~ Plight of the Intruder ~
[Editors Note: Tucker has taken a ski vacation, and Hazel (Prescott Dog Magazine’s spokesdog), has agreed to step in and introduce a character who is a new member of Tucker’s pack.]
NARRATOR: Picture, if you will, a serene and quiet living room. Three languid canines stretched out at various angles, lulled to sleep by the hum of fan and its waves of cooling air. Nearly forgotten, during their intermittent adventures in dreams, was the soon return of their Pack Leaders.
On any other southwest summer day of errands, the faint sound of keys at the front door would rouse from slumber our current subjects of observation. But that would be any other day. Today they will wake to find themselves in the Sudden Plight Zone.
[A distant jingle of collar-ring-against-leash-clip enters Hazel’s ever alert ears. But the dreaming brain triggered the keys-in-lock response in Hazel’s legs and muscles to send her to the front door. Two companion retrievers rouse and respond in hot pursuit.]
HAZEL: Wait! No, not the front door!
[Hazel-Brain, awake now, redirects]
HAZEL: Backyard, Backyard…!!
[Three mostly alert, yet confused four-leggeds try a collective u-turn at high speed, now heading for the patio door and spurred into ever higher gear.
The voices of Mom and Dad, and more jingling sounds, are now heard clearly.
At the unyielding glass of the patio door, twelve legs skid to a stop, and three pairs of eyes lock on Mom and Dad, who didn’t come through the front door this time.
Those eyes followed down from Mom’s hand, and down the length of the leash in her hand to a strange, black four-legged form actively exploring THEIR backyard.]
HAZEL: No, no, no… I don’t believe it.
TUCKER: Hmmmm….
KEIRA: Move over Tuck! I can’t see… What Is THAT??!
[Hazel, having traveled extensively with Dad in the past, had met a lot of different breeds of dogs. She studied this new intruder in her backyard while absentmindedly pawing at the back door.]
TUCKER: What do you think, Haze?
HAZEL: Well … Maybe a Chi-Weiler … Possibly a Dober-HuaHua … Or it could be….
KEIRA: A Rez dog!
HAZEL: Don’t be silly Keira. There’s no way that….
TUCKER: Pointed ears. Long sleek body. Slightly curled up, unadorned tail. Long, thin legs. Keira might have a point.
HAZEL: No, not possible. It’s black and has a mask. I don’t have a mask, and furthermore….
TUCKER: The important question would be, “Is this a visitor, a rescue, a re-home, or a foster dog?”
HAZEL: Can’t be a re-home or rescue. Dad has put his foot down more than once about only three dogs and no more.
KEIRA: Mom says Dad can put his foot down all he wants, she’ll just move the floor.
TUCKER: Keira, as the senior peace officer of this pack, I would strongly advise you to never tell Dad that.
KEIRA: Like he doesn’t know already.
[The pack fell silent, realizing that all their questions could only be answered by the two-leggeds on the other side of the glass. Barking and frantic pawing would now be required to remove the glass obstacle to all their inquiries.]
Dad cautiously reached for the latch, knowing that 180 pounds of wound-up canines was going to launch out into the open. As the cloud of fur and curiosity leaped into the sunlight and towards the answers to their questions, they barely heard their Mom’s introduction.]
MOM: This is Prudence. Your new sister.
~ Hazel Bazel Rocket Dog ~
(To be continued….)
