Service Dog

By Garrett Ivn Coln

Recollecting the unforgettable individuals with whom you joined in
conversation at the bar makes for a far greater story than not remembering
anything at all is exactly what I said to myself upon waking up with a mild hangover
the next morning, so dont try searching for that quote online, because you wont
find it anywhere. This seat taken, sir? No, its not, he answered, and dont call
me sir. A welcoming chuckle immediately chased after his response, as the vacancy
of the swiveling barstool drew me in like quicksand. I ordered myself a stout and
gave the beautiful bartender the same half-grin and stare that they expect from most
single menand taken men, for that matter. Of course, the bar is the place to be for
[temporarily] voiding out any ongoing relationships. The first sniff-and-sip of my
beer was followed by a sudden, unexpected wet lick above my left heelperhaps Id
stepped into the wrong kind of bar. I looked down, and to my pleasant surprise, it
was a doga beautiful golden retriever-Labrador mix of some sort or another. A
dog, I thought, at the bar. My eyes traced the ascending leash, as the loop ultimately
led to the clenching, trembling fist of the gentleman sitting beside mehis other
hand grasping an empty pint glass on its coaster. A pale man, maybe mid-forties,
thin, and wearing one of those honest, welcoming smiles that trigger your inner-
extrovert to escape out of its shell. I quickly scanned my eyes over the dog for any
kind of service animal identificationnothing. The very last that I expect of an
indoor bar is for the establishment to be pet-friendly. The mans name was Kirk,
and he was delightful to talk to. He was clearly twice my age, though wed discussed
nearly everything from dogs and college to our inner-alcoholic. Kirk and I listened
in on the poetry readings that were taking place at the little bar venue that night.
The entire lighting scheme of the place was dimmed to a shadow, all of the furniture
made out of some faux-wood material, and very resemblant of a forest at dusk. A
spotlight shone on the drunken readers standing in front of their respective
microphones, as they spat out some literary prosecomical, violent, and vulgar in
nature, and clearly identifiable as the words of [the late and great] Charles
Bukowski. Cock this, fuck that, shit here, bitch there, all so eloquently and
obscenely constructed; yet bearing such significant meaning. Thats the beauty of
Bukowski. This is exactly why Im an english major! I told Kirk as we equally
laughed in sheer amusement. All about the imagery! he replied. I was on my third
or sixth beer by the time the last speaker of the night stepped up to the microphone
to read their selected Bukowski pieces. The entire time, even as my buzz
approached, I kept looking down at Kirks dog, named Porter, and thinking to
myself, what in the hell is this dog doing here? Kirks wife blew up his cell phone
multiple times throughout the night, and I felt bad for him because of it. Without the
slightest consideration of ignoring her calls, he answered every last ring, slurring his
words more and more each time. She completely obliterated the essential idea of
temporary relationship absence. Ive always believed that a mans time at the bar is
a mans time at the bar, and nothing should intercept that designated time frame.
Kirk and I chatted a while longer before he decided to head home, the burning
question of Porters presence at the bar still lingering in my mind, forking at my
curiosity. As Kirk hopped out of his barstool, shook my hand, and stumbled his way
out of the venue, Porter jolted up and responded to his every move, like an obedient,
loyal service dog. Service dog. That was it! Kirk wasnt blind. Kirk wasnt deaf. Kirk
was drunk. Porter was Kirks designated walker, and that damn dog walked Kirk all
the way home. All I could do was smile, laugh, and turn my attention back to the
shiny charm necklace, which dangled down the bartenders well-constructed chest.
Actually, I was looking at something else, but what she doesnt know wont hurt her.