For thirty thousand years, more or less, man has walked with dog. Dog made herself indispensable to man, and hence man became her slave.
I thought I could go dogless after my old companion died. It didn't work. On March 1st I adopted Mr. B(ear). He's some 10 years of age and rather frayed around the edges looks-wise. I don't care. He has a lovely face and is easy going. So I've welcomed Mr. B into my life for whatever is left of his.
He's already proved an indispensable friend.
The day after I adopted Mr. B, I learned that a long time friend, Ulrike Bretschneider, had died from leukemia. It broke my heart to get this news from her husband, Klaus Schmuecker. Though she lived a long ways away in Germany and Australia so that I saw her infrequently, I will miss her greatly. Her loving and creative energy were big.
She wrote her letters on the backs of flyers and collaged pieces of travel brochures, postcards and photographs. A brochure of a Turkish monument, a picture of her and Klaus on a road trip or she and I sitting on rocks off Quadra Island in British Columbia.
Later Klaus wrote that he and their friends in Australia had a wake around Ulrike's painted coffin. I can think of nothing more fitting than this final tribute and memory of her.
Mr. B would do more to help me.
Just after midnight that brought in Friday, March 13th, my friend Pirkle Jones slipped and fell, breaking his hip during my caretaking shift. He died on Sunday March 15th at the age of 95. A fine and gifted photographer, he's left behind scores of friends who will remember his astute criticism and merry laugh. You can view his obituary in the Art section of the New York Times from March 23rd.
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