Dog Years

I snuck out of my caboose and stood on the train tracks outside. The feeling of the early summer evening air and the hard iron of track rails under my feet felt reassuring. The second-shift waste disposal truck had arrived for pick-up at the asylum.  Moe the driver was breaking in a new kid to ride shotgun and hump the dumpsters. Moe had his hands full because the kid was a real talker, never took a breath. I decided it was better than asylum television so I stood behind an evergreen shrub and eavesdropped. 

The kid’s kelly-green company cover-alls hung baggy on his thin tweeker frame. His mouth was moving a mile a minute and old Moe had a “just kill me now” expression on his tired face as he looked longingly at the entrance to the state asylum. His new trainee was on a hot roll...

“It's like dog years man. Yeah,yeah,yeah. See, you live the equivalent of seven years in one, cool right? That one year of bad-road marriage times seven, dude. Or, or is it seven years of bad marriage slammed into one? I don't know dude, but it's pretty freakin' awesome, right?” 

The trainee jumped down from the truck, moving in fits and jerks he wrestled the dumpsters almost as fast as he talked.  

“How do dogs do it, right? I mean like they're so intense on just diggin' up a bone or something and then they like jump around and lick you and stuff. I don't think I could get that hyped-up over a bone, man. But like a bone times seven, like from a Kobe steak or shit, oh yeah, Kobe bones are rockin' dude. 

So like if we lived dog years, we'd see better, smell better, fuck a lot of bitches... hahahahaa, right on man, I'd wag my tail about that every day man. A whole pack of bitches, all drooling and shit.... seven years man, that'd be intense.” 

The kid sniffed quickly several times and briefly wiped his nose on his sleeve before wrangling another dumpster and continuing his one-sided conversation. Moe just sat hapless in the truck. 

“Sleeping on the floor, stayin' up late at night to bark at the moon. I'd be runnin' with the big dogs dude, all snarlin' and shit. Yeah, that's how I'd roll. But hey, think of the dudes doin' time man, their life sentences would be like longer right? No, wait a minute dude, they'd be like shorter, yeah, that's it, their time would be up sooner 'cept it'd be tougher like, like bein' in maximum and havin' the guards hassle you 24/7 an' shit....... ”

He rolled the dumpster over to the truck to be forklifted over the cab. He pulled at his crotch while he paused, coming up for air. Moe could only work the hydraulic levers and listen, mute. 

“I dunno man, seven years of my life crammed into one, I'd need lots heavier drugs than just weed man, like heroin and shit. Maybe some acid man, then I'd be freakin' out like that werewolf dude, tearin' my clothes off and gettin' all hairy. AH-ROOOOOOO, AH-ROOOOOOOO. Hahahaahahaha, like that old monster dude. 

Hey, hey... Moe, you know what I"m sayin' man? Life it'd be different, like it probably wouldn't suck all the time. Hey, you know? Dogs are like always excited about runnin' or smellin' somethin'. Nothin' ever seems to bother them and they just get up and leave when they want to, right? Everything crammed into one year, one intense year. Seven into one. Each year, man. So like we'd actually be like, what, seven times fifty or some shit what's that like, like a thousand years old or somethin? Hahahahahahhaha, we'd be really old dudes, right?” 

Through the garbage truck windshield I thought I noticed Moe’s eyes water up. The kid rolled another dumpster into position, leaning his skinny frame into it. He wiped his lips back and forth with his green sleeve and continued his monologue. 

“I had this dog once. Some old mutt.  We kept him in the basement all the time. One time he got out, right, an' he ran up the steps and jumped out the back door. We chased after him, throwin' rocks and cans an' shit to get him to stop you know? An' he just kept goin' right out into the street man, then a freakin' truck hit him, like WHAM! A freakin' dump truck man and killed that dog, like BAM! Hahahahaahaha. Killed him dead dude. He wasn't no thousand years old. He was a stupid dog. That’s why we kept him in the basement, man. Stupid dog.”

The kid paused for a moment, possibly in reflection, more likely to catch his breath.  

“Who'd wanna be a stupid dog anyway, right? Like you live long enough as it is huh. It ain’t nothin’ much... better to get it over with right? Dog years, shit. Hey, hey.… Moe,  I'm livin' large man, I don't need no extra years, man. I'm livin' large. Right?”

I looked back at the sight of my caboose’s pipe-railed back deck. It’s shiny signal lantern stared back at me, inviting me to return. I had had enough outside reality for one evening. I couldn’t say whether the asylum’s therapy was working yet or not.