Due to the very quick, untimely death of my best friend, my, on the large size, Yorkshire Terrier, Harry,  after about three days of near continual crying, living alone I knew I must have another dog (best friend) as soon as possible and as I had been into Cavalier King Charles Spaniels (for those of you that do not know what a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel looks like, please see my bio page.) Knowing I must have a new live-in friend as soon as possible, I contacted the local lady – with a home operated kennel – that, about seventeen years ago I had purchased, “Fergie,” my first Cav, to see if she had any puppies for sale.  

 She didn’t have any puppies but did give me the phone number of the Southern California Cavalier Rescue.

 Calling the lady that runs the rescue, informing her of my years of experience with "Cavs," I was informed that that very morning a lady from Northern California had called with a near five year old male that, due to her working hours, felt very badly about leaving the dog home alone all that time and thought it best to adopt him out and, “Would you be interested?” I was asked.

 “Absolutely!” I answered.

 Three days later, the rescue lady was at my home checking both, myself and my home to see if I, and my home were dog-friendly.

 Finding both, myself and my home extremely dog-friendly, the adoption was arranged and that weekend my girlfriend, her dog, Andy, and myself drove the three hundred fifty-three miles to meet and to bring my new best friend home.

 And indeed, Kody adopted me immediately and in the three weeks that we have been living together – although there are a few issues that we are working out – Kody and I have become the very best of friends.

 Something very strange happened a few days ago that my girlfriend says, "Had to be Kody!"  

 And I say, “How could Kody do it?”

 Living alone, of course I do my own laundry.

 From the dryer, after hanging what needs to be hung, I carry all the socks, underwear, handkerchiefs and etceteras into my room, lay them on the bed, fold and put them into the sock, underwear and handkerchief drawer.

 So how could it happen?

 The underpants I wear are not Jockey or Boxers but, having the material of Jockey Shorts, are kind of an abbreviated Boxer.

 Okay, so it’s an indelicate subject, but we all do it and those that have read anything that I have written know that, on rare occasions, I’ve been known to, occasionally, write about some rather indelicate subjects, so...

 As we all do it...

 A few days ago I was sitting on the toilet and, looking down, at my underpants that, along with my jeans were mid-way down my calves, Holy shit – considering where I was, not attempting to make an indelicate subject even more indelicate, but – holy shit! I thought because, other than the front panel, (you guys know, the front panel with the fly that keeps “us” ensconced)  other than the front panel and the three inch leg material, there was...

 Nothing!

 The entire rear of my underpants, the entire seat had raggedly disappeared.

 Okay, I’m seventy-four years old and, yeah, there are things I forget but, folding my underwear, I would, most certainly, notice if the entire seat was missing from a pair of underpants! And if not then, I would, absolutely  notice when, slipping them over my feet, up my legs and onto my ass, I would most  certainly notice that I had only half a pair of underpants on.

 Hell, wearing half a pair of underpants has to be, at least, a bit on the uncomfortable side.

 Okay, so here’s my quandary:

 #1... If I carried my laundry directly from the dryer to my room and began to fold and put away,  how could Kody get to a pair of my underpants?

#2... How do I get dressed without noticing that I’m putting on half a pair of underpants?

#3... And once on, as one that does not exactly have a teeny-weenie little ass, how do I not feel that something is not quite right? Like, maybe, like a breeze.

#4... If Kody had no way of getting to and eating my underpants between the dryer and drawer, then he must have eaten them while I was wearing them.

Now I've been known to drink a vodka/tonic on occasion and, okay, maybe even more than one vodka/tonic, and I do, occasionally, like a Tangeray Martini before dinner, but I hardly ever sit around in my underwear, especially while with company, and  most especially not when at a restaurant while drinking a Tangeray Martini.

 So possibly the only way Kody could have eaten my underpants was while I was wearing them.

 In the service, many, many years ago I had been called "numb nuts" on more than one occassion, but....? 

Oh, well, they’ve never explained flying saucers either.

                                                 *****

 NOTATION: This story/article was written when I was age seventy-four and am now at age eighty-five and sadly, my best friend, Kody has been gone for a few years and I am now with mybest  friend, Mushi who sadly is on borrowed time.

For dog lovers: We all know that there is no dog story that has a truly happy ending. However, for me, the terribly sad endings to all of my dog stories have been (almost) counterbalanced by the love received between all of the sad endings.