Tuesday, October 21, 2014

Hotdog

We all have our good and bad relationships with dogs. Sometimes the dogs belong to us, other times they belong to someone else. Sometimes dogs belong to themselves. It is fun when they are friendly, and yours and theirs and themselves get along with friendship and well being. Otherwise it may not be fun. But dog lovers are as different as breeds of dog. I personally will never understand why anybody would want to risk their neck for any length of time with a pitbull, but pitbull owners don't understand me either. We just naturally don't get along. Instead, I prefer the owners of little brown hotdogs.

September 20, 2014

There is a small brown dog that belongs to a neighbor on Tueltown Road. He is as short as he is long. His tiny legs move along with the enthusiasm of a centipede. He appeared initially as a boyfriend for my old comrade Sunshine. Sunshine took to the little critter affectionately. They played together: they forgot the problems of the real world together. Then as soon as Cricket, my other dog, we have two, who is a Rat terrier, began to get into heat, oh-no. Cricket is ten, and a litter would kill her. The business of getting litters from a small dog that you'd like to keep alive any length of time has to start young. When they are four or five, they are too old. And that's not promising anything. So now Cricket has to stay in, while Hotdog has taken over the porch. He makes forays against our chickens as if he owns the place. He has become a youthful terrorist. I see him smiling behind the brass of his swagger. He has taken over my favorite porch chair. You know the type, toothy grin, AK-47 butt on knee, barrel waving upright. They'd take over the world if you let them, while believing the world has suddenly run into some good luck. Possession means everything unless someone else possesses it then it means nothing. Like Hemingway's Pablo or Babel's cossacks, their stolen horses acquired a new ownership worth fighting over surprisingly swiftly, as soon as the next day, the next sunrise.

But now, doesn't he look silly? Already a fat cat. I'd like to explain to him his situation. He is sitting in his grandeur atop the cat food bowl regularly visited by a gang of ten wild cats any one of which is apt to become in an instant agitated. Frankly, I doubt he'd stand a chance. Here they come now. Not a break in stride they hustle forward. I wish these terrorists would understand that in the grand scheme of things, they are not much. Well, that didn't take long. He is off to somewhere, leaving the wildcats to their chow. But that is not the end of him. I see him in the trees, having switched to gorilla operations. Now the wildcats will have their way. No matter, time for Sunshine and I to take our walk.

So on the walk Hotdog followed Sunshine and me down Tueltown Road to his house. I asked one of the kids, a fair haired, spectacled boy, to tell his mother I wanted to talk to her. Kids and dogs poured out the front door and strong shouldered, round faced Mom and bearded hubby. I explained the situation, that we thought the colorful little dog was fun, but my ten year old rat terrier was gonna get impregnated if this continued. I assumed the little dog had not been fixed. "No," the mother said. So I hope that solved the problem, though with that many kids, I imagine we'll see him around again soon. Kids have a way of losing track of things.

He is a fearless little dog, but not friendly. He won't come up to be petted even if you turn round, cluck and smile pretty. He wanders all over the neighborhood. He followed Sunshine and me back to his house I thought rather proudly, as if he had captured us, and was returning us as prisoners to headquarters. When someone opened the door he rushed in without being called. I think if it was not for Cricket, I'd have not bothered. It is funny watching the little brown squirt chasing the banties. He barks and runs like hell, but he is nowhere near quick enough, and the banties toy with him. Still he chases undaunted, as if Jason hell for leather in quest of the golden fleece. He is a brown, insignificant lump of nature chasing what nature would never be so stupid as to let him have. But try telling him that.

Next day Hotdog reappeared around supper. This time he was acting so obnoxious that when I took Sunshine out, he followed along snapping at his heels. Sunshine turned around becoming irate. He barked loudly, while little Hotdog, the brown turd, bounded around with rebellious pleasure. Now Sunshine became increasingly stubborn and would not move. I had to bring her back in to the house. I jumped into my Oldsmobile and drove down to Hotdog's headquarters. The flock of children reappeared, Mom following, two turtle doves and a partridge in a pear tree. Did I see rabbits bounding past the front door? I was becoming increasingly fond of these people.

"I'm still worried about my ten year old rat terrier," I said. "I don't think it would work out if she had a litter right now."

"No, it wouldn't work out."

"He's over at my house. I can't get near him."

"Alright, I'm coming."

She was barefoot. One of the kids brought out her slippers so she could drive the car up Tueltown and down Kittridge Brook to my driveway. I was a little worried Hotdog may have vacated the premises. But no, he was sitting on the porch still in my favorite chair. Tail wagging, entire rear end wagging in fact for his tail was hardly more than a small stump, he came off the porch to greet his master. But he wouldn't get close. She called to him. Nothing doing.

"When he is inside he comes and he'll look to snuggle, but when he is outside, he is a brat. But he will follow me in the car."

"Well, with all the kids you've got, I'm glad we aren't dealing with the two legged kind."

"That's for sure," she laughed.

She said that she hadn't counted recently how many there were, between animals and children.

So she backed out of my long driveway, and little brown hotdog chased her beside the car. I have expected to see him back, but I haven't, don't know what she did. I should stop by some time to find out. Cricket is not in heat any longer. I miss not seeing him around. I hope he is still okay, though maybe not being such a brat.

No comments:

Post a Comment