~ Digging That Coffee Flavor ~
I thought that this time taking the trip down memory lane to my youth could be set aside, and I could get down to current events in our pack. Dad, however, in his ever-entertaining moments of, shall we say, awkward encounters with physical objects brought to mind an early memory. He’s generally not clumsy, but every once in a while, his momentum gets hindered in odd or humorous ways.
This morning, first fresh coffee in hand, crossing the living room to the patio doors, (wait for it…) Dad’s stride brought his right foot in direct contact with a chew-stick. A literal fruit wood stick for chewing on.
It’s current length and circumference and general “roundness” accelerated the forward motion of Dad’s foot and leg. Dad, of course, being a two-legged and knowing his left leg was not going to catch up in time, did what all two-leggeds do in these situations — wave arms wildly to recover.
Actually, the left arm waved wildly, and in what might have been an attempt not to throw coffee everywhere, and his right arm shot straight up then down.
Hazel and I were watching from the couch and saw the contents of the cup go up in the air and level with Dad’s face. After all these years of watching Mom make the coffee, and Dad and Mom drink it, Hazel and I had never seen coffee before. At least not in the wild like that.
Dad reflexively swung the cup under brown liquid in time to catch most of it but missed one blob that landed on his sneaker. He grimaced for a moment as the hot liquid made contact with flesh through sock. Looking all around at the carpet and satisfied it was coffee free, Dad headed outside completely nonplussed.
Hazel followed, and that left me to myself for a bit. That’s when I remembered my first introduction to coffee some years ago.
Back in my puppy youth on the ranch, shortly after my brother Henry was adopted, I got bored. I started to miss Henry and our adventures so much that I decided to do something in the style of Hank. Yes, it will be a ‘what would Hank do’ themed day.
Our last day together, he had tried to squeeze under the porch, only making it halfway. I decided to make it so that any dog of normal size could easily get under the porch, just in case.
Henry had tried to scoot under the east side of the porch; I thought I’d start on the opposite side and dig all the way across from underneath. I had never dug deep in the earth and loam before. So many scents and stories from the past lay in there. When I realized my back legs could kick away as I dug with my front paws, I made good time in making a decent size furrow and found myself on the rising sun side pretty quickly.
I had to stop for a minute, as I caught the faintest scent of Henry from his attempt to squeeze under here. I didn’t realize how much I missed him till right then. I remembered my mom had told me that I would face sweeping changes during my life, and that I needed to remain flexible to adapt. I decided to adapt by redoubling my efforts on behalf of Henry.
The dirt was so moist and fragrant on this side, I dug straight down just at the edge of the porch and made a burrow. Half under and half outside. I looked back at my work and decided the best way to enjoy my new space was to take a nap. Henry would have been proud.
Now, what I wasn’t really aware of at the time was how I looked as I settled into a well-deserved nap. My brilliant white coat, (with apricot highlights), was covered with dirt. My muzzle was muddy and wet from exertion, with a dash of foam from thirst and mixed with inhaled dirt.
I woke from my nap from the sound of scraping above me on the porch. The Rancher had come down to the house to get his noon coffee and discovered little rows of dirt along the floor’s seams. He was kicking the dirt off porch while sipping his coffee and wondering what critter had made this mess. Fully awake now, I yawned, and that yawn and my slight rustling below him, entered the Rancher’s ears.
Stepping off the side of the porch to follow that sound, he stepped into the outer half of my burrow. I saw the shadow of his boot coming and pulled back under the floor. Then I wondered if he wanted to explore my burrow with me. I expected praise and a ‘good boy’ kind of moment. I started to come out next to his boot in the hole, but when he saw me, he made an odd sound and reflexively threw his cup of coffee in my direction. He missed. It bounced off the edge of the porch and sprayed its contents on his leg and down the visiting boot. Even though I didn’t understand exactly what was happening, however, with the enticement of the aromatic beverage now inches away, I just had to taste it. For some reason, my licking his boot and pants leg made the Rancher make more odd noises, and call frantically for his wife. His leg disappeared but the boot remained.
Having heard the commotion outside, the Rancher’s wife came out drying her hands in her apron. “Goodness Gracious! What is all this fuss about?”.
“There’s some kind of animal under the porch,” her husband answered gruffly. The wife, slightly suspicious from having to deal with my brother Henry’s antics from time to time, stepped off the porch to find me thoroughly licking the coffee flavored boot.
“Some kind of animal, my foot…it’s Tucker!” She reached down and took the boot away from me. She called me out and stood there shaking her head as she looked me over. Grabbing my collar and taking me to the side of the house, she picked up the garden hose. “Time for your first farm bath, Tucker.”
The cold water and repeated rinsing spurred me re-evaluate my recent decisions. Hardly a good boy moment.
What I did realize while lying in the sun to dry off, is I should just be myself. No more trying to be Henry. That decision, with the taste of dirt still in my mouth, I resolved to be good, really good, at the good things I already knew how to do. I believe that decision has helped me remain balanced in challenging moments and times.
~ Tucker Oso ~
[Editors Note: Coffee is not good for dogs so please don’t try this at home. Tucker is now content to enjoy coffee by aroma only]
