We all get into routines, some are good, some less so. My routine is this. Say Morning Prayer from the 1928 Prayer Book, none of your newfangled rubbish, thank you very much, then take the dog for a walk and get a coffee. That’s what I did today, and as I was standing outside the filling station, sipping my coffee, and enjoying the crisp, sunny Texan morning, I heard singing.
It was faint at first and sounded like a spiritual. The singing grew louder; sure enough, it was a spiritual and its source was a middle aged black man walking down the road by the 1st Baptist Church. He was wearing a Russian style hat with ear flaps and a dirty old parka, defense against the cold, I suppose.
Blue Stryker went on guard as the singing gentleman came closer and stopped, just out of range of the leashed dog. I smiled at him and he smiled back, “Is that a cow dog?” he asked, “They’re real smart dogs! I got three. Say, do you have a cigarette?” I told I did and threw him one, as he cleverly stayed out of the dog’s attack zone. “Bless you, brother,” he said, and went on his way, singing his spiritual. “God bless you,” I replied, and meant it.
I liked that man and file this story under “country life in Texas.”
Your Old Friend,