ness. Doc explained that
the kid didn't want another mutt because he had what Doc called a
psychological block.

"Charlie was more than just a dog to him," Doc said. "He was a sort of
symbol because he offered the kid two things that no one else in the
world could--security and independence. With Charlie keeping him
company he felt secure, and he was independent of the kids who could
run and play because he had Charlie to play with. If he took another
dog now he'd be giving up more than Charlie. He'd be giving up
everything that Charlie had meant to him, then there wouldn't be any
point in living."

I could see it when Doc put it that way. The dog had spent more time
with Joey than Ethel had, and the kid felt as safe with him as he'd
have been with a platoon of Marines. And Charlie, being a one-man dog,
had depended on Joey for the affection he wouldn't take from anybody
else. The dog needed Joey and Joey needed him. Together, they'd been a
natural.

At first I thought it was funny that Joey never complained or cried
when Charlie didn't come home, but Doc explained that it was all a
part of this psychological block business. If Joey cried he'd be
admitting that Charlie was lost. So he waited and watched, secure in
his belief that Charlie would return.

The Ponds got used to Doc and me being around, but they never got what
you'd call intimate. Joey would laugh at some of the droll things Doc
said, but his eyes always went back to the palmetto flats and the
highway, looking for Charlie. And he never let anything interfere with
his routine.

That routine started every morning when old man Cloehessey, the
postman, pedaled his bicycle out from Twin Palms to leave a handful of
mail for the trailer-court tenants. Cloehessey would always make it a
point to ride back by way of the Pond trailer and Joey would stop him
and ask if he's seen anything of a one-eyed dog on his route that day.

Old Cloehessey would lean on his bike and take off his sun helmet and
mop his bald scalp, scowling while he pretended to think.

Then he'd say, "Not today, Joey," or, "Thought so yesterday, but this
fellow had two eyes on him. 'Twasn't Charlie."

Then he'd pedal away, shaking his head. Later on the handyman would
come around to swap sanitary tanks under the trailers and Joey would
ask him the same question. Once a month the power company sent out a
man to read the electric meters and he was part of Joey's routine too.

It was hard on