January 14, 2007

Glynn Cardy

The Wedding Feast at Cana

Adapted from Fulghum, R. Maybe, Maybe Not New York: Ivy, 1993, p.69

If love was predictable, it wouldn't be love.

Take a man and woman that fell into BIG LOVE. She was forty. He was fifty. Neither had been married before. But they knew about marriage. They had seen the realities of that sacred state up close among their friends. They determined to overcome as many potential difficulties as possible by working things out in advance.

Prenuptial agreements over money and property. Preemptive counseling over perceived tensions. All practical promises were committed to paper with full reciprocal tolerance for irrational idiosyncrasies. “Get married once, do it right, and live at least agreeably, if not happily, ever after.” So they hoped.

One item in their agreement concerned pets and kids. Item Number 7: “We agree to have either children or pets, but not both.”

The man was not enthusiastic about dependent relationships. Anything that had to be fed and watered. Kids, dogs, cats, guinea pigs, or goldfish had never had a place in his life. Especially not dogs. She, on the other hand, liked taking care of living things. Especially children and dogs.

OK. But she had to choose. She chose children. And together, in the space of three years they had two daughters. Marriage and family life went along quite well for all. Their friends were impressed. So far so good.

The children reached school age. The mother leapt eagerly into the bottomless pool of educational volunteerism. The school needed funds for art and music. The mother organized a major mega-auction. Every family agreed to provide an item of substantial value for the event.

Now, the mother knew a lot about dogs. She had raised dogs all her life – the pedigreed champion kind. She planned to use her expertise, regularly visit the pound and the SPCA find an unnoticed bargain pooch and shape it up for auction as her contribution. With a small investment, she would make a ten-fold profit for the school. And for a couple of days at least there would be a dog in the house.

After a month of looking, she found the wonder dog – a dog of great promise. Female, four months old, dark gray, tall, strong, and very, very, very friendly.

To her practiced eye, our mother could see that classy genes had been accidentally mixed here. Two purebreds of the highest caliber had combined. Probably Black Labrador and Weimaraner. 'Perfect, just perfect' she thought.

To those of us of untutored eye, this mutt looked more like the results of a very bad blind date.

The fairy dogmother got to work. Dog is inspected. Given shots. Fitted with an elegant collar and leash. Equipped with a handsome bowl, a ball, and rawhide bone. Expenses: $50 to the pound, $50 to the vet, $50 to the groomer, $60 for equipment, and $50 for food. A total of $260 on a dog that is going to stay 48 hours before auction time.

The father took one look and paled. He smelled smoke. He wouldn't give ten bucks to keep it for an hour. “DOG”, as the father named it, has a long, thick rubber club of a tail, legs and feet that remind him of hairy sink plungers, and is already big enough at four months to bowl over the girls and mother with unrestrained enthusiasm.

The father knows this is going to be ONE BIG DOG. Something a zoo might display. Omnivorous, it has eaten all the food in one day and has left permanent teeth marks on a chair leg, a leather couch, and the father's favourite golf shoes.

The father is patient about all this. After all, it is only a temporary arrangement, and for a good cause. He remembers item no. 7 in the prenuptial agreement. He is safe.

On Thursday night the school mega-auction gets off to a winning start. Big crowd of parents, and many guests who look flush with money. Arty decorations, fine potluck food, and a wide variety of auction items. The mother basks in her triumph.

DOG comes on the auction block much earlier than planned. Because father went out to check on DOG and found it methodically eating the leather off the car's steering wheel, after having munched holes in the padded dashboard.

After a little wrestling match getting DOG into the mother's arms and up onto the stage, the mother sits in a folding chair, cradling DOG with the solemn tenderness reserved for someone about to die, while the auctioneer described the pedigree of the animal and all the fine effort and neat equipment thrown in with the deal.

“What am I bid for this wonderful animal?”

“A hundred dollars over here; two hundred dollars on the right; two hundred and fifty dollars in the middle.”

There is a sniffle from the mother. Tears are running down her face. DOG is licking the tears off her cheeks. In a whisper not really meant for public notice, the mother calls to her husband: “Jack, Jack, I can't see this dog – I want this dog – this is my dog – she loves me – I love her – oh, Jack.”

Every eye in the room is on this soapy drama. The father feels ill, realizing that the great rugby ball of fate is sailing straight towards his goalposts. “Please, Jack, please, please,” she whispers.

At that moment, everybody in the room knows who is going to buy the pooch. DOG is going home with Jack.

Having no fear now of being stuck themselves several relieved men set the bidding on fire. DOG is going to get an auction record. The repeated hundred-dollar rise in price is matched by the soft “Please Jack” from the stage and jack's almost inaudible raise in the bidding, five dollars at a time.

There is a long pause at “Fifteen hundred dollars – going once, going twice…”

A sob from the stage. And for $1,505 Jack has bought himself a dog. Add in the up-front costs, and he's $1,765 into DOG.

The noble father is applauded as his wife rushes from the stage to throw her arms around his neck, while Dog wraps the leash around both their legs and down they go into the first row of chairs. A memorable night for the PPTA.

Jack walks the dog at night around the neighbourhood. He's the only one strong enough to control it and he hates to have the neighbours see him being dragged along by this, the most expensive damned dog for a hundred ks.

DOG has now become “Marilyn”. She is big enough to plough with now. “Marilyn” may be the world's dumbest dog, having been to obedience school twice with no apparent effect.

Jack is still stunned. He can't believe this has happened to him. He had it down on paper. No. 7. Kids or pets, not both.

But the complicating clauses in the fine print of the marriage contract are always unreadable. And always open to revision by forces stronger than a person's ego. Love can never be contained by a contract. It breaks out, unpredictably.

Such is the nature of uncontainable love.