Depression by cmsix

Chapter 13

Canton Texas is mainly a giant flea market, masquerading as a Texas Town. For three weekends during the month it tries to seem townish. This wasn't one of its pretend to be normal weekends though. It was down to its real function. Anything and everything was for sale here, somewhere.

At the main flea market, which is Texas sized squared, we just wandered around. Meka looked at a few things but she didn't find much she liked for some reason. She was amazed at the number of people though, and she also wanted a taste of every food item that was for sale. She loved cotton candy and giggled the whole time she was getting most of it in her mouth but plenty of it on her.

The shit hit the fan when we went to look at the livestock. It wasn't really a problem, but Meka had never seen a lot of the animals there. Of course she now knew about horses but she was true to Little Missy and didn't pay the ones here much attention.

Ducks, and especially chickens, were a big hit with her. She wasn't in the market for a pet snake, but she did look the baby alligators over closely, and the big aquariums all took a few minutes of her time.

The dogs were the things that stole the show for Meka. I guess she was more accustomed to coyotes or wolves, but she was a goner when the first puppy licked her on the face. Without a doubt, I knew what was coming but I didn't even try to avoid it. I did try to make her understand that she could only have one.

I think she understood anyway. She looked at every mutt there, puppy or grown dog, and she didn't cull the registered dogs either. She even took a gander at the cats, but you know how cats are. She wasn't impressed by their standoffish attitude.

I felt a little twinge about selling Boris and Blue during my yard sale and then buying another dog. That was then though, this was now, and if Meka wanted a dog she was damned sure going to get one.

She settled on a Miniature Poodle. It was just one of the small ones to me, but the lady that was selling them was kind enough to tell me that a Miniature poodle was between fifteen inches to ten inches at the highest point of the shoulder.

Of course the one that was kissing Meka at the time wasn't that big yet, but the lady promised me it would grow into that range, or I could return it for a full refund. I almost laughed at her right off, and then I did. She took it well.

"I'll admit the chances of you returning the dog are going to be low," she said, grinning.

"I'll have to say that's the first time a salesman ever used the puppy close on me for a real puppy," I said.

I'm not sure whether Meka picked the puppy or the puppy picked Meka, but I knew they would not be separated without more trouble than I wanted to contemplate. I paid the five hundred bucks and was glad to. The woman gave me the papers and even told me what to do and how quick I needed to send them in.

"I'll probably let Ethel take care of that," I said.

"All you really have to do is name the dog and fill in the owner's information, everything else is ready to go," she said.

"Good, you don't happen to have a tiny collar and leash that will work do you?" I asked.

I got a hard look from her, and then a song and dance about the puppy being too small for that kind of thing yet. When I thought about it I knew the woman was right.

"I do have a small box with a towel that has his mother's scent on it though, and his favorite chew toy," she said, and then she produced them.

Good old me got to carry the box and Meka took charge of the poodle. I didn't even try to start in about the name. We could do that later, hopefully with the help of Doctor Jorge, so Meka would have an idea of what she was naming it.

For the next hour or so I wagged the box and Meka carried, talked to, and petted her dog; she also furnished a handy face for him to lick on. I noticed that she seemed to have a name for him now too. She called him ch'uht'uh dìitsi? more than once, and I wondered if I'd ever be able to say it.

We saw a few more things that looked interesting and finished it off by taking a tour of the used cars. Meka liked several, but I was just as glad she didn't seem to want one. Especially since the one she liked best was a 1956 Thunderbird.

It was a nice enough old T-bird, but even I could tell that whoever did the paint and bodywork was pretty good with paint, and amateurish, at best, with the body part.

The spray work was top notch, but the bodywork left a lot to be desired, at best. Looking down the sides reminded me of a flag waving. It looked like it could have used ten or fifteen more hours of block sanding before they started turning it black again. And that's another thing, no real bodyman would paint something black when he knew he didn't have the thing right.

After the T-bird show, I called the antique shop and they said we were all loaded. Meka and I saddled up and left the flea market. I thought she was too smart for words when she put the puppy on the ground and let it walk around until it watered and fertilized the parking lot before we got in.

I'd never really cared much for poodles, but I didn't have any real reason for the feeling. I'd always considered them strictly lap dogs and that was something I'd never wanted. Meka was more than pleased with her purchase though and that was all that mattered to me.

After we hooked the trailer, we both went inside to see if we were all set. Meka brought her new best friend in of course, and the old guy and the young woman just had to pet it a little. Finally Meka held him up to me and said bathroom. The woman caught on and led her to one while I held her dog.

"Daddy," Meka said, yelling for me not thirty seconds after she'd been led toward the facility.

I said I was coming and walked to her voice. The young woman was embarrassed but smiling and when I got to the door I saw why.

Meka was standing in the bathroom, staring at the toilet. She wasn't scared or shy or anything, she was amazed. It was one of those really old flush toilets that have the tank up near the ceiling and the flush handle hanging down from it on a chain. I smiled at Meka and told her to give it a try.

I know she couldn't understand what I said, but she got the idea, and taking hold of the handle at the end of the chain, she gave it a tug. It made such a loud noise that it surprised her and she squealed in delight. I knew we were in it for the long haul too. It didn't seem to bother the woman a bit and she let Meka flush to her heart's content.

Finally Meka seemed satisfied and she closed the door and did what people normally do in bathrooms, I guess. She only flushed twice more before she came out to give me a turn. Somehow she realized that when I heard the toilet flush, I usually needed to use it myself right afterward.

With the business over, I stopped by the front desk on our way out and asked the old man to find us one of those toilets.

"I don't think I can put one in my house, but I know Ethel is going to want one after this," I told him, and he promised to get a couple, just in case.

Meka, the little dog, and I mounted up and rode back to the almost truck stop where we'd spent the night before. I had the devil of a time making her understand that the dog would not be welcome in the café, but I think she finally understood that it wasn't my rule.

She did let it on the ground again so it could water the parking lot and then we got back in the cab so she could make him comfortable in his box, and make sure he knew where his chew toy was. They both seemed resigned to parting for a while and he gave her a last lick and then settled down in his box. That was amazing in itself.

After we'd eaten, Meka brought up the question of the dogs supper. She said dog, and then she said hamburger. Hell, I could take a hint. I ordered a carry out hamburger patty and at the last second Meka said sunny-side-up and we threw in two eggs too.

They brought it out in one of those Styrofoam clamshell plates. Meka took one look at the patty and tore it up into tiny pieces; she must have figured that doggy could deal with the eggs in their natural state.

If Meka hadn't been his number one girl before supper, she was after she laid that feast on doggy. He damn near wagged his little poodle tail off when she first opened the container and put it in his box. Then he vacuumed it clean, licking until he had that thing cleaner than when it was new.

Meka watched the whole thing, giggling all the while, and when he gave up on finding even one more taste on the Styrofoam she took it out of his box. I'll be damned if he didn't lie down on his stuffed little belly and conk right out.

Meka and I went to bed ourselves.

The little dog woke me, and Meka, about four hours later, whining. At first I was getting cranked up to be pissed off, and then a thought stuck me. I put on my pants, pulled my boots on without bothering with socks, and took him outside. Meka watched us the whole time, perched in the drivers seat in her T-shirt nightgown and boxer briefs.

I'll be damned if the little ball of curls didn't squat and pee as soon as I set him on the ground and then he walked around sniffing for a few minutes and took a big dump. It was just too good to be true and I felt like I'd cheated the woman out of the other five hundred buck I should have given her for him.

Nobody can house break a puppy that young, and one sniff of what the eggs had done for him put his whining to go out right at the top of my list of welcome miracles. It was too good to be true and I still thought it was a lie when I went back to bed.

We made sure to let the little guy have a walk first thing the next morning too, and then Meka and I made a beeline for the café. The first waitress we'd had here was back on duty and her face lit up when she saw Meka again. Meka showed her that she still had a good appetite and after we'd finished our meal we ordered the doggie's breakfast.

I let Meka feed her charge in the sleeper while I took off. Soon enough, she claimed her trucking throne and the dog was sawing logs in its box again. Meka kept checking on him though; she'd take a look in the box about every thirty minutes and then get back in her seat.

Her little drill for this was too cute for words. First she'd turn to look through the opening to the sleeper, and of course she couldn't see doggy, since he was snoozing in the box. Undaunted, she'd let the air out of her seat until it was low enough for her to get down without jumping off it. After she was satisfied that he was all right, she'd get back in her seat and hit the up button on the air ride to get back to viewing level.

We pulled up behind George's house right before noon and Meka let me know she wanted to blow the train horn this time. She had some work to do before she could make it really sound like a train, but she was right on top of making it loud as hell.

Ethel was first out of the house and she got to the truck's door before Meka and I could even get down. Meka gave her a big hug and then said, "Look Ethel" and climbed back up. She and the dog and the whistle reappeared in seconds. Wanda was with us by now and the celebration began.

Curly was let down to take a bathroom break while Ethel and Wanda watched, and Meka played accompaniment for him with her whistle. He took care of his business and there was no stinting on the praise the little fella got for the good job he did.

When we headed into the house for lunch, I suggested that we leave him in the truck in his box. Meka looked like she though it was all right but Ethel and Wanda wouldn't hear of it. So I brought the box and Meka carried her friend and into the house we went. I had only been trying to avert discontent over taking a dog in the house. It didn't bother me; but it wasn't my house.

If it was jake with Ethel if was fine by me. When we got to the kitchen I saw that it was fine with George, Bob, Chuck, Dave, and Jorge too; so it was settled. Actually, I was surprised after lunch, since everyone wanted a chance to pet the little stinker. When I told them about it waking us up to go outside during the night I could tell that they could hardly believe it.

"You'll see, or at least I hope you will. I'll swear the dog knows he isn't supposed to mess up his box," I said.

"If that's right then you did cheat the poor woman that raised it. I can't remember ever having a house dog that wasn't a big pain to break," George said.

I started to tell Ethel about ordering her a new commode but the man from the antique shop had already called. He'd found three and they would be on the way in a couple of days.

Apparently a lot of details had been taken care of while we were gawking down in Canton. Janice had Bob all straightened out on how to play Meka's cartoons and since the new house had a room that could serve Meka as an office of her own, Bob had ordered her a computer like mine.

"I hope there's a plug close enough somewhere to hook it too," I said.

"Her office is done the same way as yours, all we have to do is get her a desk and we'll be set," Bob said.

"She has a desk, in the back of that truck," Ethel said.

"It isn't a roll top is it?" Bob asked.

"Bob, who do you think you're talking to? Of course I know a roll top isn't any good for a computer, and of course I knew she'd need a computer. There's room for her roll top desk in her bedroom, at least there is for now," Ethel said, making Bob smile sheepishly.

Meka, Doctor Jorge, and the pup took off for some lessons after that, and after they were gone I remembered that I needed to ask him about some Caddo words, at least a few. I let it slide though, figuring I had at least a few days before I'd need them. In fact it would probably be longer than that. George had already told me that the trips hadn't come up very often before.

I decided that I might as well take the trailer down to the house and put it to the underground dock. Ethel said we'd have to get by with only about four men helping this time.

"George thinks the others need to do a little ranchin' today," Ethel said.

"Ranchin' hell, they need to build some fence, and you know it. The buffalo were your idea after all," he said.

"I guess they were," she said, and then grinned.

"Are you going to raise buffalo?" I asked.

"Kinda, we're getting two young males and six mature females. Mostly so Meka can see some wandering around out here, but we do plan to let 'em do what comes naturally," George said.

"From what I've heard you'd better build more than a little fence," I said.

"What do ya mean?" George asked.

"I mean you'd better ask Doctor James about 'em first. He learned the hard way that they are a lot harder to keep penned than cows," I said.

"That's right, he did have a few one time, but I never talked to him about 'em," George said.

"Well you should. I know he don't hire the smartest hands, but I remember they road foundered two horses once, chasing after those buffalo when they tried to keep them in one of their normal fences," I said.

"I don't wonder about that. A normal fence for Doctor James has a post every now and then, just for looks. It ain't like they keep the wire nailed to 'em or anything silly like that," George said.

"No matter, me and Joe Bob can probably find 'em for you sooner or later, but I'm not sure I want to drop a loop over one's head. I'm pretty sure it wouldn't be like steer ropin'," I said.

"You may have a point there. We can keep 'em close to the house in one of the smaller pens at first, just in case," he said.

"Are you real busy right now?" I asked, knowing I was changing the subject, but wanting to get out of the house gracefully.

"Not so's you'd notice. What's up," he asked.

"If you got time, I'd like to take my pickup back down to the house. I got a big new garage for it and there ain't no sense in leaving it up here in the way. Can you follow me and give me a ride back?" I asked.

"Sure, if Ethel thinks she can get along without me for a while," he said.

"Just don't be gone longer than a few months," Ethel said, and then she and Wanda both laughed at us.

I got in my pickup and George got in his and away we went. I was surprised when we got to the garage, because the door on the end nearest the house started rolling itself up as if it knew where the truck belonged. After I drove inside I saw that it must have.

I was standing near the front of my pickup gawking open mouthed when George walked in, and he started helping me. I can't even remember how long I stood there dumbfounded and George swears he can't either.

There was no question now why the garage was just as tall as the barn, because the two middle roll up doors obviously raised high enough to pull a tractor trailer into them, and there was plenty of room for them to pull up and park trailer and all inside.

Even that wasn't the shocker. By far the biggest surprise was the stretched Humvee ambulance in the last stall; just on the other side of the more normal Humvee that looked a lot like a pickup truck, except bigger of course.

Just this side of them was a stretch limo version of the same thing. Well, not exactly, but close. The limo was made in the H2 style while the ambulance and the pickup were the normal, army type, H1 style.

What on earth I was supposed to do with them was beyond me. I could see a possible use for the ambulance and even more so for the truck type, but the limo left me flabbergasted.

I was starting to get the feeling that I owed someone or some thing a lot of money, labor, or whatever - because the hummers weren't the only new vehicles.

The stall right next to the one that had opened for my pickup had a 1963 Corvette Split Window Coupe. I'd lusted for one all my life but hadn't ever got up off the dime to buy one when I could have afforded it.

This one was my dream car. It was Sebring Silver, exactly the color I'd always wanted and it had the lake pipes and knock off wheels. And it looked brand new. Come to think of it, it probably was.

At least that answered the question of whether or not They read our minds. Even without looking I was sure that under the hood, instead of the 375 horse fuel injected 327 that had been the biggest engine they came with, there was an aluminum smallblock with a later edition of electronic fuel injection like they used now.

On the other side of the Vette was a 1967 Cadillac Coup DeVille. Exactly like the one my mother had once owned. It was the car I got my first shot of pussy in. It was also the one my mother let me take to college for a couple of months when my new Camaro swarmed because of a few modifications I'd made to the engine.

That Caddy was the car that made the sorority girls forget to ask which fraternity I was in when I asked them out.

I had a hell of a lot of good memories wrapped around a car exactly like that one. To this day, I still think I would have fucked myself to death if mother had let me keep that Cadillac all year.

The trip down memory lane was jolted again and then cut short when I looked to the extra space I'd been wondering about before I took my first look inside the garage.

There was a complete, fully equipped shop for repair work up there, the only part that wasn't covered with engine stands, tools or machines was where the trucks would need to pull up if they came in with a trailer, and the spot where the 1931 Model A Cabaret Coup was parked.

My dad had bought it for my sister, as a joke mostly I think, when she got her drivers license. For an even bigger joke, she and her friend Emily had painted it fire engine red with spray cans.

I can still remember what someone signed in her high school yearbook.

"Nancy had a little car And it was painted red. Everywhere that Nancy went Police picked up the dead."

It couldn't be the same car because a collector had later bought it from Dad and I know that he completely restored it. But if this was a copy, it jibed exactly with my memory.

I had a hard time getting a grip on this. I understood now that They could do just about anything they wanted to. Why they were doing all this was the rub. Finally I decided that it had to be some type of reward for me. There was no other explanation that I could come up with. Unless it was payment in advance for services yet to be rendered.

What I'd been through so far couldn't possibly have meant enough for them to go to all this trouble. Hell, for that matter, I'd already enjoyed it more than anything else I'd ever done. I doubted that they were doing all this just to see how happy they could make me, but if it wasn't the reason that was the effect. I was tickled.

"God damn, when they set out to surprise somebody, they do a bang up job, don't they," George said.

"Ain't a doubt about that for me," I said.

"I guess that some of this meets your approval somehow."

"All of it does. I'd never have dreamed it could be possible, but I'm happy as hell about it. That Vette is my all time dream car and the Caddy is exactly like the one I first got laid in," I said.

"What about that Model A? That is a Model A ain't it?" he asked.

"First car I ever drove and in fact, the first car I ever worked on too."

"I suppose the stuff at the other end, that ambulance and all, is more along the lines of their idea," he said.

"Has to be, I never wanted an ambulance or a limo either. That's the one that has me really stumped. I just don't even get a hint about it," I said.

"Well maybe you can drive Ethel and Wanda around in it sometime. Ethel has talked about calling one more than once," he said.

"What the hell, let's go start it up and give them a treat," I said.

I pulled my truck ahead enough so George could get his fifty-six in behind it. Then we walked to the limo and we both got in the front.