Ran originally in Sunday August 30, 2020 editions of The Times and The News-Star.

Started writing this as the storm moved through. Figured I’d try to get the words in before the electricity went out and martial law became A Thing.

Now we’re done and it looks like things could have been much worse. We finally get a break from 2020, which tells you what kind of year it’s been. Laura was the most powerful storm in recorded history to ever make landfall in Louisiana and we’re practically giddy that, although it was plenty bad, it wasn’t worse.

For the first time in my life, on Hurricane Eve I heard the phrase “unsurvivable storm surge,” which is so 2020. “Unsurvivable storm surge” might make Superman laugh, but it gets my attention, even if my house is five hours from the Gulf. Fortunately, we dodged that aquatic bullet.

Speaking of water, this week someone pointed out to me that if 2020 were a canoe trip, it would be the canoe trip in Deliverance. (If you’ve never seen the movie, good. Don’t. Just trust me here: the analogy is spot on. It was NOT a good canoe trip, even if there is such a thing. After watching Deliverance, I went into Permanent Canoe Retirement, so…)

Like you in these times so “uncertain”—so tired of that as, again, unless you’re Superman, ALL times are uncertain—this bureau falls back on the one dependable and sure thing you can touch and feel. Of course—and I shouldn’t even have to write this—that would be your dog, which is God spelled backward (and yes, I know there is a wide chasm between the two, but He created them for some reason, and I think the hint as to why is evident in the spelling).

Sometimes your favorite car won’t start. Plumbing backs up in your favorite bathroom. Your wonderful boyfriend is sometimes too sarcastic, shares too little, drinks too much.

But your dog … you don’t really expect him or her to unload the dishwasher or mow the grass, so they never disappoint.

(Editor’s note: Proving that they are only human, a dog can do that too—drink too much—but I know of only one case and it wasn’t the fault of Jake, the black lab by which all other black labs are measured. Somebody left a case of Budweiser within easy reach—this was on a duck “camp” of three pontoons tied together on the Ouachita River in the late 1970s or early ’80s—and after everyone else had gone to sleep, Jake had his fill. You didn’t need a can opener if you had incisors like Jake’s. At sunrise they found him, smoking a menthol, non-filtered, and begging for coffee. He still hunted that day. And never drank another beer.)

A friend named Ross has had hunting dogs and fishing dogs. Currently he owns more of a fishing dog. All she’s cost him is the money to get her “fixed” and bushels of pork cracklins.

“The girl’s worth it,” he said.

Ross has kept his small business open, kept his young staff, mostly students, employed, kept the products from his market up to his high standards. Unless it involves a ballgame and his favorite team, he’s not the kind of guy who gets rattled. But the pandemic has tried him.

What’s one thing that’s helped keep him sane? Recently, he wrote this to share the secret:

“Tonight…after a hard day at work, that little dog ‘worried’ me to death trying to get me to play with her and her toys. Tennis balls, stuffed animals, the like…and it worked! I was, just a few minutes ago, on the floor playing with a few stuffed animals, a tennis ball, and a fishin’ dog. For those few minutes I forgot that I owned a store, was married, had family and such. Looking back I guess all I had, in those fine minutes, was a crazy dog that was busy getting’ after all of the above..and takin’ care of me—whether I liked it or not.”

Coincidentally, Hurricane Eve/Wednesday was National Dog Day. Dogs remind you that you can weather the storm.

We have a friend Amy who last week lost the little girl she’d adopted from a shelter almost 12 years ago, a short-legged, long-eared angel named Lulu. She’d battled kidney disease for more than a year, but every day she brought joy to her mom. A doctor and assistant came to the house to help Lulu cross over The Rainbow Bridge.

“We were outside in the backyard which Lulu loved,” Amy said, “and where she’ll be resting forever.

While the vet was en route, Amy and Lulu shared some chocolate chips, “her favorite thing on the planet,” Amy said. No, they are not good for dogs but, hey, Lulu and Amy like to live a little. Even a lot.

Plus they shared a dark chocolate caramel.

“She enjoyed every bite,” Amy said. “Lulu sure made me smile every single day.

“I like this saying: ‘Dogs are not our whole life, but they make our lives whole.’ Ain’t it the truth?”

-30-

By JOHN JAMES MARSHALL/Designated Writers

Saturday at 7:13 p.m., a man I’ve never met changed my life. (To be honest, I had waved to him twice, if that counts for something.)

That man did me the ultimate solid — he flicked some switch or connected some wire or something even more complicated than that — and gave me what I hadn’t had in 57 hours.

Electricity.

In my home-owning lifetime, I’ve had two severe bouts with electricity. I was 0-for-6 days during that ice storm in the early 2000s, but this one was at the other end of the thermometer spectrum.

Day One was relatively easy. It wasn’t too hot outside, the fridge was still semi-operable and most of my clothes were clean.

Day Two wasn’t. None of those applied anymore and I foolishly thought I could make it through the night and sleep in my own bed. It’s amazing all of the things you hear when you are trying to go to sleep and don’t have power. The main thing is the sound of the people in your neighborhood who have generators. That isn’t exactly Brahm’s Lullaby.

But Day Three dawned and there were utility trucks in the neighborhood! And when I saw the guy around the corner with the bucket lift lined up to send that sweet electrical current my way, I gave him the courtesy wave as I drove by. I waited breathlessly at home. And waited. And waited.

So I drove back around the corner and he was gone. It’s like Bia, the Greek god of “electricity,” had played a cruel joke on me. I went home, turned on my porch light switch and literally drove around in the air-conditioned car (that’s an important adjective for a man without electricity.) I know exactly how sad this sounds, but it’s true — I would come back by my house every 15 or 20 minutes to see if my porch lights were on. If not, I kept driving another loop.

This went on for hours until I realized I was getting more depressed with every failed pass by my house. But as I drove home for the last time, Bucket Truck Man was back in place. Could it be?! !? I gave him another courtesy wave and headed up my driveway.

Ten minutes later, I was back in business!

There’s nothing like a power outage to point out just how stupid you are (as if the above illustration hadn’t already proved it.) I must have turned 20 light switches on during these three days. I got the electric blower out to clean off my driveway. How’d that work out? I had my iPad fully charged in preparation for Hurricane Laura; lot of good that did me.

It’s amazing how much better your life gets in one electricity-filled second. Especially after 57 hours.