Bozo

I once came across an old man sitting alone in a bar. I was bored and tipsy, looking for anything to distract me from my miserable, cynical lifestyle, and we struck up a delightful conversation. Near the end of it, he told me his name. I realised that I was speaking to a former big business magnate, and one of the richest men in the world, if he truly was who he claimed to be. I asked him what a person of his stature was doing in an average bar like this. He told me that he was looking for people to bequeath his wealth to. Worthy people. He had never married and had no children, so it kind of made sense, I guess. I jokingly said that if he didn't mind, he could pass some of that wealth my way. He replied that he would be glad to, provided I fulfil one condition: I fall in love. I asked him how he would know if I did or not, and he told me that he would be at this bar every night for the next six months. I left the bar full of confidence, I mean, how hard could it be?

Over the next three months, I would visit the bar every few weeks, each time with a different person. A new, close male friend, or a woman I was committing to, each time proclaiming that I loved them. The old man would ask a few questions, and always dismiss me, telling me to try harder by not trying at all. I couldn't understand it, and soon, frustration built in. There was no guarantee the old prick would give me money anyway; he was probably just a bum having a laugh at my expense. I felt that I was just wasting my time. So I gave up on it, and I stopped going to the bar. A few days later, as I stood under the rain waiting for a bus, I saw a little dog quivering under a pile of garbage, trying to find shelter for the rain. For whatever reason, I impulsively picked up the freezing thing and took it home with me. Gave it a warm bath, went out and bought some dog food, and let it recover. I named it Bozo.

I looked up on the Internet how to train a dog, and soon enough, I had Bozo rolling over and playing dead. He was there to sulk with me when I came back from tough days at work and bad dates, there to bark at me when I was raging around in a drunken stupor. He played and yelped happily when I laughed; he keened and looked sombre when I was depressed. He'd sleep on my bed when he wasn't supposed to, and force me awake in the mornings if I snoozed my alarm. He charmed my guests with his intelligence and amicable demeanour,  and barked viciously at anything he perceived to be a threat to me. Before I knew it, he became a part of me. But one day Bozo wasn't barking, he wasn't running around, and he was barely eating. Bozo was sick.

I took him to a vet, and it turned out Bozo had a brain tumour. It felt like an arrow to the heart, I could barely think straight. The surgery to remove it cost way more than a common social worker like myself could afford. I called around to friends, the few family that still talked to the shunned college drop out, but nobody was willing to help. Didn't they understand? This is Bozo. He was all I had. Finally, in desperation, I remembered the crazy, supposedly rich old man. I went to the bar begging him to help. I told him about Bozo, how he would raise his paw to shake new people he met, how he would jump up to try and answer the door, how peaceful he looked in his sleep. I told him how much I needed that poor dog that was once shrivelling in the rain. I just needed $10,000 for the surgery. He pulled out a check book,  and wrote me a check with three more zeros than I asked for. He told me, "You fell in love".

Even with the tumour removed, heartbreakingly, Bozo died a few weeks later of further complications. I donated most of the money the old man gave me to different charities, as well as animal shelters.  Although I was still deeply saddened, I felt re-invigorated. I used a bit of the money I had left to go back into college and finish getting my Business degree and Masters. A year after Bozo passed away, I received a letter in the mail. It told me that the old man had gone up to where Bozo is, and was leaving me the remainder of his wealth. A little note was attached to it. It read:

"I couldn't find anyone else worthy. Put that Masters in Business to work, okay kiddo? But most of all, continue being a loving person."