I’m surrounded by characters. Have you ever felt that way? The warm weather seems to have released a devil-may-care attitude among my charges, and it’s difficult to keep some sort of order around here.
Getting out the backdoor to “take care of business” with three other four-leggeds has become a fur-and-dander traffic jam. Hazel wants to race out to chase lizards. Elle bolts out to bark and whirl like a bucking bronco to see if she spooks rabbits, squirrels, or quail that she imagines have taken over the yard in her absence. Kiera? She launches out with her head low, scouting for something to put in her mouth that she’s not supposed to have – things like dove poop and rocks. Dad’s always telling her “drop it”, which she dutifully does in a sheepish way. Indoors, Kiera prefers underwear and socks, with which she parades through the house with great aplomb.
Like I said before, characters.
I, myself, prefer to sit and scan the hill behind the house for the rabbits that graze there each morning. They are beyond my ability for personal investigation since fencing restrains a proper patrol. I do, however, warn them if they wander too far down the hill. Dad calls my warnings the “stomp dance”.
I have found that the common barking method doesn’t work with rabbits that are thirty feet away. Barking must be coupled with a demonstration of power and authority. Hence, The Stomp.
You begin by letting the energy and tension build in your front legs. Start slowly, with the slightest of distance between your front pads and the ground, and stomp both front legs in unison. Hard. Increase distance between paws and ground and decrease time between stomps. When you’ve reached a crescendo, punctuate each contact with the ground with a single, throaty bark of authority.
That’s all you’ve got to do to instill awe and caution in those pointy eared rascals. Doesn’t work on Hazel, though.
You can use the same method as a call to play chase and tag with other four-leggeds. It’s also fun to have a toy on the floor in front of you and use The Stomp to challenge others to try to take it away.
You should try it with your friends, but I’m not sure how to advise two-leggeds which pair of limbs to use. Hang on a second, let me ask Dad.
***
Sometimes I can’t tell if Dad is pulling my leg or if he’s serious. I asked him which set of a two-legged’s limbs should be used in a modified version of The Stomp Dance that would inspire the most caution and awe. He said using the left arm and the right leg would most likely garner the most reaction by others.
I couldn’t quite picture that, so I asked him to demonstrate. For some reason he refused.
All that aside, I don’t want to leave you with the impression that it’s always a three-ring circus around here. There are calm and peaceful moments too, which Mom and Dad seem to relish more and more.
Bouts of chaos run in short spurts, and they fade into a routine where Hazel takes her position on the couch, while I take my position on the floor where I can see most avenues of approach while keeping a wary eye on Elle and Kiera.
Those two golden girls take the longest to wind down. The last phase for Elle and Kiera is lying next to each other and mouth wrestling, or taking the same toy from each other’s mouth. Over and over and over again.
Eventually, Kiera wanders off to lay next to Dad or Mom. Elle will get up and wander around trying to find something to do. She is always the last one to settle down. Dad says there is a carousel in her brain with very busy and troublesome monkeys riding on it.
I asked him once what was in my brain, and he knelt down next to me and whispered, “Faithfulness, loyalty, and duty.”
I was disappointed at first, hoping for a more action-oriented kind of thing. I mean, you can’t picture more action than a pack of monkeys on a carousel flinging, well…you know. But when the words faithfulness and loyalty ran through my mind, they felt right. Good and fitting. The same feeling I get when I’m harnessed in the back seat and Dad starts the truck…it just feels right. That is who I am, that is how I’m wired. Now, what is duty though?
I trotted outside to find Dad.
“Dad, what’s duty?”
He looked at me, sighed, and sat down in the shade of the garden shed. He told me he’d been thinking about that a lot lately. In a two-legged world that he felt was turning in new ways and in unfamiliar directions, he’d been trying to find what his duty was. What are the decisions and actions he could do now that would strengthen those around him and the community?
“Maybe we got so concerned about our rights, and the injustices we believe needed correcting, that we somehow forgot duty – the actions we take to hold things together, to repair the framework that allows us to be good to each other….”
Dad trailed off while fiddling with a crescent wrench he pulled from the bench. He then jumped up…wait no, that’s exaggerating. He unfolded himself and said, “Kiera, is that my sock?”
As he retrieved his now-wet sock from Kiera’s mouth, he bluntly stated, “Tucker, duty is doing what needs to be done no matter how unpleasant, difficult, or uncomfortable it might be so that you and those around you can enjoy the days ahead a little more. And you Tucker, are a perfect example of that.”
I admit, I got quite a warm glow inside when he said that. Still do whenever I think about it. I’d rather have that than a carousel of monkeys.
