~ Hearth and Home, Or…. ~
Long before I became the sheriff of our pack, even before I really got to settle into my new home, I met Buster.
When I have to do my morning “constitutional”, I prefer that everyone, four-legged or two, go back inside without me so I can have some private time. Finding the perfect place to do my duty can take a bit of time and requires concentration.
Sometimes Dad sticks his head out the patio door and gives me “The Look”, which only breaks my concentration, and I have to start all over again. Check the wind speed and direction, angle of the sun, ground temperature, and level of moisture (comparing the northwest side as opposed to the southeast side). Is it a landscape gravel morning, or should I choose the carpet of pine needles?
In the midst of decisions like this, one morning two years ago, I settled into the perfect spot, assumed the position, and looked up to see a Red Heeler staring at me through the chain link fence. When our eyes met, the Heeler’s tail wagged twice, and before I could finish what I was engaged in doing, I was hit with a barrage of questions and odd statements.
Normally I would have been at that fence in full throttle and full vocal declarations, but I was new to this home, and frankly I was flustered and embarrassed at that moment. Not because I was doing my business; it was the fact that a dog not of our pack, had gotten that close without me sensing it.
“Do you know if that Labrador girl still lives over that hill on the other side… they call me Buster… I haven’t caught her scent lately… I smell wrong… bath day… have you been with this pack long… you smell new here… do you think Lab girl would mind my smelling wrong?”
As he continued on, never pausing for me to answer, I stepped a bit closer and lowered my head to get his full scent, and was greeted with a very strong synthetic fragrance of lilacs. I felt relieved as I had caught that scent moments before, but I thought Mom was on an air-freshener jag in the house, and it had drifted out the open windows. So, this Buster hadn’t really, completely, snuck up on me.
My visitor continued rattling on, even while walking away to mark a small tree, and came right back to the fence when Dad (tired of waiting for me) appeared. At first, Dad pretended not to see Buster, and knelt down in place while calling me softly. Buster was about to bolt, but curiosity made him stay to see what kind of pack-Dad I might have. I got a quick back scratch and a pat on the head, then Dad addressed Buster.
“Hey buddy, what’s your name?” Dad handed me a beefy treat from his back pocket.
That peaked Buster’s interest visibly. Dad got up slowly, quietly, then firmly sent me in the house while tossing a couple treats in Buster’s direction, but out of his reach just inside the fence.
Dad told me later that, after I was inside, he’d gone out the gate and as he walked, every ten feet or so, he dropped a treat behind him. Buster (foregoing for the moment all thoughts of romance) followed Dad down the road, through a cul-de-sac and a side yard to the backyard fence-lines of the neighborhood. All the while, Buster had happily followed, scooping up treats until they got near one particular fence. Then Buster hesitated, weighing his options.
“Is this your home, Buddy?”
Dad walked a few steps forward while watching Buster back up a few steps, disregarding the morsel just a few feet in front of him. Dad looked down at the bottom of the fence and pointed at the fresh pile of overturned dirt below the wood panels.
“Is this your handiwork?” Dad pointed to the hole dug below the fence.
Buster backed up two more steps.
“Hey, I have an idea,” Dad said with feigned excitement. “Let’s go over to the wash and look for lizards to chase, and maybe mark some stuff.” Dad dropped more treats behind him while jogging over to the wash.
This was more than Buster could ignore, outright fun might be available. Must… follow… running… treat… man.
While down in the wash they played and chased each other, and after a bit Dad gathered a few big rocks and awkwardly climbed up and out of the wash. Buster dutifully followed Dad right up to the fence with the dug-out hole. Dad took a fist full of treats, held them at Buster’s nose for the count of three, then threw them over the fence.
All the gentle and happy winds that filled Buster’s sails up to that moment evaporated.
Dad’s voice broke into his thoughts. “It’s up to you Buddy. Think it through.”
Buster turned and looked around the neighborhood. He thought about the girls he’d… had the pleasure to know… then remembered getting the broom beating, and those cold buckets of water. Then there was the time he’d snuck out during monsoons, and how sick he gotten after messing with that big toad.
More mishaps from his roaming came to mind, and then the realization that his boy and girl would be getting home from school soon. Buster knew the boy would be disappointed to find that his four-legged friend had run away (again). Maybe the girl would read her homework to Buster again like last night. He’d really liked that; it made him feel smart and needed.
Buster turned and, ignoring the scattered treats and without even looking at Dad, straightway scurried under the fence and bee-lined to the back door, barking to be let in. He wanted to be waiting at the front door when the kids came home.
Dad set his cache of rocks in Buster’s “escape hatch” and headed home.
When Dad told me how it went, I had to hold back from laughing at one part. Dad caught that, and asked me what I thought was so funny, but I didn’t have the heart to tell him that the image of him jogging just cracks me up inside.
At bedtime, Hazel and I had a good laugh privately. We actually tried to think of ways to trick Dad into doing it again so we could see it for ourselves. If we got him jogging, could we stop him abruptly to see which parts of him kept moving?
After our fun imaginings at Dad’s expense, Hazel waxed philosophical before she drifted off to sleep.
“We should be more thankful for those that help us with course corrections, and for the two-leggeds that help us when our orbit is off.”
“What’s an orbit?” I asked, yawning.
Dad abruptly sat up in bed. “It’s where I’m going to send both of you if you don’t quiet down and go to sleep!”
I looked at Hazel for some indication if we really had done something wrong, but she just yawned and rolled over. So, I did too.
~Tucker Oso
