A Good Thing Going
by Irv Pliskin
It sure didn't matter none to the mutt that I was on my uppers.
There I was, trying to stay dry in a driving rain, sleeping under a cardboard carton that mighta held a refrigerator or even a coffin at one time.
Do they pack coffins in cardboard boxes? Beats me.
I felt some movement at the box flaps and this mutt, wet from the rain comes crawling in. He shook some water on me, and I was gonna bang him with my hand, when I took a sleepy look.
It was hard to tell which of us was more scrawny.
Looked like the poor pup Saint had nothing to eat for a couple of days. Well,Id been riding the rods like a lot of folks did, and I ain't had much to eat the last few days neither, but I wasn't gonna kick that poor fella outta the chance to get dry or warm.
He crawled up to me, and licked me gentle. I fell in love right then.
Suddenly I got me an obligation. I got me another mouth to feed. The rain came down real heavy, and when our cardboard house began to sag and leak, I got outta there. The mutt follered me.
I stood against a tree and the mutt, he stood alongside of me, raised his leg and did the same thing I was doin'.''
"Okay," I said to him, "What am I gonna call you, if you is gonna be with me now?"
He looked at me, and wagged his raggedy tail.
"You sure don't look like no purebred to me. Looks like you been mixed with every breed around. So what do I call you? How about Heinz? No, that's too kraut and me, I don't like them krauts no way. Hmm. I got it. How about Fifty-Seven? Does that sound alright to you, mutt?"
Son of a gun, he barked once. Like he agreed. So that was his name from then on. Fifty-Seven. Whenever I called out that, he turned and came to me, even if I had no food or nothing but a pat for him. Fifty-Seven and me, we became a team right there under that cold and nasty driving rain.
I discovered quick that there was no way Fifty-Seven was gonna let me Outta his sight. I knew that as soon as I moved away from the tree and started awalking down the lane. Seems like nobody ever treated that poor pooch with kindness before, so I knowed that he was gonna go everywhere that I went. I didn't need no leash for him out there in the country, but all them towns around, they had too many stray dogs and they didn't want no more.
Stray dogs they sent to the pound, and then on to doggy heaven. They had what they call them leash laws. Dogs gotta be on the leash, or the dog catchers catch em, irregardless. Fifty-Seven and me, we hadda go to town, so maybe we could get somethin'' to eat, so I hadda get some kinda rope to make a leash Outta. I coulda took my knife and stole some clothes line from a nearby farm yard and used it for a leash, but this time I decided to play it straight.
There was a farm house down the road aways, and so I went there, with Fifty-Seven sniffing at my heels, following me up close and knocked on the back door. A nice grandmotherly farm lady answered the knock.
"Ma'am," I said, "sorry to bother you. But my dog and me we are gonna want to go into town, and I ain't got no leash for him. Do you reckon you might have a piece of twine or rope that I can use for a leash? I don't want nothing to happen to my dog." The lady she looked down. Fifty-Seven wagged his soggy tail.
"Oh my," she said, "that there dog he looks like he ain't et in a long time. " Then she looked at me. "You look like you ain't et neither. Would you like some grub?
"Yes ma'am, we both would. But Fifty-Seven he needs it more'n me. I'd be happy to do chores for it ma'am."
She took us into the kitchen and put food on the floor and on the table.
"You look like a good man, son," she said. "Any bindle stiff who worries about his dog first, he gotta be a good man."
She fed us both. We both woulda et until we burst, but I know better'n that. Eat too much when you is half starved and you get sick, you do.
After the hunger pangs was gone, and we could relax a little, I asked her again could I do chores for the food. She had some cleaning and straightenin' needed done, and I set to and did it for her. Fifty-Seven, he stayed right close, and watched me every step of the way. When I finished she said to me
"Son, you look real scraggly."
"Yes ma'am. I'm a little down on my luck, but that'll change."
"Are you a boozer son? Is this because you are a drunk? I don't hold with drinking none."
"No Ma'am. Just the way things are, that's all."
"Well," she says, "I got some clothes that was left here by my son when he took off. They would fit you. Would you be offended if I offered you a shirt and some pants?"
"No ma'am, I'd be right grateful, Ma'am."
So she give me a neat ironed blue denim shirt and a pair of real nice Levi jeans. I stuffed my old duds in the bindle and thanked her a lot.
"Listen," she says, "you done good work for me." and she even slips me a big shiny half dollar. Insists I take it. Nice lady that. I whistle to ole Fifty-Seven, and he stands still while I put the rope she give me around his neck. So now he is legal, and no body gonna take him away cause he ain't leashed.
In them new clothes, looking not so scroungy, I am ready to build me a score.I ask the nice farm lady for one more thing: a couple of regular mail envelopes. And she gives 'em to me, and I take a pencil and write a name and an address on them. And now I am ready. Me and Fifty-Seven we go to the town, where the people is. I spot a nice looking woman goin' down the street, and I walk up to her with that there envelope in my hand. "Pardon me, Ma'am," I say. "Could you spare the cost of a postage stamp? I just wrote to my momma to tell her I am okay, but I ain't got the money for a stamp. Would you be good enough.?"
The lady, she says "Ain't that nice." and she gives me a quarter for the stamp. I thanks her, wait for a few minutes until she is out of my sight and walk up to another lady on the street asking the same question.
I done this for three hours, and by the end of three hours, me and Fifty-Seven ain't rich, but I got fifteen bucks in my pocket and that's plenty to last at least a week or so.
One lady said shed mail the letter for me, and she took it and walked on. Don't matter much. There's a baloney letter inside, case she looks. My sainted Momma, she been gone five years now. So it don't matter at all. I got another envelope in my pocket anyhow. That envelope, its a good scam, and a good workman always has back up tools.
Some folks even give me money to buy a bone for the dog. Yes sir, old Fifty- Seven and me, we got a good thing going.
