Sun and Fun (Mostly)
Well, even though the summer equinox hasn’t arrived yet (Dad says that’s the official start), all the signs are around us. We (the four-leggeds) are shedding our winter coats (much to Mom’s consternation), Hazel’s jogging partners (the lizards) are keeping her busy, and Keira is learning (finally) to lay in the sun with Hazel and me and relax (for about ten minutes; at least it’s a start).
Mom has been planting and planning the garden and that means the back door and the second gate stay open, much to our delight as we scurry back and forth, inside and out. Dad does most of the watering of the garden boxes and pots and has to keep an eye on Hazel and Keira as they like to swipe bits of wood chips or mulch for a snack.
There’s a lot of, “Leave it, Keira,” or “Get out of there, Hazel,” and my personal favorite, “Keira, what do you have in your mouth?” as she parades past Dad with her hind end swinging from side to side in opposite rhythm with her tail. Dad has to drop the watering can and engage in the game of “Give me that, Keira,” which she enjoys immensely.
Keira plays coy at first, like she’s going to walk away, but she pretends to relent and brings her half-body wag over to Dad and makes him work to get the stick, pebble, rock, leaf out of her mouth. Then she gazes up at him, self-pleased at her semi-compliant behavior.
I myself, as the stoic Sheriff, don’t engage in such behavior. I think Dad appreciates that at least one third of the pack doesn’t have to be watched so closely.
Sometimes it’s hard for Dad to get me to come inside when I’m lying in the sun and the breeze is just right, or when I’m in the big garden area alone, and I pretend not to hear him call. Hazel and Keira oftentimes think they hear Mom making “food noises” in the kitchen and go charging all the way back to the house.
After they’re gone, I revel in being left in that large space alone. First, I march from side to side, then stop and adopt my most regal pose. Next, I scan the road through the fence slats for bipedal civilian movement (occasionally led by a dog on a leash), and eventually I sit and turn my gaze upward to the hills and watch for those “pesky” rabbits.
If they venture down the hill too far, I muster my great authority and, with full determination, enforce the boundaries with my “stomp dance.” If they dare to come any nearer, I resort to my sharp, staccato barks which usually sends them back up the hill. I know they can’t breach our garden fence, but I still feel it’s my duty to clearly communicate the boundaries of my domain on behalf of the pack.
Last week, Dad led all three of us (the four-leggeds) to the inner gate for our morning patrol into the large garden area. He must have forgot something, as he went back towards the house, leaving us to ourselves. Keira and I wrestled and romped while Hazel quickly perused the ground for a forbidden morsel while watching the gate for Dad’s return.
Keira eventually realized that Dad was gone and padded off to find him. Being the baby of the pack, she is still enthralled and mystified by the two-legged world and feels she might miss something interesting if she can’t see Mom or Dad. Hazel and I are devoted to our pack of course, but not enthralled so much anymore with two-legged behavior.
Hazel found herself a morsel and trotted off to the pine tree back towards the house, and there I was alone in my large place. There wasn’t any movement in the road or on the hill, so I settled down with a small stick I’d found to chew on a bit.
Unknown to me, Hazel and Keira had slipped back inside the house, and Dad assumed all three of us were in. Mom was in her office and Dad went to the back studio. A bit later Mom appeared at the studio door and asked Dad, “Where’s Tucker?”
By that time, I was taking a sun nap at the very front of the garden shed. I had no idea a frantic search had commenced, first in the house from room to room, then to the garage, to the immediate back yard, then to the big garden area.
I heard Dad come up the side of the garden shed, then back to the gate, then up the other side of the garden shed, but not quite far enough to see me stretched out at the front. I heard the frantic pace of his steps, but that wasn’t out of the ordinary since he’s known to set down a hammer or drill or shovel and in short order can’t remember where he put it.
When his footsteps faded, I laid my head back down, but then he was outside the fences in the front yard, calling my name. Well, that’s kind of odd, I thought. Why would he call me from out there when I’m behind a fence?
Hazel later told that when Dad was calling for me, Mom was at the front door ringing her hands like Auntie Em calling for Dorothy in that weird wizard-of-something movie. Hazel likes that movie quite a bit—well, the part where the colorfully dressed short people come out and sing to Dorothy. Hazel thinks that life would be a lot happier if two-leggeds were shorter and sang all the time. She hopes heaven is like that.
After a bit I realized that I was not going to get any kind of rest with Dad hollering, so I got up and headed to the back door to find it open and walked in to see Mom standing at the open front door. Since she looked busy, I just assumed my sit position behind her.
A few moments later, Dad gave up yelling and headed in, and when Mom turned around that’s when a very long, drawn-out display of happy affection came at me from both of them. Honestly, I have no idea what got into them. I just kind of sat there through the pats, and pets, and hugs, and kisses. Sheesh! I was glad when it was over. I think they asked me twenty times, “Where were you, Tucker?”
Hazel walked by and whispered, “For a law-and-order guy, you sure know how to turn the house upside down.”
I still don’t understand what I did. I hope that’s not going to be a theme this summer.
~Tucker Oso
