Al stood up from the kitchen table with a sigh of content. As he tucked in his chair, and brushed the crumbs from where they'd landed; caught in their plummet by his protruding midsection. As he did this he thought to himself that maybe the low sodium bacon and fake butter wasn't such a load of malarkey after all. He thanked his wife for breakfast, kissing her on the forehead in the way she adored.

            “I'll be home around 4:30 today,” he said. He walked over to the coat rack by the door and slipped on the old woolen jacket Gail had gotten him as a Christmas present so many years ago.  Grabbing the leash he whistled for Darwin who had fallen asleep on his bed by the French doors. Opening his tired eyes, Darwin stretched his plump little body and yawned deeply before strolling over to his master. Allen snapped the warn leather leash on his old friend and reached for the door.  Hearing Gail's voice he paused.

            “One last thing dearest.” she called. “What's a ten letter word meaning valiant?” He pondered this. Ever since he was a boy he'd always had a way with words, and been quick on his feet. It was a skill that had aided him well throughout his lifetime. It was certainly a must have to stay afloat in his line of work.

            “Chivalrous” He replied. His response boomed proudly through their kitchen. He had wanted nothing less for such a word.  He blushed, always grateful for an opportunity to be a help to his wife. She certainly was a rare gem, and he knew well what a lucky man he was to have her. Walking to the car he puzzled, not for the first time, how it was possible that such a vastly talented, stunningly gorgeous, and fiercely independent woman had ended up settling down with him. It was a truth that he resigned, was best explained as testament of God's grace, and good will towards man.

            “What say we surprise her with something special tonight, ay old buddy, flowers perhaps,” he mused aloud. From the passenger’s seat, Darwin licked his lips in approval, loving as all dogs do the sound of their own names spoken from the lips of the master. As if to emphasize his joy, his tail began to count off a series of rhythmic swish thump combinations. The sound, thought Allen, was something between a broken windshield wiper, and a metronome with a heart murmur. He loved it just the same for it was comforting and familiar. The way Allen saw it, as a man you might not always have many friends, likewise you may not always bask in the warmth of a woman's affection, but as long as a man had himself a dog, he'd bet they’d be alright.

In the low light of early morning, birds began to wake and sing. Fresh dew still clung to the tall unattended blades of grass in the back yard of the Spiller home. Outside the world seemed to just be coming alive. Meanwhile, inside the Spillers modest yellow cottage movement and wakefulness had long since begun. The call of a chickadee sounded from the clock on the wall of the tidy kitchen, alerting them to the coming seven o'clock hour.

 Gail Spiller, a short, bubbly woman, who had turned sixty three just two days prior, hummed a tune from a forgotten country song as she put bacon into a pan. Her voice sounded over the popping grease.

            “Al you'd better hurry,” she said. “The dog's scratching at the door and starting to sing.” Her voice bounced through their home with the loving urgency of a woman who had no interest in cleaning up anyone's mess at this hour, let alone a dog’s.

            Hearing his wife beckon, Allen hastily dropped his razor on the side of the sink. Slipping on his moccasins, he trotted at a clip towards his wife's voice. He knew the consequences of doddling all too well when it came to a dog with a bladder the size of a squirrel, but more importantly a tired wife.

            Allen Spiller was two years and six months his wife's senior. He had a kind face with a small freckled nose and round, rosy cheeks that gave way to deep dimples when he smiled. In his youth his head had been adorned with a full scalp of rich auburn hair; at sixty-five however “full head of hair” had become a relative term. The hue of his hair had also changed through the years, although somewhat less dramatically than its thickness. What had previously been a deep auburn, Gail now affectionately referred to as sugar and cinnamon. Al, as Gail called him, stood 6' 2”, with broad shoulders and a thick chest. His protruding midsection clung lethargically to what had once been an athletic frame. His arms and legs still bulged with muscle, displaying what his children called “old man strength”.

            Allen appeared in the kitchen doorway, panting slightly from his short jog from the bathroom. Walking by his wife, he couldn't help but notice her turning away from him, most likely in an effort to conceal a chuckle. This warmed him somehow. Having a wife that still giggled at the sight of him after over thirty years of marriage, and two children was a blessing indeed.

            “The old fellow's getting worse than me in his senior years,” said Al. Gail smiled an appreciative smile, winking at him as he bumbled over to the dog and snapped the warn leather leash on the jubilant yet portly beagle. True to form, Darwin welcomed Al's arrival as he did every morning, with a low ear piercing bellow and a overly wet kiss.

            Walking outside, Al caught a look at his reflection in the kitchen window, and like his wife he too couldn't help but chuckle. The sight of a man dressed in nothing more than a ratty tee shirt, flannel pajama pants, and moccasins, face covered in foam, chasing after a roly poly beagle was most certainly a sight worth laughing at. He didn't really mind laughing at himself from time to time. He remembered his mother telling him from a young age, that to stay happy you have to find joy in the little things.

             “Aren't we a sight for sore eyes this morning, Darwin?” he mused. The ancient hound ignored his master’s voice feigning deafness, and preceded sniffing the front yard vigorously before choosing a small stone sculpture of a boy picking flowers as the locale for his morning relief.

            Al moved his from foot to foot trying to remain warm in the cold air of the spring morning. The thermometer on the side of the shed read thirty eight degrees.

            “C'mon Sniffy Long-stockings,” said Al through gritted teeth, “Some of us have places to go, people to see, and things to do today,”. Obliging, Darwin finished his business and the two trotted back up the stairs as fast as two old men could go. At the top of the three steps, Allen bent down and received today's edition of The Adler Tribune from the jaws of his trusty companion. It was a parlor trick they'd developed when he’d been a puppy, and one that proven to be immeasurably useful to Allen as he'd gotten older and less flexible. Last Killing Frost of the Spring, read the front page article, followed by a story that revealed the details and final results of this year’s Boy Scout pinewood derby.

            By the time he had finished shaving and dressing, Gail had finished preparing breakfast, and had already started in on the paper. The sports and weather lay on his place mat next to a full plate of bacon, and eggs, and a warm biscuit. He glared in disgust at the jug of soy butter that sat on the table in front of him. The low sodium bacon had been one thing, but this hogwash was another matter entirely! He looked up at Gail, mouth agape in protest.

            “Doctor’s Orders” she said. She had cut him off before he'd even had the chance to challenge her ruling on the field. Gail was a determined woman, and one who ruled the house with a gentle but firm hand. Looking nonchalantly over her reading glasses Gail addressed her husband before taking a slurping sip of tea.

            “What's on the agenda today, dearest?” she asked. Al proceeded to list off the appointments he had scheduled and then rattled off the rest of the day’s plans. He was surprised himself by how short the list actually was. In his older years Allen had developed an affinity for making a few mundane tasks last an entire day, several if he was lucky and played his cards right. Although nearly always cordial and timely, he found a certain sense of retreat in taking his time with his daily routine. His wife on the other hand, saw the open ended nature of his Thursday as a perfect opportunity to check a few items off the honey-do list. She put down her paper, and proceeded to clear her throat, a telltale sign that he was about to be drafted for labor. Uh oh, here it comes, thought Al, a sheepish grin creeping over his face.

            “If you can find the time today, love...” she started.

Al slowly laid down the sports section, and looked up at his wife. To his surprise he found her staring into his eyes in that way that he always found irresistible. It was as if in her sparkling blue eyes time had stopped. Instantly they were both young again; so innocent, and head over heels in love. He blushed like a kid caught in the act of naughtiness.

            “Would you make it a point to stop at the hardware store and the market at today?” she asked.

He remained motionless like a man lost in a dream; fork poised mid-air between plate and mouth, a flaccid piece of egg teetering dangerously on the edge of the tines. Her look had caught him off guard, and he loved it; it filled his soul with passion. The completion of all the chores and odd jobs in the world would never be close to enough payment for this look.  Seeing she now had his undivided attention, she proceeded.

            “I'll need you to pick up the cement to fix that loose brick on the front step, and beans for the church supper on Saturday.” Coming to from his trance, Allen leaned forward and gently kissed his wife.

            “As you wish, sweetheart,” he said. He stuffed the remaining half of his biscuit into his mouth and pondered the tasks he'd been given. Although he had no objection to the tasks, he couldn't imagine where the sudden urgency to repair those several wiggly bricks on the front steps had come from. It had been years since the two bricks on the far right side of the fateful second step had come loose from the mortar. The incident was a result of their oldest child, Jeffery Spiller's, failed sophomore physics project involving a dropped dumbbell and gravity. The Spiller's, being true “New Englander's," hadn't been hindered in the least by the steps faultiness. After all, they didn't use the front steps, save for weddings and funerals, the notion of using it as the primary entrance to their home was a foreign one and borderline blasphemous. He concluded that his wife's urgency was a sure sign that she’d at last succumbed to cabin fever. It was his humble opinion that weather like this was the Achilles heel of all women. They become overwhelmed with a sick sort of compulsion to get odd jobs finished, or at the very least, assure that their hubby's hands were not idle.

            “And what might I inquire is on your docket today?” he asked. He knew that she'd been waiting for him to question her. Gail humble though she was, craved excitement and adventure, and the spotlight was now on her. He could tell by the reflection in her azure eyes that she had something big planned for this day; it would surely be more exciting than his ho hum Thursday.

Allen James Spiller was born in the small mill town of Belmont Falls, New Hampshire, the son of Charles and Ellen Spiller. He was their first and only son. Allen's mother was a very beautiful woman, originally from Mississippi. She had worked as a nurse at the county hospital for the majority of Allen's life. She was a devout Baptist, who dedicated her life towards serving others. Charles was the chief foreman of the local Adam's & Son shoe factory. He was a quiet, stern man, who was respected and known by everyone in the small community. Financially, the Spiller's were above the below and below the upper. They lived a modest, conservative lifestyle. Their greatest wealth was the family farm. Charles and Ellen had moved away from the farm and into town after Allen's birth. Despite their need for funds in the families early years, Charles could never bring himself to sell the old place. When Allen was six they moved back to the farmhouse.

From his mother he learned kindness and generosity. She instilled in him a deep sense of trust in humanity, and believed that at their core all people were good. Every week she went to the food pantry with Allen in town, there they gave out food to the homeless and poor. To Allen, these people were as much a part of his life as were his neighbors and his friends. His mother talked with each and every one she met as if they were president of the United States, or some great adventurer. She listened to their thoughts and stories with not only respect, but genuine interest, never bothering to criticize or condemn or pass judgment on anything they said or had done. Allen remembered once asking his mother after hearing a particularly graphic account of a domestic dispute between a man and his father, how it was that she wasn’t mad at them, after they had broken all of Jesus’s commandments. Her answer would be something Allen would never forget. She said,

 “Every man is put on this earth with the ability to live their life as they see fit. At the end of the day, the only person who has a right to judge is you and your God. I believe that even in the darkest most twisted of souls; there is a spark of pure goodness. When I wake up in the morning, I say a simple prayer to God. I ask that he give me the strength to follow through with the things I can change, and the patience and wisdom to know that which I cannot. For those things I say the prayer that never fails “Thy will be done,” and I let that be enough. If you can find it in your heart to listen to the broken, and to believe in people and truly invest in them for better or for worse, no one in heaven and earth can ever ask for more.”

From his father, he developed discipline; his father was a man who didn't believe in wasting anything. He had a mathematical brain, and he pushed his son to pursue things in a logical manner. He taught Allen to never accept good enough, and that the greatest tool a man can wield is the control of his own emotions. He remembered how as a boy his father would take him to the barn in the summertime and set him up with a paint brush and a pale of red paint. His father would then instruct him on how to paint the lattice work that was underneath the family’s porch. For hours he’d hunched in the sun, sweating, and laboring so that it would be done just the way his father had instructed. He hated the work, and his frustration would grow when he’d look at the slatted boards from another angle only to find the places he’d missed. Finally after a week of toiling, the job was done. The next week his father invited the Adams’s, Steve and his wife Emma to their home for a barbecue. Steve Adams was the owner of Adams & Son’s, the town shoe factory. Although their conversation was not directed at him, Allen couldn’t help but overhear their words. He remembered clearly his father’s warm proud smile as he gestured proudly to the paint and then to Allen.

“A fine job indeed,” Mr. Adams exclaimed. Later that night after dinner, Mr. Adams pulled Allen aside and spoke to him.

“That’s a fine job you did on that porch young man. Your father’s taught you well, and it’s clear the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree when it comes to work ethic and integrity. Those two things will take you far son if you let them.”

 He was humbled by these words. Mr. Adams who was by far the most successful not to mention wealthiest man he knew, and his opinion spoke volumes. It wasn’t that he hadn’t felt good when his father had approved, he had, but when it came from the lips of such a man as Mr. Adams it took on larger than life meaning. For the first time in his young life he felt like a man. Those few words had ingrained in him a sincere sense of purpose; that was something he would not soon forget.  

Allen grew fast, learning backwoods ways from his adventures in the woods behind the farm. He developed a deep love for nature and the secrets and adventures that lay within the woods. He had a big imagination, which was always aided unbridled energy and athleticism. He was liked by most everyone who knew him. To be fair, his adventurous spirit often led to dramatic events. He was known to his teachers as a spitfire and often a distraction to other students. To his classmates and friends he was the charismatic sense of humor and fun. He always had a witty comment, and was usually the first to embark on some scheme for frivolity.

By the time he graduated high school at the top of his class, he'd become the pride of the town. He was a handsome young man, strong and capable. Still it wasn't his looks that made him such an attractive man. It was his personality. He was blessed with one of the kindest most loving hearts anyone could ask for. This simple truth was his most admirable, and unmistakable characteristic. It was embraced, and nurtured by the firm but gentle hands of his family and those closest to him. They instilled in him a deep appreciation for his gifts, and responsibility to use it to glorify his community and his home, his fellow man, and above all else Nature, and God. He was reminded often that with his love he could bring peace and accomplish extraordinary things.

So when it finally came time for him to leave home after that last glorious summer, he made a point to thank the people who made helped him become who he was. He apologized to those he'd wronged, and left no pages unturned, or sentiments unspoken. And with that, he set off into the world to find himself, and become a man. Little did he know at the time, that he’d be changing the lives of every soul he encountered along the way.