August Telluride 2018 News has Another Obit...Another Short Story About the Good Boy Who has Gone.

Yes, this is the 2nd consecutive newsletter about dead guys by me.  Understanding that these newsletter scrambles are intended, usually, to be written about Telluride area real estate and happy doings.  I never know what I will say until at my computer, then something comes out, blather, coherent or not.  However, since my buddy Gus here was long time sick and chopped up too many times to take it, he ended his mother earth stay...at his Ski Ranches house.  As with Black David in July news I am missing Gus  For many reasons there are and were mighty fine friendships with both Boys.  I saw this week heading to another office one of Gus` earlytime buddies who was born here and worked on the Ski Patrol with him.  A good ballplayer...he and his Telluride High guys won a state championship, baseball, centuries ago before our invasion in 1971-2...the wandering Huns and Freaks Society of the `60s.

Both of us were quipping we think often of Gus...so I told him: "I think of Gus every time I pee now."  He grinned, gave me his look, and said: "That`s so rude."  Me: "But Gus had bad kidney problems, both were going.  Mine both drip onto my khakis...and the ManTool does a full assist."

My comic, then foretelling and adios Gus tale:

One early evening I came out of The Sheridan and sat with Gus on the bench.  He looked terrible and doleful, had a rare gloominess.  He said his left kidney was almost gone and the surgeon had drilled a hole in his back, hooked a tube into the organ and he was peeing into a bag under his jeans.

"Let`s go eat and watch a ballgame."

So we went up to my digs for me to cook burgers and watch another sinking Cardinals game.  His Tigers are in a bad season too.  I went first to the market and told Gus...you drive yours, go in the joint, turn on the tube, get the game on.  When I got there, Gus was muttering, fingering a remote and had frozen the TV.  Nothing happening, and I said: "Gus...stop clicking on that damn remote, Jesus."  So I rebooted everything in the place.  Nothing, TV frozen.  No ballgame.

I got on my cell with a DirecTV tech for an hour until I was cut off.  "Gus, give me your cell."  Another call, 45 or so, that tech #2 finally says: "We will send out a repairman in 2 days, 100 bucks.  Sold.

After burgers with no game we really talked.  Gus said: " Surgeon today called to tell me they can`t take out my left...my right is going too unless they can replace it. I can`t go through with it.  I don`t think I can make it."  Before leaving Gus looked right at me: "I`m worried."

This was not our Gus, a rare concession.  It`s the last thing he ever said to me.  He was gone two days later.  For  indescribable reasons, I simply miss him.  C`est ca...