Loosing Lothar

Michael came into my room. “There’s some guy on the phone calling about Lothar.”

I frowned. “What’s he like?”

“He sounds nice, do you want to take it?”

“What’s his name?”

“Mike”.

“Hello....?”

The voice at the other was that of a young man in his late twenties or early thirties and sounded pleasant enough. He and his wife Vicki were looking for a child-friendly, outdoors, family dog. I related how we had found Lothar and said that he was a full Lab or nearly so. I described what Lothar was like and what we had done with him. I told Mike that although we were sure he had been given his vaccinations, we ultimately decided to to run him through the full set of puppy shots just to be sure.

Mike said that Lothar sounded pretty good and he wanted to know when he could arrange to see him. I replied that I had been driving Lothar around for placement interviews, that I liked to check out prospective takers and that I would be happy to drive him over to their place. Mike replied that he and Vicki lived all the way down in Cupertino, which was a long way for me to drive. He added, though, that he worked up in Woodside and we could meet at his place of work for a preview check out. We arranged to meet on Tuesday.

“So...?” Michael asked.

“He sounds nice,” I replied, “I’m meeting him Tuesday after work at his place of work for a check out.” Michael said he felt this was it. A part of me resented that this might be it.

“How do you know? I said I wasn’t going to commit to anything on Tuesday without seeing how they lived. “Fine” Michael said “but we can’t keep him forever.”

oOo

Late Tuesday, I piled the doggies into the truck and drove down to Woodside. Mike worked in an industrial park and by the time I got there most everyone else had left and the parking lot was pretty much empty. I pulled in and looked for someone who fit Mike’s self-description -- guy in his late 20’s, 5’ 11” brown hair, slim-to-medium build wearing a brown jacket.

“Hi.” We shook hands.

Mike did not look like a jock, but he did look like a reasonably fit outdoor kind of guy. + 1 point. He was easy going with me and relaxed with the dog; + 2 points. He gave a humorous snort when he saw Fips (well... what could I expect?) but I could see that Lothar was what he had had in mind. I let Lothar out of the car and let him and Mike check eachother out. +1 and +1.

Mike and I chatted it up a bit while Lothar tangled around our legs. Mike was at ease with my desire to check him out as well. He said they had a large yard, and that he and his wife liked to go on weekend outings and camping trips. Either he or his wife had owned a Lab before and knew what the breed was like and how water loving and energetic they were.

So....? Mike said that Lothar looked like a great dog, but he needed to describe him to Vicki and he would give me a call in a day or two.

oOo

The following evening, Mike called back and said that Vicki wanted to check out Lothar herself but otherwise they were willing to take the dog if we were willing to part with him.

Gulp.

I said we had one more check up at the vet on Thursday and that it would probably be best to make arrangements for Sunday. Mike said that sounded fine.

I hung up the kitchen phone and looked at Michael. “Looks like it’s a done deal.” Michael was relieved -- not at loosing Lothar but that the whole placement hassle was finally over with.

I started to hypotho-worry. “Suppose it turns out that the place is awful?”

“What do you mean?”

“I donno. I mean suppose it’s just obviously not the place for Lothar?”

“Then bring him back.”

“Even if I’ve agreed...?”

“Yes.”

For Michael it was obvious either way. If it worked, it worked. If it looked bad, then cut the losses and bring him back. Or leave him where he will be unhappy and mistreated?

oOo

It was mild and sunny as I drove Fips and Lothar down to Cupertino early in the afternoon, along with Lothar’new set of papers and doggie-kit. As always the dogs stared out the window, with no inkling of what was in store. After a while, both dogs slumped into long-distance mode until they felt the car slow down as I turned onto the city streets. Back up to the window! both sniffing the air for what was up.

The directions to Mike and Vicki’s place were fairly complicated and had me manouevering left and right and left through strange city streets. “You’ll cross some railways tracks....” And when I did, I realized that I had indeed gone over to the “other side of the tracks”. This was not Hayward’s going-upscale neighborhood but a part of town that was rather on the scrappy side. The area was not a slum, but it could turn into one without too many steps in between. I turned into a cul-de-sac of small single family homes behind waist-high cyclone fences, and pulled up to the address.

Mike and Vicki were waiting and came out to greet us. Vicki was as friendly as Mike, only more talkative. Mike understood that I wanted to check his place out and invited me inside, as I made excuse-noises about going over the paperwork with them while the fuzzy butts waited in the truck.

There certainly were no porcelain wash-basin pitchers here. In fact, “decor” of any sort was not a word one would use, unless Eclectic Functional is a new post modern style. The house was definitely actively lived in.

Mike showed me to the back yard past a cluttered back porch. “Yard” was also not a word one would use, unless DustBowl is a new landscape design. There was a swing set on one side, a large fenced-in dog run on the other, some barrels of something here and there, and some patches of grass here and there between dusty track trails. My heart sank.

Mike hadn’t mentioned anything about a fenced-in dog run, and I interrogated him on it. He explained that they had had a Rottweiler whom they kept inside the kennel when they both had to leave, as they hadn’t felt comfortable letting a Rottweiler be loose.

“Well, are you planning on putting Lothar in there?”

“No.” In fact he was planning on taking him to work most of the time.

I believed him. Some people smell of lies and others don’t.

My eyes scanned the hard scrabble back yard, as I turned around and looked at the back porch and house. And Then it hit me.

“Why am I looking at this through human eyes!? What would Lothar see?”

What Lothar would see is: Oh goody a big space to galumph around and around and around in without ever having to worry about digging up the flower bed.

I looked at Mike, took a deep breath and smiled. “Well, lets bring him in.”

We all walked to the front fence. I walked over to the truck and brought Lothar over. He Vicki and Mike got acquainted and after a short while, I walked back to the truck, and drove away waving out the window, as Lothar, Mike and Vicki stood by the fence looking and waving back.

Fips looked at me quizzically. “No Fipsie; no more Lothar.”

=====0O0=====

Letter to Mike and Vicki

=====0O0=====

EPILOGUE

.

Lothar's Element

Michael walked into the office and said, “Why don’t we take the dogs to the reservoir?”

“What reservoir?”

“Lake Chabot down past San Leandro.”

“Never heard of it,” I said.

“It’s really nice, the doggies will love it.”

“They allow dogs?”

Michael punted. “I don’t see why not.”

I looked dubious.

“Awww c’mon...”

I could almost believe the doggies put him up to it, if only the doggies themselves had ever heard of Lake Chabot.

“Okay... just gimme a minute to finish up here.”

He hurried out of the room to get the dogs, the leashes, the water bowls and everything ready. It’s only been a month and already its “the dogs.” By mere force of happenstance we are all settling into a new pack number.

It was early in the afternoon and warm -- not hot, but warm enough to warrant a good splash about. Since it was a weekday, virtually no one was there and we had the reservoir to ourselves. We parked in the parking lot and headed down to the lake and along the road that curved along the shore, looking for a good beach spot.

About a half mile along, we found a sandy crescent with a gentle slope into the water. Ideal. Michael let Lothar off his leash and the big pup took off into lab heaven. He ran along the edge for a ways and then kaplunged into the water where he swam around and around in circles and curly ques. He just loved being in this soft, cool, enveloping and giving milieu .

Fips looked on. Fips is a special breed of dachshund who likes to swim. But he is circumspect. He has to check out the water first to make sure it’s behaving; and then he needs a target to go fetch .... the big stick. He likes to swim, but it has to be according to protocol. All Lothar needs is water.

Once Lothar settled down a bit we called him out and played the stick game.

After a while I wanted to give Fips a chance to fetch his stick without Lothar’s cooperation, so I told Michael to hold onto him while I threw the stick for Fips. I threw the stick out far -- about seven yards -- and Fips started paddling for it.

He had just gotten it in his jaw and had turned around when Lothar broke loose and bounded into the water like a huge fuzzy projectile.

We both yelled for him to stop, but he all but loped on water to where Fips was and pounced, pushing Fips way under. For a terrible moment I stood there waiting for Fips to come up, as I had visions of his little fuzzy body sinking into the murky ooze.

I waited.

I was just about to jump in the water when ... slowly and gently this little silky brown head bobbed to the surface, coughed up water and looked confused.

Fipsie!

He saw me and started a hesitant paddling motion. It looked like it was going to be okay, but I waded in to grab him at first chance and lead him back to shore, where the poor boy spat out some more water.

Keep Lothar away! I shouted, as I praised Fips, petted him, and made sure he was okay all at once.

I wanted to beat the stuffing out of Lothar, but of course it was nothing he could help; so I grit my teeth, took a deep breath and said to Michael it was probably best if we kept them apart. Michael, who was just as appalled, agreed.

I took Fips down a ways where I got him back into the water so that his memory would over-ride the bad experience. Further on up, Michael played stick with Lothar who ran around crazy on shore, swam around crazy in water and was having the happy time of his labrador life.

At last it came time to go. Lothar bounded up the road still in a state of doggie-joy, while Michael and Fips brought up the rear, padding along leisurely. Everybody dried off, we got into the truck and headed home.

As we got in, Michael and I exchanged a glance. We aren’t getting any takers, but it’s not possible to keep Lothar. He's the sweetest dog imaginable, with not a nasty bone in his body. But he’s too big, too galumphy and, in the end, by imperceptible but ineluctable degrees, Fips will just be crowded aside and beaten down.

.

Little Knowest Thou...

It’s been slow going trying to find a home for Lothar. It’s as much a question of interviewing prospective takers as it is a matter of showing him off. I am determined to do more than simply “get rid” of the dog, but rather to secure him a good home and a good life.

And so, I tell the relatively few prospectives who call that, of course as they will understand, I want to make sure that they have the right environment for a young lab. And, of course, since it is politically correct to do so, they couldn’t agree more. God only knows what they really think.

Given the fact that I am writing this, the interviews have not panned out and the rest was all polite but bald faced lies.....

The other day we got a call from a couple down in Hayward. I asked them a few a questions, including whether they had a yard. They did, and it seemed as if they might be good candidates. So, a little after the worst of rush hour, I piled Lothar into the truck and drove down to Hayward.

Poor doggies. They trustingly have no idea of the future. Lucky doggies. They happily live in the present. Lothar was all alert and perky as we were going somewhere long.

Following my scribbled directions, I pulled off the freeway and drove through an appreciated early 60’s lower middle class neighborhood of standard-worker-issue single family units. Our destination was clean and neat and had a nice front lawn. I let Lothar out, led him up the brick path to the door and rang the bell.

The Mister, answered. We met the Missus. They were very friendly and nice. They smiled and looked appreciatively at Lothar. I made filler conversation about this and than that, as I eased into seeing the lawn. "Oh sure.... it's out this way...."

Lothar and I headed through some sliding glass doors to the lawn, a long more less rectangular strip of grass, enclosed by good fences and bordered with neatly planted flower beds. Hmmmm. I had got the impression it was bigger. Give it a 6. I let Lothar romp outside as I headed back in to interview the prospectives.

Now, there are two ways to conduct these interviews. One is the Swiss woman lab-rescue way: Do you....? √ Vill you....? X Half you....? The other is the cowardly way, which I felt more comfortable with. “So..... pretty nice place you have here.....”

They beamed. They had just been remodelling, and could hardly wait to show off their new kitchen. It was kind-a hard to miss actually, since it was at least a third of the living room space. Apart from bedrooms which I did not inspect, the house was basically a large square kitchen up front and adjacent to a long rectangular combo living / dining room. The yard ran alongside out back.

The couple had manifestly spent a lot of money on the new kitchen, which was lined with well-made cabinets and lit with recessed lighting. There was a very upscale stove, a brushed steel refrigerator and to be sure, wall ovens and microwaves. In the center there was large square counter with recessed drawers, lit by a dropped fluorescent “sky light”. “It’s really very nice,” I said.

The living room ... was a throw back to Yesteryear in America. I am tempted to say it was done in ersatz “Early American” but it was actually a notch or two up from Montgomery Wards. It was more faux Western Americana. The carpet was thick, the furniture was moderately well made, and there were some good reproduction pieces, in particular a large converted, cut-glass oil lamp. A small, painted hobby horse stood in the corner. There was no escaping the La-Z Boy with it’s magazine rack but at least it blended style-wise. I swallowed hard. “Very nice....”

We continued chatting, as my eyes casually scoped out the place. It was then that I took better stock of a large porcelain water pitcher that I had glanced at when first coming in. It was 'casually' placed next to the magazine rack. What drew my attention was that it was just like the large water pitcher my grandmother had sitting in the large matching basin on her washing stand. It had a pinkish glaze on a white background with some sort of insipid pastoral scene, enveloped in flowers and curly decorations. I wondered if it was real, or if these basins had always been ersatz or at least faux.

As I stared at the pitcher, I saw Lothar come bounding in from yard, all galumphy and happy, his tail wagging furiously and smashing the pitcher to pieces, oblivious to the damage done. “Oh Diamond Diamond, little knowest thou.....” [ ? ]

“So... do you have a place for him to sleep?” For sure! They took me to the garage and showed me a large dog-comfy padded space under what had been a work table. I had another vision of Lothar chained to his comfy bed, prohibited from entering the house... the misbehaving accoutrement to the decor.

I made further chit chat and concluded the interview by telling the Mister and Missus that it looked like they really loved dogs and it seemed this was something that could really work out. But of course, we all had to sleep on it, to be sure. I wanted to be sure that they were sure, and they should feel completely assured they could frankly let me know if they weren’t totally sure... and so, let’s get in touch tomorrow, and blah blah blah.

“C’mon Lothar!!!” I dragged Lothar back to the truck with as casual a walk I could manage and, at the end of the brick path, turned around to cheerfully wave, before holding the door open for Lothar to hop in. Another wave and I was outta there. Once out of sight I pulled over hugged Lothar hard, and said, “We’re going home now.”

.