Elmer the husky and I cruised the neighborhood in the late morning on a dry weekday. We’ve just started our second year together and his salubrious effects on my mental and physical health continue to pile up.

Elmer stopped and seemingly prepared to take a Ted Cruz. It was then I noticed a hardshell guitar case a few feet away on the curb.

The Ted Cruz was a no go so I walked Elmer over to the case.

It was a classic, a beauty: a tan hardshell case from the 70s. Ovation was lettered on both sides. Ovation, the famed round-bottomed acoustic guitars. A professional’s case, scratched and scuffed from endless gigging.

Not a sticker on it.

Was the guitar inside? No way! It couldn’t possibly in there. No one gives away an Ovation guitar on the street.

A homeowner obviously set the case outside to give it away. Maybe rock had died for him as it had for me many years ago. Maybe the guitar player died and his partner wanted it gone. I went through a dozen scenarios of the case’s appearance on the curb.

I had to see if the guitar was inside. If it was in there, I was taking it home and would start playing the guitar again.

Empty!

Still it was such a fantastic case, living antique, and better than the generic black hardshell case securing my guitar, one I never play anymore.

Or I would give it to my special musician friend, a singer songwriter who should be on the charts (are their still charts?) but got waylaid by life. Her time will come.

I picked up the case by the handle. What balance! It practically glided in the air.

No, I couldn’t take it. I knew within minutes a homeless man or woman would come along and put it to non-guitar use, a kind of rock and roll suitcase to transport possessions and keep them dry as they kept on surviving or however they defined it.

I set the case down on the curb. Elmer and I walked away.

The next morning the case was gone.

Two homeless men in their early 20s stood at the counter of a Starbucks. I stood behind them. No one was else was in the joint. In a few minutes I would meet a writing client to discuss his manuscript.

The men attempted to order some fancy drinks. I say “attempted” because their speech was nearly unintelligible. One gibbered, the other jabbered. One was using a gift card, one was on his knees digging through his backpack hunting for change. The kneeling man shook back and forth.

He began removing the contents of his backpack: electric power drill, charger, duct tape and other assorted items. I noticed a can of hairspray. (Homeless men use hairspray? Both of these men had shaved heads! A new drug fad?)

The hunt for change was proving fruitless. He had 50 pennies spread across the counter, a few nickels and dimes. He kept shaking.

It was taking forever but the female barista was kind, patient and counted up the total as it accumulated.

The man stood up from the floor and faced the barista. I pulled a buck from my wallet and placed it on the counter.

“Hey brother,” I said, “Let me help you out.”

He took the bill and pushed it in with the change. He did not turn around or say anything. He was still shaking.

His drink was some kind of oatmeal coffee concoction with whipping cream.

As he waited, shaking, he put everything back in his backpack. His buddy took his drink and moved away.

The concoction arrived. The man grasped it, walked up to his friend, and said they had three minutes to catch the bus across a busy road. They had to get moving.

They moved. I saw a homeless man running with an oatmeal coffee drink topped with whipping cream with a power tool and hairspray in has backpack.

I watched them jog cross the street. Oatmeal drink man didn’t spill a drop.

The bus showed up and they disappeared into it.

A half an hour later, as I was leaving, I told the barista how well she handled the two men and showed extraordinary kindness and patience. She looked genuinely shocked to hear my compliment.

“Thank you so much,” she said.

“I notice these things,” I said. “More people should.”

“I agree. Thanks again.”

I was driving home when it hit me: why in the hell didn’t you tip her?

Snow started falling at the dog park at 7 in the morning and Elmer the husky went bonkers.

By the time we arrived home, an inch had accumulated on the ground and the wind was whipping the snow into a frenzy.

I fed Elmer and repaired to the couch to read a collection of E.B. White’s essays. I always learn something new about writing when I read White.

It was rapidly becoming a snow day, so I made myself a bloody mary. Why not?

Elmer sacked out for all of five minutes and then jumped on the couch and stared out the window to watch the snow. Then he started barking at me. He wanted outside! I hadn’t finished my damn drink!

We bounded out to the back yard and played football in the snow. Elmer retrieved passes and tried to tackle me as I ran wild like Gale Sayers, and even stiff armed him away a few times.

Playtime ended and we went back inside, Elmer reluctantly. I had to coax him with a treat.

I sat down on the couch to read and finish my bloody mary.

Five minutes later Elmer was barking at me. He wanted to go for a walk!

Why not? It was a snow day and he’s a husky!

We hit the streets and by now, three inches had accumulated. Elmer began going nuts, nosing snow up into the air, and zigging and zagging. I could barely hold onto the leash!

We walked and ran for a couple of miles and checked out the beaver lodge in the park. I dearly wanted to see the beaver gliding in the creek as snow fell.

It didn’t happen.

Back in the house, I finished m bloody mary and dove into E.B. White. A little epiphany struck as I read: an idea to publish a book I finished writing in 2009 but never published. It is called One Man’s Beach and named after White’s collection of essays called One Man’s Meat, a book that exerted a tremendous effect on me when I read it while serving as a caretaker of a wildlife refuge.

Perhaps One Man’s Beach is dated, but it features some great photographs and important essays about Oregon’s legacy of publicly-owned beaches. Why not put it out there as an e-book?

After that epiphany, I sat up, and Elmer came over and gave me that look. He wanted to go out again!