Robert Bush 6:31 p.m., May 18
Everyday I see him. Here, in the heart of the county, in the center of the city. "He owns the place!" his partner exclaims smiling as they walk by.
I just smile and say, "That he does, that he does." Mr. Mcshagintosh is a good old Scottish dude. He stands about yay high, has bristley white shaggy hair and his bark is far worse than his bite.
He always seems to smile, for all I can see under those shaggy white brows. He always greets me with a smile, anyway.
Today I see him out walking alone enjoying the cool spring air. He's taking in all the springtime activities. Birds are singing. Crows are cawing. Bees are buzzing brand new blooms. Mr. Mcshagintosh looks so boisterous and happy.
I stop him and ask, "Where's your walking partner?" Of course he doesn't respond; he's too entranced in the simplicity of spring. But there's that infamous smile, and he flashes it at me just before he jaunts off down the street.
I follow at a more leisurely pace enjoying the warmth of the day. I think of how many times I've seen Mr. Mcshaggie walking with his partner and how odd it is that today he's solo. I see him far down the street slowing his pace to look over some items set out for Salvation pickup.
He's bending over the items to sniff them as eccentric old ones will do. He's really looking them over; this way, then that, then this.
I'm approaching closer now, watching him. Suddenly I see him do it. NO!!! I breathe; shocked and awed at Mr. Mcshaggie's actions.
He's parked himself over the pile of goods so nicely set out for pickup; cocked his leg, and proceeded to mark said items as his! My face flushes; embarrassed. I look quickly around to see if anyone saw.
Salvation pickup has no clue what awaits them. They have been misguided to think they are to pickup one Macintosh computer complete in box with top off so they may inspect contents.
Poor Salvation pickup.
As I follow Mr. Mcshagintosh back to where he started I see that his walking partner is waiting, wondering where Mr. McShaggie was. I nod to him as I pass; and I say, "Beautiful day, eh?"
He replies, smiling widely at Mr. McShaggie while brushing out his long shaggy white hair, "That it is missy, that it is; especially when you own the place!"
I keep walking to the place where I started. I look back and there's Mr. McShaggie sitting on his haunches on the sidewalk in the sun, smiling that infamous toothy smile as he gets his brows brushed and his tail trimmed.