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.”

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