cadillac. Or walked.”
Hattie leaned against the booth. “They don’t care if you’ve got money.”
“No.”
“They don’t care if you’re important. They don’t even care if you’re interesting.”
Curtis laughed. “They just care if you’re you.”
I nodded. “Exactly.”
“My Dad’s German Shepherd dog, Richard Petty, used to meet him every afternoon. Same place. Same tail. Same smile. He never once asked whether he’d had a good day. He already knew. You know, he named that dog Richard Petty because he liked to race cars. You let a car pass up on the road, and he could catch it in 10 seconds flat!” They all laughed at that one.
Hattie smiled. “My daddy’s ol’ hound dog was like that.”
“If Daddy was sad, that dog never left his side.”
Curtis pointed his fork at me. “My ol’ beagle could tell if Mama was sick before the rest of us.”
“I believe that.”
“I do too.”
Funny thing about dogs. They don’t spend much time listening to what you say. They’re busy paying attention to what you feel.
After a minute, Curtis asked, “So where do preachers come into all this?”
I grinned. “They preach about loving your neighbor.”
“They do.”
“Dogs just go ahead and do it.”
Hattie laughed. “I don’t reckon you’re wrong about that!”
Outside, a little brown dog wandered past the Coffee Cup. He stopped long enough for Jimmy Harlan to scratch behind his ears. His tail started wagging so hard I thought he might shake himself in two. Jimmy smiled. The dog smiled back. Well… as much as a dog can smile.
I watched him disappear, trotting down Centre Avenue like he’d just finished an important appointment.
“You know what else dogs know?”
“What?” Hattie asked.
“They know who’s lonely.”
Neither one of them answered.
“They’ll sit beside the happiest person in the room, but they’ll lean against the one who needs ’em.”
Curtis looked down into his coffee. “I’ve seen that.”
“So have I, many a time.”
Hattie picked up the coffee pot again. “My granddaddy used to say, if you want to know what kind of person somebody is, watch how they treat a dog.”
I smiled. “Your granddaddy was a wise man.”
She nodded. “He didn’t preach much.”
“He didn’t have to.”
For a little while, nobody said anything. The only sound was coffee cups touching saucers. Funny thing about dogs. They’ve never read a book on kindness. They’ve never attended a seminar. They’ve never listened to a sermon. But somehow, they know exactly when somebody needs company. And I reckon anybody who can teach us that ought to be listened to.
Even if they do spend most of the afternoon chasing squirrels.
olbigjim 