Of Man and Animals. Thomas R. Hauff

      Wooster McDowel opened the screen door and carefully made his way to the old rocking chair that sat out on the porch. As usual, his slow progress meant that the screen bumped him as he went by, and as usual, he spilled some of his black coffee on the old porch boards. He hardly noticed anymore. There was a time when he used to try to stop the door from hitting him. And before that, he could get by easily enough without it touching him at all. But those days were long gone. Now that he was past eighty, he moved too slowly to side step the spring that pulled the screen shut. Ah well, that’s life.

      Wooster turned his back on the chair, bent his legs as far as they would bend nowadays, and reached back with his left hand to find the arm. Once, he had thought he was gonna sit down, and found he had not been close enough to the chair. He spilled a lot of coffee that day! Funny how he always thought of that when he was sitting down now. His daughter had heard about it and given him a good tongue lashing about “now that you’re older you’ve got to be more careful!” and “you could have laid there for hours with a broken hip!” It seemed like her biggest fear was no longer the bogey man he used to clear out of her closets when she was little. Now it was “the broken hip.” A tight smile crossed Wooster’s face as he envisioned a leg, shrouded in a black cloak, hopping along with that Bela Lugosi music playing in the background!

      Finding the arm of the rocker, Wooster settled back and finally plopped the last few inches into the chair. Ahhhhh. He’d been sitting in this chair for sixty years if it was a day. He had to have it rebuilt a couple times. The kids busted it up some when they played on it. That was years ago. They were grown with kids of their own and broken furniture in their houses now.

      Wooster’s bright and very sky-blue eyes traveled up and down the street as he sipped his cup o’ joe. Since his Emma had died, he usually drank his coffee out on the stoop. They used to talk in the morning. They’d sit inside at the table in the kitchen and listen to the radio or TV, commenting on issues. They were very current for septuagenarians. She died of the cancer about four years ago. It was a blessing in Wooster’s mind. She’d been sick a long time. He mumbled softly to himself, “I just keep on goin’ though.” He’d sit out on the stoop and watch the street because it was nice to see people. He could sit inside, but he figured if an old man like him were ever gonna see people, he’d have to go out and do it, “‘cause they weren’t gonna come to him.” And since it was hard to get out a lot, sitting on the stoop was the next best thing.

      He’d wave at Don Reynolds as he came out for work. Good man, Don. He’d been at the mill for years till it shut down. That would have broke a lot of men. Some had a hard time changin’ once they got settled into a job. But Don took it in stride, got some training, and was now working with computers. Wooster didn’t really know much about the field. He did actually have a computer, though. He got email with it. Don showed him how to use it. He set it up too. Wooster pretty much just checked mail. The rest was not of any concern.

      Often he’d see the kids on their way to school. Some were brats. He chuckled. He was a brat when he was a kid. But most were good kids—like his own grandkids. “Living large” in the world, as the younger people said.

      There was another good reason to sit on the stoop in the morning. It had nothing to do with people. It was for protection! He had to protect his strawberries! Although he was pretty stiff, and it was difficult, he still liked to plant strawberries and flowers in the front garden. Unfortunately, he couldn’t just leave ‘em to grow. The problem was those starlings. Darn starlings. He couldn’t think of any use for that bird. They were actually an import from Europe, he’d heard. He wished they’d have stayed put!

      The starlings would fly about in big flocks. They’d hang out on the wires like a gang of dark feathered ne’er-do-wells. They’d be watching the plants growing all over the neighborhood. And when the time came, they’d come and settle on his strawberries just like a bunch of ruffians would take to a single man in a dark alley! They usually worked his berries in the morning. They liked to feed in the morning he figured. Anyway, Wooster put a small scarecrow up, and sat on his porch in the summer to keep an eye on those starlings. Stupid starlings.

      While Wooster scanned the street, as though on cue, a small flock of starlings flew in over his house and settled down the block a bit on Mavis’s front lawn. “Well and good,” thought Wooster, “just keep to her lawn, and leave my strawberries be!”

      It was a Saturday morning; about eight or so. Wooster slurped another bit of coffee, and watched as Paul Compton’s garage door swung up. Paul had one of those electric garage door openers. Used to be when a garage door swung up, there was someone there to greet ‘cause they swung it up by hand. Now it just opened, and maybe someone was there, maybe not. Paul was there. He spied Wooster sitting on the porch and smiled at him, accompanied by a small wave. Wooster smiled back, and held his cup up. Paul nodded and set his tools down. He walked back into the garage and disappeared for a moment. He returned holding a cup. He strolled down his drive, looked both ways, and crossed to Wooster’s white picket gate. “Morning Wooster.”

      “Well good morning to you Paul. Have a cup?”

      Paul opened the gate saying, “You know I will.” He hefted the cup he had retrieved from his kitchen. It was a gift from Wooster a few Christmases back. Paul said it felt good in his hand and he’d use it when they had coffee. He really did that every time too!

      Paul was about forty or so, Wooster thought. He was a nice young man—had a good wife, Loreen, and good kids too. The kids didn’t spend much time with Wooster. Most kids had too much energy to spend time with Wooster. He didn’t mind. They tired him out just as much as he thought he must bore them! The Comptons had gotten to know Wooster the day they moved in. It was a Saturday, and Wooster had been on the porch watching, as usual, when the moving truck arrived. Their little one, at the time, had wandered over and sat down on Wooster’s porch while the adults were busy moving in. Wooster had chatted for a good fifteen minutes with the boy before his mom and dad had noticed he had disappeared. They came a runnin’ when they saw him. It gave them all a chance to meet, and they’d been friends ever since. The Comptons had Wooster over for dinner every couple weeks since. They were a nice family. Wooster knew he was an old man, and they were young and had lives. He appreciated their generosity.

      Paul came out from the kitchen where he had gotten some coffee for his cup. He pulled the other rocker up a little and plunked down, groaning a little as he did. Wooster looked over at him and said, “So what’s on the agenda today? Looks like you were planning some work.”

      Paul slurped some coffee, then said, “Yeah, that little fir there on the corner of the lot,” he pointed by swinging his cup gently at the tree, “I’m taking her out. Loreen doesn’t like it.” He didn’t take the tone that said, “I wish Loreen would let it be.” Wooster had heard men moan and groan about their wives’ yard wishes before. Paul didn’t do that. His wife ran a nursery. She knew plants and landscaping, and Paul knew that she had some plan. He often said she was the brains of the operation and he was the brawn. Wooster knew that Paul had brains too, but just used them in other areas.

      “I saw you up late last night” said Paul.

      “Yeah, couldn’t sleep. You must have been up late too to notice, eh?” replied Wooster. Wooster couldn’t sleep too well anymore. His doctor had said when you get older you sleep less. “Great,” thought Wooster. “I’ve slept crummy all my life. Now I get to sleep even crummier!”

      Paul shrugged, “Naw, I just woke up a little hungry, so I came down for a snack. I saw your light on. Nothing wrong?”