– Dad?

– Hey! How are ya?

– What say I come up to you and we go have a cup of coffee by the wharf?

– Swell idea! How long has it been? Your mom is a lot better at these things.

– Dad.

– Yeah, son…Hello? You there? Hello?

– I’ll talk to you when I get up there.

– Hold on, hold on. You alright, buddy? We haven’t spoken in a wee while. When was it, the last time? I don’t even remember. So now you call up and say, let’s go have a cup of coffee, which is great. But you’re being cryptic now. Surely, we could talk a little bit more on the phone. I do have the time now. So something the matter?

– Nothing’s the matter. Just wanted to have coffee is all.

– Owen…Alright, when?

– Saturday?

– Perfect.

– I’ll swing by to pick you up. Okay, I gotta go. See you then, bright and early.

Owen hung up decidedly, avoiding any chance of accidentally revealing anymore.

He sank into his bay window daybed, staring out into the cove. A daysailer with a Union Jack mainsail had caught his eyes. So he followed it, his mind blank. And he kept his mind blank because years ago, he had happened upon Bruce Lee’s teaching to empty your mind, be formless, shapeless like water. This teaching had struck a chord in him at that moment when he had read it. So he tried it. And it clicked. Something worked.

Stare into the cove long enough, and it would carry you away on its back. Owen saw himself in a room in disarray, with red curtains, a pea-soup carpet that was worn-out in patches, throw pillows everywhere. His wife, who was tousling his hair, was now unbuttoning him. He thought she was his wife because it felt like his wife. There was a Great Dane in the room, standing tall. Then this guy, while rummaging through a messy desk for a book, looked over and said distractedly, oh yeah, he’s from the next room, meaning the dog.

There was an oversized transom window where there was no door. Just a transom in a wall. The two casement glass panes opened outward to blue skies. A host of sorts was inviting visitors to leave through the window. Step right up, he beckoned with an inflected tone, and pointing upwards to the transom, step right through.

Owen opened his eyes. He was on his back, on his daybed, which was built into the nook before his bay window. Twilight had settled in over the cove. His terrier, Bess, had snuggled up beside him. The living room was dark. He lost it momentarily, and started sobbing. Bess lifted her head. He just as quickly collected himself, drying his eyes with the heel of his palms. He reassured Bess that he was okay.

– Dear God! What has happened to you, Owen? Get up. You need to get up. Bess needs to eat. You need to eat, then take Bess out. Get up. Dig deep. Get up.

Soon as Bess heard eat, she gently hopped off the bed, did a quick little circle on the spot, as was her habit, then sat down.

Seeing her light-hearted responsiveness made him responsive as well, albeit much less eager. But he loved this dog enough to move. So he swung his legs over the side of the bed, pressed himself up into a sitting position, head bowed. While his head was bowed, he said a prayer under his breath. Then with a grunt, he stood up, and walked over to turn on the lights. Bess let out a little bark, her tail wagging.

Owen was used to Bess’ little idiosyncrasies. But this evening, she made him think about gratefulness. So as he was washing out her two bowls before filling them with food and water, he asked if he was grateful, thankful. And when he didn’t how to answer this, he realized that he was walking amiss. Strangely, this gave him hope. So as he laid Bess’ dinner down, he scratched her behind her ear, and was moved to say,

– Thank you, Lord, for my wonderful little dog.