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Wit and Wisdomby Beth BroderickI was in Fredricksburg Texas, sitting across from the twins. John and Don have been known in some circles as “The Gay Twins from Arkansas” for as long as we have been friends, which is a long, long time. Mostly, though, they are just known as “The Twins”. Both men are tall and lanky, with the kind of impressive physical strength that comes from labor and not the gymnasium. They can lift anything, fix almost anything, and think through problems that leave the rest of us mouth-breathing and adrift.“Well, I don’t know if you should do thaaaaat,” John remarked with his trademark laconic drawl. “You are kind of clumsy. No offense.”None taken, of course, because I am not just “kind of” clumsy but notoriously so. I have walked into walls, through screen doors, fallen up the stairs as well as down, and banged my head on countless cupboards. I am strong and fit, but do not possess a whit of hand-eye coordination. I could not hit a ball with a bat if my life depended on it.A call from my modeling agent had prompted the discussion.“I need you to come in and do a runway-walk audition for us. They are looking at you for Milan.”Milan, huh? Could be fun. A good story to tell, at the very least. Y’all know by now that I love a good story.“I think I can walk down a runway,” I chirped back. “I mean, I am not going to attempt American Ninja anytime soon, but I can walk!”John took a big sip of his morning tea.“Well, an awful lot of those gals fall during those shows, and most of them are at least 40 years younger than you. Seems like it’d be a lot easier for them to get back up. That’s all I’m sayin’.”He had a point, but I have fallen enough in my lifetime to have lost the fear of it. And also … the runway in Milan. That sounds like an adventure, and I am ALWAYS up for an adventure. I have done some runway stuff in the past and have managed to stay upright, so it seems doable. It is, of course, highly doubtful that they would call a woman of my years to model for them, but if Gucci rings me up, I am fixin’ to go. They had me at Milan.The day before the runway-walking audition, I was up in Griffith Park with Fairness. We go up on a regular basis to hang out with some nearby residents and let the dogs off leash to play. The whole scenario has been master-minded by Dave, the neighborhood dog walker/expert. He has culled a group of like-minded folks with well-behaved (or at least mostly so) mutts to join his cadre. It has become a ritual for many of us.To say that Fairness was hesitant at first is to greatly understate the situation. He hid behind me, tail between his legs, and shook with fear from head to toe, poor thing, even his teeth chattering. Folks were nice about it; these are serious dog people, and they have seen their share of terrified rescue pups. I felt for him, and kept our initial visits short, but we continued to make the trek. We always go on foot. I like to start the day with a solid 10,000 steps under our belts.“A tired dog is a happy dog.” That has been my motto with each of my big dog rescues, and I swear by it.Slowly but surely, Fairness warmed up. He is not big on playing with the other dogs, but he greets them politely. He mostly visits their owners, sniffing pockets for hidden treats and nudging hands for pets and ear rubs. He has only gotten into a tiff on one occasion, when he and another male, that one non-neutered, took an interest in the same female, a gorgeous white retriever. The other dog went after mine and when I ran toward the scuffle, Dave was already there, having immediately headed into the fray and Steve, a regular visitor, had hoisted my 86 pound pup into the air and held him aloft until the aggressive male could be corralled. These guys are very experienced, and any scuffle is instantly de-escalated. Fairness was fine. He is generally nonplussed by naughty dog behaviors. He came to me as soon as Steve set him down and we walked to a different side of the park. No harm done.He runs now, has begun to act more like a canine, and sometimes we play “hide and seek” behind boulders and up the small hills. Just last week my formerly too-scared-to-play pup brought me a stick to throw and then flabbergasted me by chasing it. He has a special friend named James who always has a pocketful of peanuts. He carefully places the shelled ones in strategic nooks and on high ledges for the crows to find. The birds watch and clock their location, swooping down when the dogs have retreated for the day. James always has a few shelled treats held back for the dogs, who know to ask for them. Fairness caught on to this immediately and has learned to sit for the soft-spoken man in order to get his nut.My dog has also figured out how to follow in James’s footsteps looking for shells left behind by the birds. On that particular day Fairness trailed James and his pal Tom up a very steep hill on the assumption that where he goes, shells will often follow. In addition to caring for the wild birds, the two men often carry water up that incline to nurture some of the rare native plants which are struggling to adapt to our warming climate. Two other dogs, Max and Blue, both Huskies, were looking for rabbits in the bushes. They have never found one, but this does not dissuade them from the search.“Fairness! Come now!” I said with authority while clapping my hands slowly and deliberately.He ignored me. He was climbing higher and higher, searching for treats. This was absolutely unacceptable. Our deal—the criteria he must meet in order to be off-leash—is to come upon command. He also has to stay where he can see me and return to my side the moment of my asking. That morning, he broke all of the rules. And one thing for certain with a giant dog: they MUST obey the rules. Any dog, but especially a big one who does not, is a danger to himself and others. That is that. I asked him several more times to come down, and he continued to ignore me, so up I went, intending to physically retrieve him.That hill is steep! The two men and their canine company made the whole situation seem a lot more approachable than it turned out to be. I kept climbing wobbly and awkward, having to turn sideways in hopes of getting some traction that way. I was about five feet from my naughty pup when I slid the first time and found myself on the ground. Max, a normally not-too-observant dog, was immediately by my side with a curious look on his face. I reached over and used his ballast to hoist myself back to my feet and called for Fairness one more time, then promptly fell again.The humans were really not able to help at that point without risking a multi-person tumble. Max again appeared by my side, this time a bit more concerned. As I reached for him, Fairness, having finally realized my predicament, came up to my opposite flank, and I used a bit of both of them to get back up and then sort of ran-hopped back down to firmer ground.Fairness kept a close eye on me after that and did not leave my side for the rest of the morning. My attempt to establish dominance over him failed completely, but he has never gone back up that hill. I saw him consider doing so the other day, but he eyed me sideways and thought better of it. I could see him thinking: “Maybe it’s best not to risk my idiot human falling down the mountainside, else who then would prepare my mashed potatoes?”FROM DOG-WALK TO CATWALK.The next day Sabrina, the lovely gal who often does my makeup for such occasions, gamely covered the scrapes and bruises on my left side. It was time to go for that runway audition. I headed for my agent’s office downtown, clad in the model/digital photo shoot uniform of shorts and a snug tank with a low heel. The president of the United States had unleashed the Marines in the area the night before, in response to every level of government in California—from city to state—including the police and other safety organizations, asking him to refrain from doing so. Nuts is the new normal I suppose. The streets seemed dicey and uniformed officers were visible from the freeway in every direction. Many of the off-ramps were closed, but 7th Street, my exit, was undisturbed and there was no commotion anywhere during the five blocks I drove to meet with my representatives.Two interns were assigned to shoot me first in digital form (stills from every angle—some full body, plus three-quarter and close-ups) Then we headed out to the streets to shoot my “runway” walk. I walked. I posed. I smiled. I un-smiled. I turned from side to side, showing every detail of my imaginary Gucci outfit.“Great!” said the young man behind the camera. “We got it.”Except that we didn’t have it. Stasia, my lovely and entirely brilliant agent, sent us back outside.“The walk is good, just do that. Just walk. No turns or pauses; they don’t do that these days.”There seems no end to the number of ways a person can show their age, when one is my age.Back out we went, and I walked and walked. They filmed me doing this from the front and from the back, and once we were confident that we had it this time, we again headed in to show Stasia. She looked at the footage and gave us the thumbs-up.“The walk is good.” I was happy to hear it. I mean, she could have said, “You walk like there’s a rock in your sock,” or, “The walk is good, but we can see the cuts and bruises … you are scuffed up like an old shoe.” I could have caught a heel in a rut of the decidedly irregular sidewalk and gone ass over teacup, but I remained upright, and that was an accomplishment of sorts. The whole thing felt a little silly for someone of my years to be doing, but I made the best of it. You can’t win if you don’t play, and there are still stakes for me in the game of it all.Also, the runway in Milan. That would be a story, wouldn’t it?On we go …We extend our heartfelt gratitude to our valued subscribers whose support makes the publication of Wit and Wisdom possible. Thank you! This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit bethbroderick.substack.com/subscribe