I don't bite.

My friend and neighbor, Julie, says I’m misunderstood in the neighborhood. Or not understood at all. That many people don’t know what to make of me. Her next door  neighbors have been curious. About me. Because I’m showing up in Julie’s yard. Daily. They wonder what I’m doing. Actually, I’m being neighborly. With Julie and her husband Rick. They’re a nice couple. And they’ve been caring for a long, long time. For Julie’s 85-year-old Alzheimer-riddled father Ron.  He’s been in and out of nursing homes. And was recently kicked out of one. So he’s back with Rick and Julie. Temporarily. Anyway, for several years, I’ve been pitching in. Helping Rick and Julie.  Easing their workload. By walking Ron and the family’s pet dog, Sasha.  Seems the sensible and decent thing to do. After all, anyone caring for someone with Alzheimer’s needs help. Plenty of it. I’m experienced. Because my dear sweet wife Jeanne died of Alzheimer’s. Seven years ago. After a 13-year siege with the devastating disease. Meanwhile, Julie says she gets all sorts of inquiries. About me. From neighbors. They want to know more. About what sort of guy I am. She says the easiest way to find out is talk to me. Directly. That I don’t bite. –Jim Broede