Cemetery Street

I can't say I chose Ellie as much as she chose me. When our eyes met, she curled her ears and tilted her head. My heart snapped. I tried walking away, looking at other dogs, only to look over my shoulder at her. My father sensed the connection. He nudged me and said it was time to fall for another blonde.

That afternoon Dad, Diane and me ooed and awed over Ellie; Shannie was in Atlantic City. That night, I fell asleep on the floor with my arm wrapped around Ellie. I set a dangerous precedent. The next night Ellie protested sleeping alone. She whined and whined. "ELLIE! Stop it," I scolded. She did, for a minute, before repeating herself. "ELLIE! Knock it off!" On went this battle of wills. Luckily my father slept like the dead.

"Jesus Christ! Okay, okay, you win," I patted my mattress. She leapt onto my bed, curling next to me and resting her snout on my pillow. I was too tired to argue. "If I was smart, I'd take you back to the pound," I said petting her. I was in love.

The next day Ellie and I were playing in the yard when Shannie returned home. "Oh my God! She's adorable." Shannie fussed. "What's her name? It's a her? I didn't see any equipment down there."

"Eleanor Rigby; I call her Ellie."

"Cute." Shannie looked up at me. We locked eyes. "I'm sorry Just James."

"Me too."

Shannie Scratched behind Ellie's ears. "I hate when we don't talk. It's stupid." She stood. "Wanna kiss and make up?"

"I'd rather make out." I smiled.

"Don't press your luck." We hugged. Shannie and I had an unspoken understanding. Don't ask; don't tell. As maddening as it seemed, it was better to lose part of Shannie than all of her.

I was telling Steve Lucas as much one afternoon in the embalming room when he said: "Be careful dude, Shannie and that bulldyke friend will convert your mutt." Steve became the sounding board for my Shannie frustrations. He made their relationship his personal challenge. "If I ever meet this Comanche chick…"

"Shoshone."

"I'll give the Shoshone my bologna. I'd convert her; she never met a paleface from good stock; I'm pedigree."

"You couldn't convert a virgin in a whorehouse. I'm telling you dude, she's Satan fucking incarnate!"

"Ye of little faith - give me a loaf of bread and watch me butter the slices. This is what you do. Get your wannabe woman to invite her squaw to Beyford. We take them out on a double date and let the rest to me."