He hadn’t been feeling too well lately. As he measured the feed for the dogs in his kennel, mixing the ingredients that made their coats shine and their eyes sparkle, he wondered why he was so tired. He would take a nap after the feeding was done, he decided. No, he couldn’t do that: there were a few dogs that needed brushing first. He would take his nap later. After the dogs had been fed and groomed.

He used to love this life. He loved knowing there was someone waiting for hm to get his day started; someone who depended on him. Much as he was shy about admitting it, he loved knowing he was important to something in this world, even if it was only his dogs.

It wasn’t always this way. Over the years, there had been many friends. There had been school friends, people at work and, for a while at least, there was a wife. But she didn’t like dogs. He thought of his brother, sister, parents and the usual relatives rounding out a family that, he guessed, was average for life in these United States. By now, he had lived long enough to see people come, and he had seen them go. But, his dogs? They stayed. They stayed no matter what. They stayed even when he knew he had lost the joy that had once infused everything about being a “dog man.”

Finishing up the feeding, he gathered the metal bowls he had bought at a dog show and washed them clean. With a splash of liquid soap and a paper towel, he washed off the table and sink, tidied up the make-shift kitchen in his kennel, turned off the lights and walked to the house where he had lived for the past twenty years.

Slipping off his boots, he fixed his own breakfast, picked up a dog magazine and checked his phone messages.

“This is Dr. Hess’s office …. We have your test results …”

The tone of her voice said it all.

So this is it, he thought to himself. I’m finished.

Outside his widow, there was a hive of bees. For years, they had flourished in the heart of the old tree, just high enough where nobody could reach them. Just far enough out of arm’s length to be spared anyone’s efforts to set fire to the hive, or spray it with insecticide. Year after year, the bees had tasted the tree’s blossoms and rubbed their legs in the clover of the nearby fields. Year after year, they had made honey as certain bees can do. Inside the house, the dog lover faced despair. Outside the house, the bees were making honey.

The phone rang and, hesitantly, the man answered.

“Smith Kennels,” he said softly, as if the wind had been knocked out of him and all was lost.

“Hello?” a young voice responded. “Are you the one who raises the good dogs?”

“Well,” the man said, unable to miss the chance for a joke. “I don’t know how ‘good’ they are, but I like them.”

The caller laughed. It was a friendly, open laugh. The conversation went on, and plans were made for a visit to see these “bad dogs.”

A few days later, Mr. Smith had one of the most enjoyable visits of his life. To his surprise, he met an inquiring young man who loved the breed and appreciated the work it had taken to create and care for such beautiful dogs. As the visit came to a close, Mr. Smith impulsively offered a pup at a bargain price.

“But, isn’t he your pick of the litter?”

“Yes,” Mr. Smith said. “And I’ll help you show him if you want me to.”

In the ensuing months, the puppy grew and so did a freindship. It had been many years since the kennel owner had done things so carefully for any one, particular dog. Not since his enthusiastic early years in the business had he treated a dog so special. With all the exercise the growing dog required, all the hikes in the fields and visits to town in order to aquaint the young dog with crowds, there wasn’t much time to pity himself. There wasn’t much tie for naps anymore, either.

These days, feeding the dogs wasn’t “alone time” for him. There were questions to answer, pedigrees to discuss and stories to tell his young protege. With shows around the corner, there was a plan to follow; there was a goal to reach for, just like it used to be. Just like reaching for honey high up in that old tree would feel. Almost … almost like joy!

“We have to finish the feeding early today,” he told his friend one morning.

“What for?” the young man asked, so much like he, himself used to be.

“We have to fill out the entry for the show.”

“We have time for that,” the kennel owner said. “I have to go to the hospital for more tests.”

“You do? What’s wrong?”

“Oh, nothing serious,” Mr. Smith lied. “Hey, wash those dishes again,” he said in a voice pretending to be angry. “How would ‘you’ like to eat off plates like that!”

If only the tests really were ‘nothing serious,’ he thought to himself.

The days that followed were more precious than he ever knew they could be. The house he loved, the kennel he had built, the dogs that had been his life … they meant so much to him now.

And then, it came. “Mr. Smith?” the lady receptionist said. “This is Dr. Hess’s office calling …”

Maybe it was the sight of a pup running outside to meet the young dog fancier who had just arrived as he did every day now. Maybe it was the honey bees hovering high up in that old tree, or just the light feeling of the day itself. Whatever it was, he didn’t hear the rest of what she said. He didn’t have to hear it because he knew – he knew just as surely as he had known the dog world was right for him so many years ago.

He knew he would live see the dog win many ribbons and the young man grow to take his own place in the dog show community.

Rushing out to the garage, he scrambled through old boxes and found what he was looking for. With a smile as bright as the sun, he called out, “Hey! Where do you think you’re going?”

“To feed and water the dogs,” the young man called back, mid-stride.

“No, you’re not! You’re gonna help me with this ladder,” the kennel man said, pulling on his bee-keeper’s gear.

“What’s that for?”

“You’ll see,” the dog man said. “You know, if you’re gonna make a good handler, you gotta know how to run. How fast are you?” he said with an evil chuckle and a wink.

As they headed for the old tree, an innocent swarm of honey bees played in the air, the sky was bluer than dog show ribbons and life never tasted sweeter.