The Other Side of 50

The Dog Won't Die!

What do you do when the dog won’t die? That’s the dilemma facing my friend Tyrone Washington, who had looked forward to being home alone on the other side of fifty.

Tyrone’s sons were only two and four years old when he was granted sole custody in the divorce settlement. Luckily, Tyrone’s mother didn’t believe in gender specific chores for her children, which made single-parenting less challenging for him than most men raising toddlers alone. He seemed to take the joys and tribulations of single parenting in stride until the boys hit puberty. That’s when he began verbalizing his empty-the-nest fantasies to me.

“Once they’re finally gone I’ll stop repeating myself 50 times a day. I’ll strut around my house in my underwear without running into some neighborhood kid lounging on my refrigerator door,” he’d say indignantly. “My remote will be where I left it. Hip-hop will be out of my life. What's more, I’ll only cook on holidays.” To that end, each son received the same college graduation gift --- an apartment security deposit, rent for six months, and an invitation to Thanksgiving dinner.

Five months after Tyrone doled out the last graduation gift curiosity got the best of me, so I popped the question, “Tyrone, how does it feel to be home alone at last?”

"The dog won’t die?” he barked.

“You want your dog to die?” I asked in disbelief.

“This is not my dog. It’s their dog and they are gone,” he growled. “Now I’m stuck with a sickly old dog that isn’t mine.”

“Exactly what’s wrong with Ferd?” I queried about the lovable mutt of questionable breed.

Tyrone explained that besides being overweight, Ferd had a cough, a limp, and high cholesterol.
“Furthermore, the dog has the audacity to hide his food bowl when I’m late from work,” Tyrone snarled. “And, last month he had a stroke! I could have vacationed in Tahiti for two weeks on his hospital tab.”

On Ferd’s first day home from the hospital Tyrone laid down new rules. “If you and that vet think I’m spending $60 a month on medication and another $80 on special diet food, forget it,” Tyrone declared. “If it’s not at Costco, don’t look for it in your bowl.”

Expecting the worse I asked, “So how’s Ferd now?”

“He’s stopped limping and coughing and hiding the bowl. But the dog still won’t die!”

To be continued.