Nightwalks

Now that it is getting darker earlier, we've started up our nightwalks again to the evident delight of the doggie-pals. It's not the same during the summer. Then, nightfall is later and the air is still warm and moist from the daytime scorch. But now, by eight or nine, it is brisk and cool and the deutscher doggies are in their element. They assemble at the back gate impatiently waiting for me to put on their leashes and, once the gate is opened, take off with such velocity as to nearly yank one of the leashes out of my hand. Invariably, the chord gets stuck in a car fender or the pals run on opposite sides of a pole. One way or another, things get untangled and the dachshund gallop heads down the back alley toward the street.

Fips actually gall-hops like some oversized rabbit. Rosco doesn't but rather scurries along like a big furry centipede. Either way, they just as abruptly halt to sniff. They decide whither and yon they want to go and, since the town is pretty quiet at this time of night, I simply follow their meanderings occasionally casting the third vote when they want to head off in opposite directions.

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Fips Takes a Pad About

There was a light knock on the door. "Oh shit," I muttered, annoyed at being interrupted at work. It was the Complex's gardener. "Are you missing a dog?" he asked.

Missing a dog?? Why would I be missing a dog? I took a quick look under my desk. No Fips. I took a quick feel of the jumble of doggie blankets and pillows on the floor. One Rosco. No Fips. Why the hell, am I looking around here? I berated myself.

"I couldn't tell, if it was yours or not," said the gardener

"Well just show me," I said impatiently as I headed out the door, "Where is he?"

"He didn't have a collar; it looked like yours, but seemed fuzzier."

"Where is he?"

"A lady brought him over but we couldn't tell...."

Ah yes.... it was one of those stomach-knot moments.

"Where is he?"

The gardener pointed to the grassy pic-nic area, and there in the distance I saw woman kneeling down and an unmistakable fuzzy shape.

He won't budge, the woman said, as Fips jumped up and started getting all frisky.

"We thought it might be yours," the gardener said.

The woman was Kim, a next door neighbor whom I some time cross paths with as she walks her shaggy dog in the evening.

"I thought it might be yours," Kim said, "but he acted older. I was going to take him to Dr. Smith's but he wouldn't move."

As it turns out, a handyman who was putting up a new gate at Kim's house saw Fips walking slowly down the middle of the road. He called to him, and Fips, always up for a "hello," came over. Thinking he might be a stray, the handyman offered Fips some food, but Fips wasn't hungry. "That's when I figured he belonged to someone."

The handyman called Kim, who yoo-hoo'd across the street to Jim -- "who knows everything" -- and who said, "Oh yes, he belongs to that guy in the Complex".

Kim put a leash around Fips, but he would not be moved; so she carried him over. "Boy, he's heavier than he looks." "I know," I said.

Rosco many times, but Fips has never wandered off like this, and I couldn't for the life of me figured out how it happened. But it had.

I profusely thanked all concerned: the handyman, Kim and the gardener. Then I walked home, with Fips trotting merrily and hip hopping at my heels.

"Boy, look at him now," Kim said.

I smiled.

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Doggie Gratitutde

Now, as the summer draws to a close and the dry grass and nettles have been ground down into the dirt, the doggie boys and i have resumed our near noon walks at the town Park n' Rodeo grounds. At this time of day, no one is there except for ten or twenty seniors pulling up to the Senior Center for their daily meal.... And Fips who makes it a point to amble towards the kitchen's back-door.

Unfortunately, the cooks have been pretty busy and Fips has had to go away empty mouthed, and with that air of disappointed bafflement at how something which worked before (being there) no longer worked now.

Sunday, when the Center is closed, Fips stood at a distance looking intently at the kitchen wondering whether he should even bother walking up toward the door. Eventually he decided, in a not very hopeful way, that maybe it was worth a try. It wasn't.

Today, though, the kitchen door swung open and one of the cooks came out carrying a LARGE ziplock bag chock full of Pork Bits. She handed it to me, saying that maybe it would make up for the past week. "Ooooh... thank you so much," i said, as Fips and Rosco danced and jumped around my feet.

"What have we got here....?" I said as I took several steps back and opened the bag while the pals followed after me all but exploding with excitement. I gave each a chunk o' pork as the cook looked on and the doggies gulped. I took another step back, bent down and gave them two more chunks. Gulp.

I straightened up closed the bag and looked over at the cook, who was about five yards away. "You've made them real, happy; thank you." She took a puff from her cigarette and nodded.

Just then Fips and Rosco trotted over to her and nosed her legs. The cook and I looked at one another, fairly blown away. "I guess I didn't have to say it for them," I said. "They feel more than we give them credit for, " she replied.

After thanking the cook, Fips and Rosco returned to where the succulent smell was and followed me back to the Jeep.


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Fips Lets it Be Known....

There hadn’t been a day I did not think of Fips...and Rosco too. In fact, Wednesday night, after turning under the covers. I had an attack of separation anxiety. First thing Thursday morning I called Gene. Everything was OK, he said. Fips had adopted Phyllis and Rosco had adopted him, and all four doggies were getting along, although Rosco had snapped at Patches when Patches had gotten too pushy. I was relieved. Still I missed my doggies.

It was already nine in the evening by the time I got home on Sunday. It was not too late to call. Gene said the dogs were still fine. I made arrangement to pick them up Monday morning between ten and eleven.

It was a bright sunny morning, warm but not hot, as I drove over the winding hills to Riviera on the Lake, the fuzzy ones in mind as an anticipated presence.

I parked in front of the house and walked down, past the fenced porch and doggie gate to the front door, and knocked. Gene opened, as I expected the doggies to leap up and come running over to me all commotioned and waggy-tailed. Not a chance.

Fips was sitting several yards away and looking straight at the door. For a half second he started to leap up but then sat back down where he was, as Rosco trotted over, dubiously happy but far from ecstatic. I went over to pet Fips, but he was unimpressed. In fact he ducked away.

Awwww Fipsie..... c’mon.....

Nope.

The look in Fips’s eyes was an unmistkably frosty, “And where the hell have you been.” But it makes me love him all the more. How can you not love a dog that holds a grudge?

I handed Gene the token presents I had brought and we sat down in the living to talk room over some coffee. Fips held his distance, keeping present but making a point of being aloof. Rosco, came over, though, and I sat on the floor with my back against the couch, petting his head and neck.

Oh .... OK

After about half an hour, Fips ambled over, still not without an air of Having Cause, but with an evidently greater desire for being fondled.

When at last I stood up, the doggies sensed it was time to go. They ran to the door and ran again up hill impatiently waiting for me to lift them into the Jeep. “Looks like they’re anxious to get home,” Gene said. I thanked him once again for all he and Phyllis had done.

-o0o-

Et Post: It would take about two weeks before Fips got over his separation trauma. He kept an eye on my motions and looked at me with a combination of anxiety and reproach whenever it looked like I was getting ready to go outside. Eventually, with extra doses of everything, things got back to normal.

o6/08/08

Arf

arf

The Limits of Patience

I dragged the poor pups on errands over the hill.... First to the dentist's, then grocery shopping -- all of which meant that what started out as an Outing with Grand Possibilities ended up being a lot of boring sitting in the truck, although they did got a brief walk in the little park around the corner from the dentist's office.

Once home, we went for a walk by the high school nanimoos... When we came to the pig pen,"Piggie" comes snorting over to say hello. She's figured it's ear-scratchie time, and I guess she likes it.) At this point, Fips , lets out a sigh, sits down in the grass, and ives me this "whateverrrr........" look. I guess HE'S figured out that this is where we get to do noting while I carry on with the pig.....

He's such a a funny coot.

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Fipsie, No Bon Bons!

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