No Pants. Weed. And Something’s Missing.

by David Jensen

Editorial Note: Viewer discretion …

Working as a pet therapy team with Iris brings a new surprise with every visit.

A nurse stopped us in the hallway at a senior residence community today.  She said “I really have someone who you need to meet.”

We followed her to the end of the hallway.  Just before entering, the nurse mentioned that “John” doesn’t always wear pants.  I really didn’t have much time to prepare my mind for this bit of breaking news. It was slightly worsened by the sign on the open front door that said “Don’t knock, just come on in.”  This may explain why his room was at the end of the hallway where few people pass by. And it gives me a clue about how I might score my own corner apartment in an assisted living situation if I ever need that kind of care.

John’s eyes opened wide when he saw Iris walk through his front doorway. I had already told my own eyes not to look down.  But I’m known for tripping over the flowers on the carpet. I glanced up quickly. Thankfully, John had thrown part of a red towel over his lap.

John warms up to his audience quickly. He rattled off a flurry of stories with a repoire that was hard not to believe.  He told me of his days working in submarines for the U.S. Navy.  He said “That’s when I learned about being stealth-like.”  “I used the same principal when growing acres of weed in the 1970s.” That bit of history intrigued the heck out of me.

He went on to remind me several times about his heritage which he said is a combination of ancient German Shaman and The Illuminati.  How could I argue with something I had previously known nothing about.

His storytelling never withered.  John told me about the countless dogs that his sister would rescue and re-home.  He mentioned the passersby along the street outside his window - mostly those walking their dogs. He rubbed Iris’s ears and neck to the beat of each word.

I’m guessing John to be in his late 80’s.  And the smile that lights up his dark complexion made me smile, too.  This man loves to laugh and tell stories as if they had just happened earlier that day.

Near the end of our visit, John decided to tell me about a recent day when he just couldn’t stop laughing.  The nurses guided him to the community area (pants were apparently required at the time.)

He’d laugh and laugh again. He seemed to have everyone’s attention. Finally, someone asked him why he was laughing so much that day.  He broke out laughing just hearing the question.  Then he made a loud announcement for everyone to hear.  “I can’t find my fuckin’ dick.”  A pause swept through the room.  There may have been a gasp or two. He laughed out loud again. He figured no one heard him, so he giggled out the same words to make sure everyone knew.  “I can’t find my fuckin’ dick.”

Now, I’ve heard a lot of stories during our pet therapy visits.  But this particular one, not fit for an “all-ages” book, will certainly be remembered as one of the best so far.
John is unabashed. He’s believable, intelligent and proud … as well he should be. And, John lives to remember and share.

I’ll visit John again soon.  And again after that.  His memories, he said, are vast.  I can’t wait to hear more.  And it reminds me that, when Iris and I visit seniors around town, we’re getting a decent amount of therapy ourselves. I can only hope that my memory will recall things so colorfully.

— dj —

Copyright protected: David Jensen; david@alaskaportraits.com