If you have been following this blog, you may remember my post on my second love, J. Patrick Brown. If you did not read the original post on Mr. Brown, please read below.
Last weekend, I had the enormous pleasure of having lunch and visiting with my second love, Patrick Brown. In my first post on Mr. Brown, I referred to him as somewhat alien, as innocent and seemingly out of place in this contemporary world, a gentleman that I still cared for deeply, but one I could not easily relate to—not the case, this go-round. Patrick could not have been more vibrant, he could not have been anything less than the charming southerner he is, he could not have been any more attuned to his environment. And what brought about this change, that he readily acknowledged, was a dog. A tiny little creature named Corky—a purse puppy, I thought prior to meeting the pet, a silly little accessory that could easily make Patrick’s proclivity to isolate a little more comfortable. Not so. “Corky” has opened up an entirely new world for Patrick—the Manhattan dog-loving world, the pet owner society and social club where everybody knows your dog’s, and your name. Corky is Patrick’s wing man, or as I recently read, wing-mutt.
But back to Patrick—my second love was attentive, generous, he asked questions and waited for the answers, he told me stories about us that I had no recollection of, he confirmed our history and sealed our love. He was humorous without being sarcastic, he was joyful, spiritual, he paid attention to life but didn’t condemn nor judge. For lack of better wording, he was a breath of fresh air, yet relevant in his world and in mine. He inspired me—inspired me to be a better person, a better friend, to approach challenges with thoughtful consideration and not with my typical bullish, fuck you modus operandi. Was this all Corky’s doing? Maybe, probably, I don’t know, Pat was always sweet and kind and good. But pets are very powerful partners, affecting us in a myriad of ways, taking us out of our own bullshit. And although I don’t think that Patrick was mired in bullshit, he did seem to be stuck in something, a time-warp, an innocence that was inhibiting—a place that I was not privy to. Not any more. We reconnected, were reunited—and I fell in love for the second time with my second love. Kisses to you, Corky, and my dear, dear friend, J. Patrick Brown.
photo credit: pinterest – and no, that is not my friend with the dog on his back, but I did think the picture was kind of creepy/cute.