TRANSCRIPT

I’m Major Jackson, and this is The Slowdown. 

This is my last official episode as host of The Slowdown. It features someone who has supported me in this role throughout, my wife, the poet Didi Jackson. The past two years of reading and reflecting on the words of many admired poets were often done in collaboration with her. Often my first pair of eyes, she joined me in reading numerous literary journals and poetry magazines. She recommended new voices, listened patiently as I read out loud first drafts of scripts, fact-checked my stories, and made sure I took care of myself whenever I was inclined to ignore my health. 

Our family dog is a gray and black terrier we named Finn. Didi loves Finn. He is “dog aggressive.” Despite multiple attempts at training, Finn never warmed up to other canines. When he was a puppy, we took him to a group class. While other dogs cavorted in a brightly lit room, Finn mostly sat in a corner gnawing at his leash and low-level growling. At the end of the session, we were asked not to return.

We hired several private dog trainers. One simply yanked his chain on walks around the block. Didi winced every time. The other trainer encouraged us to learn to divert when trouble nears. So, we crossed the street when another dog and its owner approached. They all brought forth tons of treats out of fanny packs.

We never got comfortable with the shock collar and ruled out weekends at a training site for military dogs. We tried playdates with friends’ dogs, which always ended the same. Finn never saw any reason to trust another dog enough to play. So, we drive by dog parks and look longingly, thinking he’ll mellow out with age. 

We know he was shaped by his days roaming the streets. Strangers are danger. The postal worker, delivery driver, and gardener tolerate his barking through our front door. Vacuum cleaners and hair dryers are massive alarms that set him to growling and biting at air. To distract him, I do my goofy dance and he’s back to his playful self, chasing me around the house.

Which is why, in the end, we wouldn’t trade him for nothing in the world. We wouldn’t give up those morning licks on the face nor the way he sidles up close during morning coffee. He’s just Finn. 

Today’s poem honors the family dog whose imperfections are all the more reason to love. The Slowdown was more than a labor of love. Each episode was an invitation to dream how we might come to love our imperfect world.

The Party is Downstairs
by Didi Jackson

The rescue dog who is locked inside
a room away from the party
sits as close as he can, shimmies his rear
to the place the jamb and door join,
presses his back to the needle of light
that escapes from the hallway, and there
begins his dream of muted barks
and twitches of chase. He forges
a second and third head
to protect his small threshold, sharpens 
his knife-mind and drinks in the multitudes
of his enemies. Just yesterday
he chased an inkblot of light 
from the opening glass kitchen door
and ran along the wall incessantly
licking at the spot into which he knew
it must have disappeared. Surely he knows
who least to worry about. They say dogs can tell
a bad person. It’s all perspective
or pheromones. To have that chickpea nose,
the terrier goatee of Trotsky,
the eyes like two black olives,
the ability to separate out in advance
those who might cause pain.
In how many lifetimes could
that skill have saved me?
My friend who when helping me
build bookshelves yelled at my dog
and then his wife, her cocoa-colored hair
covering half her face. And though this stray
weighs only as much as a jug or two of milk,
his sleep-breath is mixed with the desolation
of train windows and of abandoned homes
and the empty streets from which he was born.

“The Party is Downstairs” by Didi Jackson. Used by permission of the poet.