Moments live forever in memories

“We do not remember days, we remember moments.”

—Cesare Pavese, Italian novelist, poet, short story writer, and essayist.

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Friendships endure, I’m convinced, because of memorable moments. Life often puts time and distance between us, but unforgettable experiences live forever in memories that surpass physical boundaries.

Another friend with whom I shared many memories reached the end of his journey on Earth last week. It’s part of this age in life, so I am told. But it sure seems like it happens way too often these days. For any age.

Weldon Campbell and I forged a friendship 50 years ago in Mount Pleasant, Texas. Life lured me in different directions out of Titus County, but Weldon remained to live out his life there.

Memories were many for the seemingly short time before I left. Things like our friendship that started as teaching colleagues at Frances Corprew School. Impromptu “just for fun” basketball games with a bunch of guys after work at the P.E. Wallace gym. A camping trip or two with our wives. Weldon’s business partnership with friend of the family, Monroe Wright. A marine business located near the intersection of Ferguson Road and the “Monticello highway,” as we called it then.

In fact, it was one recollection that started with a boat about which we laughed the most a couple or three years ago. During an email conversation with Weldon’s wife, Huella. She contacted me about something else in one of my columns; I don’t remember now. But I will never forget the incident recalled.

She had not heard the story, but Weldon confirmed it as told. “Yep,” he chuckled. “That’s a true story.”

I referred to it as the infamous day Weldon and I witnessed a bonified East Texas miracle. The dog that came back from the dead. Given up as a goner after falling victim to a car chasing caper.

The column I crafted then from memories of the incident related as how stopping at the boat business after school was common occurrence. Just to see what was going on. In hopes maybe a boat might need a checkout. At the lake.

As the last school bell rang that day, we were headed to one of the then-new lakes, Lake Cypress Springs, to test run an antique wooden hull inboard speedboat. The prospect of working in some skiing time on this spring afternoon was, I am sure, purely a coincidental afterthought.

As we passed the small black-and-white dog on the two-lane country road near the lake, I saw him. Poised and ready in a driveway. And I recognized the universal canine surprise attack stance for chasing cars.

Sure enough, “bullet dog” launched into the road, barking in hot pursuit of a tire.

The same question about dogs chasing cars came to mind. Why do they do that?

The sport of the chase ended quickly. The pooch dropped back and slowed down. But it overlooked one small detail—the boat trailer following closely behind Weldon’s blue and white Chevy Blazer.

I still remember the sad sight. The trailer wheel caught the unsuspecting pup, rolled it around a time or two, and then launched it into the air and off into the ditch. Where it landed in a lifeless lump.

We turned around and went back. The dog’s owner, an old farmer type, was standing over the dog’s body, surveying the situation. As we gathered around in silence, it was unanimous. We were all in agreement. That dog was dead.

Weldon apologized profusely and offered to pay the man for his poor animal. The fellow laughed and said, “Don’t worry about it, you did me a favor. I didn’t like the dog anyway.”

Amid one last apology, the miracle began to unfold as we were about to leave. The dog moved. We watched in disbelief as it shook its head, slowly got up, and wobbled back toward the driveway to lick its wounds.

Awkward silence was broken when the farmer said with genuine disappointment, “And here, I thought I was finally shed of that darn dog.” We all shared laughter of nervous relief that the pup was apparently OK. Then, Weldon and I continued our journey to the lake, having witnessed “the dog that came back to life.”

Passing the scene later that evening while headed home, I looked around. “You think that dog will remember today’s trailer encounter the next time he feels the urge to chase a car,” I asked aloud?

“I doubt it,” Weldon said. “What I’ve always wondered is what a dog would do if it actually caught a car.”

Thank you, Weldon, for memories that make friendships last a lifetime. After all, who else could say they witnessed something like the day that dog came back?

—Leon Aldridge

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Aldridge columns are published in these newspapers and magazines: The Center Light and Champion, the Mount Pleasant Tribune,  the Rosenberg Fort Bend Herald, the Taylor Press, the Alpine Avalanche, The Fort Stockton Pioneer, The Monitor in Naples, and Motor Sports Magazine.

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