~ Pru Gets a Reset ~
“Tucker? Tucker!”
I heard Pru loud and clear, and after the number of moons that have come and gone since her membership in our pack family, I’ve learned to let her come to me rather than run to her for what turns out to be a waste of time and energy.
Don’t get me wrong, a canine with my responsibilities to keep the peace means I do have to respond to problems within the pack or on the property. But when you’re awakened from a deep slumber to the high-pitched expression of pure panic, only to run with all your might and speed (with senses turbo-engaged), and find the supposed victim happily chasing a butterfly’s shadow across the yard?
I was in the master bathroom, sort of halfway gauging Pru’s progress going room to room calling my name, while I reviewed the scents of the clothes basket recently placed on the floor.
The tip-tap clicking of Pru’s paws finally came down the hallway and onto the bedroom carpet. Then… silence.
Whenever Pru enters a room to address someone, she quick-waggles her head, and it make a distinctive sound as her upright ears whack together. Five times. Always five times. Still, silence. But I could hear her gently sniff the air for my scent.
When she broke her silence, I heard a very unexpected sound of shaking fear.
”Tuuuucker?”
I bolted from the bathroom and shot past Pru, heading for the back door to the yard, which is where she came from when she first called my name.
Sliding door open…good. Scan first.
My head swept side to side as Pru slid to a stop behind me. She didn’t shoulder me out of the way to be first outside. Another clue. Something was really wrong.
I caught a clear scent. Blood… and something else.
I spun around to look over Pru and saw her hindquarters were shaking, vibrating, and not from the cold.
To a two-legged’s eyes, what I did next my have looked… uh, rude. Or mean.
I nosed her hard at the sides, to turn her this way and that to check for wounds or blood. Any other time, she would have turned my actions into a clear invitation for rough play. (The kind that Mom eschews).
This time, she offered no resistance to my rough prodding—another clue to how upset our youngest pack-sister was.
I blocked the way outside by sitting down in front of the open door and asked, “Are you hurt?”
Whap, whap, whap, whap, whap (A good sign.)
“No… Wait, uh… I whacked my head on the edge of the door. Turned too tight.”
I called her over and sniffed each side of her face, gently cleaning her upright ears, and coaxed her to tell me what happened.
To paraphrase a very emotional retelling: Mr. Skybird (hawk) had been high up in the pine tree and dropped his prey, which came down through the branches to land in front of Pru.
She didn’t know (as she put one paw forward to investigate) that Mrs. Skybird was above her on the fence and took exception to Pru’s advancement.
Next thing Pru knew was the swoop of large wings over her back and a fierce screeee with hot breath in her face.
Promising to the heavens to never, ever, ever touch or investigate anything that fell out of a tree ever, ever again, Pru had hightailed it to the back door, only to catch a glimpse of Mr. Skybird on the fence overlooking the back door. Hence the tight turn.
Pru only pulled away from me once when I licked the spot that had connected to the door’s edge. While cleaning the left side of her face, I noticed that one spot was a bit warmer.
The vibrating stopped when she related the part where she had spun around to see if Mr. Skybird was coming into the house pursuing her. Pru’s eyes had met the hawk’s on the fence. That was the first time she had called out to me.
“You know what I think, Tuck? Wait, don’t answer that. I think that your response time as of late as a sheriff, ain’t what it used to be.”
I continued to wash her face and tried not to snort/laugh as the pepper in my sister Prudence reappeared.
“You know what else, Tuck? I don’t want, like, any formal report kind of thing. Because I’m kind of embarrassed. Will this go on my permanent record?”
I assured her that I wouldn’t tell Deputy Keira, so no report would be filed. I also re-affirmed that Pru was the fastest, most athletic, highest jumping canine in the whole pack.
“You didn’t say that I’m brave, Tuck. Or courageous,” she protested.
I pointed out that she had turned and stood her ground and looked Mr. Skybird in the eye.
“In fact,” I emphasized with the widest of eyes, “you took the right course of action.”
Pru’s eyes went wide. “Action? I like that word Tuck. I’m an Action Pack-Sister!”
Action-Packed is more accurate, I thought but didn’t say.
I asked her to come on outside and keep me company while I found the perfect spot to do my business. I delayed the process to give Pru time to regain her yard-confidence.
While the twilight repainted the world’s colors, a distant scree came to our ears.
Pru raised her muzzle to nonchalantly sniff the cooling air.
Good, I thought. She didn’t react with fear. That’s my Pru.
Mom and Keira returned from an outing, and Pru couldn’t help herself from parading around Keira proclaiming how brave she was, and that Keira probably didn’t do a single brave thing all day.
Keira looked over at me with a look of exasperation before she bolted and chased Pru outside. Cue rough housing…
Roused from her musings in the other room, Hazel came out and, with Rez dog awareness, she scented right to the place where the prey had landed, but now was long gone.
“Anything I should know about, Tuck?”
Before I could answer, Pru came up alongside to suggest that I should tell about her adventure in my next column. As long as I included the bravery and action part.
“I thought you didn’t want Keira to know?” I said, a bit surprised at her suggestion.
“Aw, Tucker, don’t you know? Keira just pretends to read your column. She thinks you’re kind of boring.”
~ Tucker Oso ~
