RESPITE

"I love that word respite, Bum," said Bear from his sprawling position on his front with his lovely head resting on his front paws.  We were outside in my carport and it was early morning.

"Do you know what that word means, Bear?" asked Bum.

"Indeed I do," responded Bear.  "You know I don't use words I don't know."

"I thought we needed a short period of rest or relief from something difficult or unpleasant, like the difficulties we had with Story Structure," said Bum.

"So, Bum, you tell me the meaning of respite, just in case I don't know its meaning, even though I told you I know."  Bear looked very annoyed.

"I am sorry, Bear.  That was thoughtless of me and I can only say in my defence that a lot of people, or dogs, don't know that word."

"OK then," said Bear.  "It's nice out here and you can rest your sore leg by sitting on that raised bit in front of your car.  By the way, where is your Silver Saturn?"

"It conked out and we had to buy this Mini as a replacement, and very nice it is, don't you think?"

"Yes, I like the racing stripes and the fog lights, which you've probably not figured out if I know you, and the skylight is a nice touch."

Bum ignored the bit about the fog lights because it is true.

"That's a very small ashtray next to you.  Is that a picture of a goat I see inside it?" asked Bear.

"Yes, it is a small Welsh goat and yes it is a small ashtray because I usually only have one cigarette when I come out here in the morning to place the garbage in the can, spread the recycleds in their various boxes and bags, empty the car ashtray, and check that I have enough cigarettes in the car for the day if I need them when I'm going somewhere.  Is that enough information for you, old nosy one?"

"Yes, that about covers it," said Bear.  He made no mention of my smoking because he knows it annoys me. 

"With my pinched nerve in my back and my sore leg and my inability to walk, I smoke and drink as much as I want, and to hell with it, and the medical profession," said Bum.  She couldn't help feeling familiar annoyance with him as she turned away from him.

"Where are you going?" asked Bear from his prone position.

"For a walk," Bum said succinctly.

"I thought you couldn't walk on that sore leg," said Bear.

"Take note of this date, Bear, November 19, 2019, the day I start walking again.  The other day, the doc said walking would be good for me and I should never have stopped."

"He could've said that months ago, Bum," said Bear in disapproval.

"I agree, Bear, but he said it now, but only after I asked him, for bloody hell's sake, so let's go."

They left the driveway slowly, crossed the street slowly, watching for cars of course, and reached the sidewalk on the other side. 

"How's the leg?" asked Bear.

"Good so far, Bear.  Perhaps the valium I had before I left is helping.  I forgot to take it last night before bed, so I took it this morning," responded Bum.

"Did you bring your little book, like you used to do when we were writing our book, Bum?"

"Yes," said Bum, succinctly.  She loves that word.  Her friend Sandy used it to describe Jackie's writing style when she emailed Jackie yesterday.

They reached the top of the hill where Bum likes to perch and jot down a few thoughts, if she has any.

Bear asked, "How's our blog coming along?"

"Slowly," said Bum.

"Why's that?" asked Bear.

"As you know, Paul set up a blog for me called editingwithmyimaginarydog.blogspot.com and placed a lovely picture of you on its front.  My niece, Mara, found the picture for me and it is perfect.  The heading on the blog is Bear With Me, so it is fitting, don't you think?"

"I like it, Bum.  So, did anyone have a gander at it?"

"No," said Bum.  "I tried googling the name several times but it could not be found.  Try the exact spelling, Google told me, but nothing worked.  In desperation, I contacted Paul and he said it's probably because there are no posts on it so search engines are not picking it up."

"So, what did you do, Bum?"

"I posted a note about who I am and how I met you and called you Bear which is an old Celtic word for Artos, which is your real name."

"Did that work?" asked Bear.

"No, so I asked you to post something, which you did, explaining why you call me Bum.  I thought that would do it."

"Did it?" asked Bear.

"No," said Bum succinctly.

"I think you're overusing that word succinct, Bum, just because you like it," said Bear snidely.

"Whatever," said Bum, succinctly,  not that put out.

"So, Bum, whatever did you do, or more likely, what did Paul do?  He was all gung ho to get you a blog which he thought was important to proceed with our book."

"Correct, Bear.  He pinned it to the front of his Facebook with a note to the effect that I was his aunt and had written an unusual book, etc."

"Did that work?" asked Bear.

"A bit, he told me," said Bum.  "He said he got about 23 hits which is more than he usually gets from one of his posts, and it was within a 24 hour period."

"That's very encouraging, Bum," said Bear looking quite pleased.  "Did he get any comments?"

"We got our very first comment, Bear.  It was from a woman called Phyllis; I won't use her last name just in case she is a private person; from Lower Nicola B.C., wherever that is."

"What did she say, Bum?"

"She said, and I quote, she is funny, liked that, and this is  a beautiful dog, of course,"

"What an intelligent and insightful woman, Bum.  I am so pleased she found me beautiful, high praise indeed."

"I too am pleased she found me funny, and you beautiful because you are."

"I'm funny," responded Bear looking a bit disgruntled.

"I know you're funny, Bear.  Who knows better.  But, there are two of us on the blog, so let that be the end of it.  We don't want to bicker over our very first comment, and put Phyllis off making other comments."

"You're right, of course, Bum.  I'm sorry."

"Any other comments on our blog?" Bear continued.  "Surely it deserved more than one."

"As I already told you, there was a problem accessing the blog, and adding posts as suggested by Paul, didn't help.  Paul's wife, Kim, tried to make a comment on one of the posts and that wouldn't work either.  I don't know what the problem is and I'll have to get Paul involved."

"Anyway, because nothing seemed to be working, my sister sent a link to our blog to our old friend, Bill, who lives on the Island.  He wrote back and said, 'having known Jackie for so long but not really knowing her at all, makes the blog so very interesting.  I love it when someone slowly shows a side of themselves that they've kept hidden for so long, unless they're a psychopath.  I wouldn't love that, Ha!'

"He compared you to a psychopath, Bum.  Some friend."

"I don't think he's comparing me to a psychopath, it's just his way of writing."

"He should work on his writing skills," said Bear, "and don't use the word psychopath in a sentence describing you."

"Don't worry about it, Bear.  I have written a piece about him and intend to post it next on our blog.  As a matter of fact, many months ago when Alice Munro won a huge prize for her short stories, I thought I'd try my hand at short stories which I have always loved and read all my life.  I wrote two short stories, intending to call my book My Friends.  The first one was about Bill and the second one about my sister Patsy.  I let my sister read them as I value her opinion.  She said they're not really short stories but rather Profiles.  I looked up profiles on google and they seem to be about famous people.  My friends are not famous, except to me, so I ditched the short story project.  Anyway, I'm going to post them on our blog and you can tell me what you think."

"I look forward to that, Bum.  Supposedly, you were looking around for another project when you finished our book, Right?"

"Right," Bum said succinctly because she still loves that word.

"I have to go home now, Bum.  My master is coming back from his course for a couple of days and will want to take me out walking.  But, before I go, I would like to know what that pervert at the Safeway parking lot said to you."

"Dear Bear.  I have received a number of telephone calls from perverts when I worked at ICBC.  My friends wanted to know what they said.  I said No."

"Perverts were calling ICBC?"  Bear looked incredulous.

"Not everyone calling ICBC was a pervert.  Some of them were calling about insurance.     My recollection of these calls, and the fellow up at Safeway, is that they mostly say the same thing.  Trust me, they are not that creative."

"So what did  he, and them, say?"

"As I told my sister when she asked, and I am telling you now, get your own pervert."