Dating Outside Your Species
by Diane Johnson
10/22/2017
I was looking through pictures, trying to find something for a card I wanted to make for a sick friend. I stumbled on the ones of Chester and his kitty. Now, Chester was a dog my friend K. C. and I found at the top of Duck Creek Pass one August day. He had been abandoned and was thin and weak, but he gained weight fast. He was a good and well-behaved dog, and Kitty loved him.
Kitty was a feral cat that came to our place one day. She would never let us get close, but she graciously accepted cat food and water. Richard made a cat door in the shed, so she could sleep inside. Kitty followed Chester everywhere. She snuggled and purred beside him whenever he tried to rest. She watched him with adoration when he was playing frisbee or helping with chores. Chester was not impressed.
Chester was an upper crust, well educated bird dog. He loved to be groomed and was fastidious about his fur. His manners were impeccable and he could be trusted around children, chickens, and left-over hamburger on the grill.
Kitty, on the other hand, was never able to keep up with her grooming. She walked around with leaves and sticks in her hair. She chased chickens at every opportunity, and if you left your paper plate for a moment outside by the grill, whatever was on it was gone in a flash. It was a match doomed for failure. Mr. Sophistication was not interested in Ms. Kitty.
One day I realized I was Ms. Kitty. About ten months after the gut-wrenching loss of my husband, Richard, I had noticed a man at Church. He was cultured, kind, single, and a good singer. I was drawn to him. However, he was not drawn to me. I admired him from afar, (it’s not a big Church, so not really very far. . . .) Soon I realized he chatted up the “trophy date” types. Women who knew the difference between lipstick and Chapstick. Women who likely never had sticks and leaves in their hair. However, unlike Kitty, I recognized hopeless when I saw it.
So, I stopped staying for coffee after the service, (unless it was my turn for cleanup). I seriously doubt he had noticed my interest. . . I always sit with my family. It’s been a hard two months, admiring Mr. Wrong from afar, but I’m getting better. I don’t trust my own motives, am I trying to replace Richard? Am I just bored and lonely? I haven’t dated anyone but Richard since I was seventeen. It is insane for me to even consider it.
Instead, I have taken my horse to the mountains by myself. . . no hand-held radio and the Townsend Ranger District as back up. I’ve been hiking some trails in the Belts with my dogs, and helped a neighbor move cattle horseback. I have the freedom to decide who I am now. What are my interests? I love riding horses, painting, and writing, those things haven’t changed. I am tired of gardening, but I am becoming more interested in my yard and flowers. The days I don’t wish I was dead are getting more frequent.
Last week my grandson Ty was over for dinner and we listened to a bunch of silly poems by Baxter Black. I even laughed. One of the people I miss the most since Richard died is myself. Will that joyful woman ever come back? I hope so.