Paul lives a few doors down from us, next to the open fields that sometimes host cows, sometimes just coyotes, sometimes coyotes hunting cows. Paul was a in a car accident many years ago and suffered brain damage that impaired his short-term memory and we don't know what else. He works at King Soopers, eats dinner at his sister's house every night, doesn't drive, and spends pretty much all of his free time walking around the neighborhood talking and walking with the people who live here. He is one fit dude.
Paul is perpetually happy. He doesn't remember your name, but he remembers you and likes you. He likes everyone except people who don't stop at the stop sign at the intersection outside my house. "Did you see that guy? Didn't even stop. Unbelievable."
He loved Rachel, our furry companion of 14 years. He made friends with her when no one else would come close because she was such a ferocious protector of the yard and all things walking nearby. Every time he would stroll by, he would say, "Can I pet your dog?" We would say, "Well... she's not very nice to strangers." He didn't care. He persisted until he made friends with her. He would ignore her frantic barking, and eventually he won her over. When she saw Paul, she would immediately start wagging her tail. She loved Paul. He would always say, "She's such a beautiful dog." Who can resist anyone who thinks your little muttly, moody dog is beautiful?
Paul has a specific way of greeting you: "Hey, how ya doin'?" Then, "How ya been?" Then, "Did you work today?" That's usually how it goes with Paul, and the routine is comforting, and he always makes me feel like I belong here. He reminds me that life is simple and wonderful if you let it be.
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