~ Dashed Plans and a Fugitive Makes Amends ~
I wonder how often things like this happen in the hooman two-legged world? I think I remember Hazel remarking on similar circumstances in a column or two. (tinyurl.com/y8bf84ws)
Has this happened to you: feeling compelled to sneak away from the hustle and bustle only to be endlessly interrupted en route?
I finally made it to the master bedroom… alone. Softest carpet. Ceiling fan slowly sending cool air down along the wall during the hottest part of the day. Thick white fur (with apricot highlights) grateful to receive the falling coolness.
Drifting, drifting… Eyelids surrender… Faint rhythmic clatter of nails… Rising, rising… Eyelids open, ears back catching the landing thump of Pru on the bed behind and above me.
I pretend to be sound asleep, which fools Pru not for a second, whispering, “I saw your ears move twice,” in a taunting tone. I press on pretending, not stirring at all, hoping boredom will set in and she’ll bound off.
Rather than bounding off, she flipped over on her back and began her new hobby of late.
It begins with flailing about on her back with the goal of getting centered under the ceiling fan. Still with all four paws in the air and centered, she begins to chase her tail… upside down… really. Fiercely wiggling like a fish on shore, first clockwise, then in the other direction.
If left on her own for long enough, she can wind the bedspread into what looks like a big swirl of whipped-cream with a sunken dark cherry in the middle and four stems sticking straight up.
I felt compelled to stop Pru before she got too far applying her newfound talents in largescale cyclical spasmotic origami. But before I could draw a deeper breath to use my authoritative Paw Enforcement Officer’s voice to ask her to “Get still!,” I heard a sound I hadn’t counted on.
Great Greyhound’s Ghost! No quiet nap now.
I stood up and turned to face the target of my frustration. “Pru! You are not to have your antler in the bed!”
Pru assured me she would only toy with it upside down and not catch fabric from the bed while chewing and licking her antler.
Of late though, Pru wasn’t chewing and licking her antler all that much. Nope. She had found a way to deftly twirl, spin, flip, drop, and retrieve said antler, all the while making a very annoying clacking sound. Over… and… over again.
Dad likened the clacking sound to a broken marimba key that had been left out in the rain. A quarter-tone sharp B-flat was Dad’s final assessment after enduring a ten-minute concert that ended with Pru pushing the antler too far under the couch.
Back to Pru, who was now convinced that her reply to me was enough to blissfully continue on, kicking her back legs in the air to enhance her wiggles on the bed, while her front paws assured mouth-and-antler aerobics continued with full support.
I reminded her again that Mom had said No and Never to antlers on the bed.
Pru uncharacteristically dropped her antler, righted herself, and watched her prize roll off of the bed.
I waited to see if there would be a delayed lunge to retrieve it in an over-dramatic fashion, but no. She stayed sphinx-style while attentively looking at me from the edge of the bed.
A casual observer might believe Pru was being compliant and sensible at my urging. I knew better. In fact, everything about this moment with Miss Promise Prudence Pepper led me to believe some mischief was afoot.
Now that I’d completely laid aside trying to bend an uncooperative world for some alone time and a well-deserved senior nap, I turned up my senses and took a full reading of the room and Pru.
She shifted uncomfortably while watching me and tried to raise some small talk. Not dissuaded, I stepped closer to the bed-corner and Pru above me and found the clue.
When my muzzle lifted to Pru’s level, everything made sense. Why was she intent to hang with a boring senior (me), and intentionally distracting and annoying me with antler-clacking? Especially when Mom and Keira are outside working in the gardens? She was avoiding or hiding something.
Three scents made everything crystal clear: dirt, peet moss, and fertilizer.
Pru saw the look of recognition on my face and tried to pretend her mind wasn’t racing to come up with an answer to a question that was now inevitable.
“Pru… were you in the large garden area by yourself today?”
She blinked two or three times but stayed silent… still thinking.
Before I could press the issue again—or relish the squirming that would accompany her first try at an answer—Mom’s voice rang loudly throughout the house with a question and a command.
“Prudence Pepper where are you?! Get out here RIGHT now!”
I turned to look back at Pru, but she was gone. A sparse trail of dirt and peat moss crumbs led to the master bathroom. Without looking, I knew she had probably nosed open the closet door and scurried as far back as possible.
Mom didn’t appear, and I wasn’t sure what to do for Mom or Pru. Moments later, Dad came into the bedroom.
I pointed with my muzzle at Pru’s trail. Dad nodded and headed to Pru’s hideaway. They were in there together for a while. I could hear some of Dad’s soft urging to come on out, and assurances that everything would be alright.
Mom showed up in the doorway as Dad was walking out with a contrite Pru, without a leash and willing to face whatever it was she did to put everyone in a tip. That’s trust. She knew she was still valued and loved and that makes facing the tough things easier.
Mom patted Pru’s side as she passed by and encouraged her with, “Now let’s go see how we can fix the garden bed you dug up.”
Pru looked up at Dad as if to say, “C’mon Dad, let’s get moving, we’ve got work to do.”
I love my pack family. Even when I miss my senior nap.
~Tucker Oso ~
