woman and dog

I liked the way I could slide my legs on the linoleum when I was wearing my footie pajamas. Jessica and I took turns wearing the fireman hat while I read us a bedtime story. I didn’t want to go to bed and end the best day ever, so I kept reading the story to Jessica over and over. My mother has a photograph of Jessica and I asleep under the kitchen table, red plastic fireman hat in my hand.

 

By Holly Herring

As a four year old Little Holly, I believed the name “Jessica” was the fanciest, most beautiful name a girl could have.

This is why I chose it for the stray mutt dog that wandered into our yard one day and made herself my very own. Jessica looked like she was mostly a black Labrador Retriever, but maybe there was some Border Collie in there. She had a smaller frame than a retriever, a patch of white fur down her chest and was a fantastic best friend for Little Holly.

We did everything together. 

When I began attending Kindergarten, I had to leave my dog at home. I wasn’t crazy about this idea and I wailed about it loudly to my mother, who assured me that one day I’d have a job and I wouldn’t be able to take her there either. Immediately I crossed “get a job” off my to-do list.

Even though there was a lack of dogs in my school day, I’d come home from school and tell Jessica all about Kindergarten.

One day at Kindergarten, we had an assembly.

Some firemen came, let us climb on their big fire truck, gave us our own plastic fire hats and read us a book. The book was my favorite part because it told the story of the brave firemen who put out fires with the help of a spotted dog. I couldn’t believe it! They had a dog who worked with them! Suddenly I had a job in mind that I could take Jessica to.

Excitedly I burst in the door after school, plastic fireman hat in my hand, and called out to Jessica. I explained to her the day’s discovery and the job opportunity that awaited us with the firemen. I wore my red fireman hat all day and demonstrated to her how we would, “Stop! Drop! And Roll!” ourselves through burning houses. I showed her how to rescue all my stuffed animals from a burning house. But then it was over because my mother said it was time for bed.

My mother had just ruined the best day ever. I put on my red, footie pajamas and brushed my teeth. I grabbed a book off my bookshelf and my red fireman hat and headed for the kitchen with Jessica following my every move.

I always read Jessica a bedtime story but I preferred to do that lying on the linoleum floor under the kitchen table.

I liked the way I could slide my legs on the linoleum when I was wearing my footie pajamas. Jessica and I took turns wearing the fireman hat while I read us a bedtime story. I didn’t want to go to bed and end the best day ever, so I kept reading the story to Jessica over and over. My mother has a photograph of Jessica and I asleep under the kitchen table, red plastic fireman hat in my hand.

This may surprise you, but I didn’t become a fireman.

I had a few jobs in my life before I settled on my passion and my purpose. Unfortunately, I found that passion pretty late in my life and had to start on the ground floor at a point where I had a lot of bills already. So, I worked two or three jobs at a time to make ends meet.

I worked Homeless Street Outreach by day and then worked the overnight shift in a domestic violence shelter, but when I was needed, I worked in the dish pit in this local pizza place. That’s where I met Alan. 

The pizza place drew a local crowd. Imagine the bar from the TV sitcom Cheers but add pizza and you would have a fairly accurate picture of this spot.

I would stay and join the conversations and the pizza often when I wasn’t working. There was always one table that had the same four older gentlemen at it. One guy always carried a book with him and would tell me all about what he was reading. Another was a pool guy. Yet another gentleman walked each day to the pizza place and had a long, graying ponytail.

The fourth gentleman looked like Santa Claus if Santa had just retired and started wearing denim and a trucker hat.

Alan was that retired Santa. When he stood he was very tall. His hair was gray and so was his beard. He wore spectacles and even red suspenders to hold up his faded blue jeans. Alan told me once that I looked a little like his daughter and he liked to hear me talk about my job. I think he liked the fact that I worked outside and he related locations to which local firehouse it was near. I asked him how he knew so much about firehouses and he explained that he was a retired fire engineer. 

Alan and I became friends.

We didn’t become the type of friends who would call each other and go to the movies. We became friends like Norm and Cliff on Cheers. We sat next to each other and talked when we were regulars at our favorite pizza spot. I learned about the job of a fire engineer, which is not a fireman, but is definitely in the same department. Alan listened to me talk about my dog, Ally, and my exciting adventures in Outreach. One day Alan looked at me, deep in thought and he said:

“Holly, you’re doing God’s work.”

At the time, I didn’t know how to process that remark. Alan’s God and my absence of a god laid the groundwork for a serious difference in what that statement could mean to each of us. My ideas about Christianity were not very foundational in how I went about my career. To Alan, however, his god was the “Big G” god who was very important.

The longer I thought about who God was to Alan, the deeper the meaning behind his compliment to me. Suddenly I felt the weight of ultimate responsibility on my shoulders. It was as if Alan had just handed Big Holly a red, plastic fire hat.

I work in a field I love and my best friend is a dog that goes to work with me. I have this imaginary fire hat that Alan handed me one day by way of a compliment. The more things change, the more they stay the same. Thank you, Alan.

Rest in peace, Alan Mazzola 2.6.1955 – 4.3.2024

 

 

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Photo: Pixabay

Editor: Dana Gornall

 

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