I followed the parade and escaped being at the center of the fireworks. The parade ended up going into the Cathedral, all the floats (gigantic) and the dancers and the bands, and the rock groups, and the many many priests including one extremely handsome Cuban priest who had all the teenage girls aflutter after he passed by. They all convulsed or swooned in each others arms. I remember that feeling with an Irish priest when I was young and religious.
I asked about ten people, some friends, what this was about and got ten different answers. "It is December, the month of the Virgen". Well, actually, it is not December. "It is the end of the Catholic year, so we celebrate." Actually it is not. "It is the feast of something." I couldn't get the translation even thought most catholic things resemble the Latin I grew up with. I gave up. Does it really matter?
About Ralphie. He was born on the day we buried my mother. I didn't meet him until he was six weeks old. I was at a party in Temple , New Hampshire at Raphael's house. His barn dog had something like 11 puppies and it was a freezing night in February. It was Raphael's birthday. The dogs weren't allowed inside, they were barn dogs. But, the runt of the litter who was blond whereas all the rest were black, just kept managing to get in. He also wouldn't stop coming to me. I had a little moment of black out and decided to take him home with me.
Oops. He got named Ralphie for two huge reason's. Whenever we looked at a picture of my mother and her siblings, they always had a dog. When I asked her what the various dogs were named, she always answered, "Ralph". It was also Raphael's birthday so that seemed appropriate also. He was part Huskie and part Australian Sheep Dog. His coloring was exactly the same as mine. He quickly became a community effort. I traveled a lot and he wore out his welcome at many friend's houses...even farms. The thing is everyone liked him and at the same time couldn't stand him. He was a little crazy.
I lived on the ocean. At low tide, the rocks in front of my house were exposed and covered with frozen sea weed. The only place Ralph would poop was on top of the highest rock. So, it was a process that took forever. He had to climb up the frozen sea weed on these giant granite boulders and perch on the peak and then he would start to do his business and his paws would start to slide out from under him and he would end up on the sand and start the process all over again. He was a perfectionist, just made weird choices.
He was also grand sneak. When I went to the bathroom in the middle of the night, I would come back to bed and find Ralphie in my warm spot in the bed, the blanket tucked up to his head, eyes shut, pretending to sleep. If I waited a bit, he would peak out of one eye and I would bust him. He never gave up trying.
When the end of my finger got cut off, Ralphie sat on the couch with me and wouldn't leave my side. I liked that. Soon, however, I had to move and my sister who loooooooooooooooves dogs finally talked her husband, Lenny, into accepting Ralphie. He called me pretty frequently over the years. I enjoyed being a friend on facebook with him. But mostly I enjoyed visiting Sarah and watching Ralphie going nuts because he was profoundly loyal to both of us. We had to sit next each other or he couldn't relax.
I am sad that I won't see him again or talk to him on the phone.
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