The Fishermen

Peppy was an old dog put together with a few genes of this and that. His body was a mass of gray curls that still had traces of black ... curls that once covered him from head to toe. A lot like my own.

But it was his eyes that could melt your soul. Dark brown discs that were once irises, now milky white. Pep was blind, and a stroke had rendered his legs useless. The poor dog had to be carried everywhere. He had lived fifteen years, a hundred and five in dog years. And I was nearing eighty. We could commiserate.

We met for the first time on an elevator that took us from the thirty-second floor, where we lived, down to the lobby. I remember how awkwardly we stood, not speaking a word. Nick, his human, held Peppy in his arms and was taking him down to do his business after his evening meal. They were my new neighbors who had come to Florida after a lifetime up north.

I said a few words to break the silence, my voice immediately alerting Peppy. His nose sniffed in every direction, searching for this new stranger in his midst. His shaggy white head with its snow-white muzzle grazed my hand as he licked my fingertips with a warm tongue. I stroked his head. His tail wagged a little faster, and his backside moved to the same tempo. By the time we reached the lobby, I had passed his first test.

"His days are numbered," Nick said sadly. "He can't walk and his eyes are gone, but I'm told he feels no pain." I watched as Nick carried his dog out the front door to a spot only the two of them knew.

They lived only a few doors away, so that night I knocked on their door and introduced myself. Nick was talking as I entered, but my eyes were searching for the grizzled, old centenarian. His head rested on his paws in a crib that was covered with his own blue blanket. As I approached, his tail wagged and his nose came up for a sniff. Again, he licked my hand.

"He was miserable up north, said Nick. "He just shriveled up when the wind tore into his hide. I couldn't wait to get him down here to warm his bones."

Over the next few weeks, I became Peppy's sitter when Nick was called away. I spent hours telling him about my life. He would close his sightless eyes and listen to everything I had to say. His curly tail would wave slowly and his nose would punch the air, catching the different tones of my voice.

Nick surprised me one day when he came to my door with a baby carriage and a platform built on its frame. There was Peppy, stretched out and ready for his first ride. No longer would Nick and I have to carry him about. The three of us went everywhere with his new set of wheels. The wind pushed back his floppy ears as one of us pushed him around the quay. Peppy loved it. I remember the day I took my tackle and poles and wheeled Pep to the spot where I fished. This was a new experience for him, and you could feel how attentively he listened to the new sounds that surrounded him as I cast my line.

It wasn't long before another old critter showed up. It was a pelican that sat nearby and waited for a meal everytime I threw the line over. I knew what an effort it was for him to fly. He was too old and worn out to join his wingmen in their search for food. It was too late for him to dive high altitudes and sweep the edge of the sea. The other pelicans flew off in perfect formation, but the old one just sat there and watched. He survived by gliding a few feet off the dock and snaring bait fish in his huge mouth. Between that and my handouts, he survived -- but barely.

Peppy and the pelican hit it off from the first time they met. They sat close to each other and developed a special kind of rapport. What a picture we must have made! Pep on his platform carriage. The bird dozing. And me, still casting in the twilight of my own ancient life.

I dropped a baited hook into the water and waited as the line swayed gently in search of a fish. Suddenly, Peppy whimpered -- not loudly, it was more like a purr. He could see nothing, but his head stretched over the platform directly into the sea. His tail beat faster and his ears stood erect. Somehow, the old dog was trying to help me catch a fish. His motions and whimpering alerted the pelican who stood up and also peered into the water. His yellow eyes bulged and he stared at my line.

The two clairvoyants were telling me something was about to happen. Sure enough, it did! The line became taut. Wham! We had a hit! The pole bent in half and I strained with all I had to bring something up to the planks. Peppy was half crazy with excitement. He even struggled up on his haunches to get a close look at his catch. And the pelican? He glided in to get a first-hand look at the end of my pole. With a lot of grunting, I finally brought up a yellow tail snapper and laid it at Peppy's feet. I quickly cut up the fish and tossed pieces into the pelican's famished mouth. Peppy rested on his blanket and seemed to enjoy the sound of the pelican chomping and gorging himself on the fish -- bones, scales and all.

I fished a lot over the next few months and my two pals never disappointed me. They were there with a wagging tail, a whimper and a flutter of wings. I was always ready when the magic began. I thought of all the retrievers and pointers that fetched game and then watched a fish dog go to work. Who would believe that I had pets like that?

What wonderful days Peppy was having. His whole life had changed and even he sensed that now there was a reason to live.

In June, Nick went up north for awhile and left Peppy with me and his now well-fed pelican pal. The following month, Peppy celebrated his sixteenth birthday with some of the most exciting catches of his new career.

And the pelican? The attention had an effect on him, too. As dusk came to the quay, I watched as he unfurled his trailing feathers and actually lifted himself off the ground! He pumped his long weathered feathers and wearily made it to a roost to sleep for the night.

We're a threesome of old fishermen. A sightless dog, a flightless bird and an old man who's having the time of his life.

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