~ No Report Needed…This Time ~
Misty wet morning with Dad exclaiming as he stepped outside with four thankful waking bladders hustling past him, “Hey, we’re flying through a cloud!”
Anything more than 200 feet away would disappear and reappear as thick, drifting wetness wafted past us. Regular morning neighborhood noises carried an odd, otherworldly quality. And although the pack was having a great time flying with the fog cloud, Mom came outside with bath towels and the chase began.
We were pretty wet even though it wasn’t really raining. Mom asked Dad to help with giving me a second rubdown with a fresh towel. The reasoning being that I’m known to head straight to the master bedroom to ruminate on philosophical maters and enjoy a comfy nap on the bed. Hence, extra dryness required.
Mom says I adopt “The Regal Pose of a Wise Canine of the Court” when I wrestle with matters of the mind. Head raised, staring out of the bedroom window and across the backyard to the wild hills is the posture I’ve taken during many epiphanies and… many interruptions.
The first interruption was Mom complaining about the “eau de wet cur” hanging about the house, which she remedied by going from room to room with some sort of spray. Every time she uses that stuff, I have the uncontrollable urge to find a fresh pile of road apples to roll in. Unfortunately, there’s none around here that I know of. Ahh, but those memories.
Up on the Rez, when I rode the big truck with Dad, once in a while he’d give me a bit too much leash and—as luck would have it—sometimes a wild-pony pile would be nearby. I enjoyed the paper towel rub down in the truck more than the bath that followed later at the Hotel. Still… worth it.
The second interruption was Promise Prudence Pepper who had a slew of questions about upcoming events for the family, and whether it was true that certain events actually repeat every year.
“So… uh… Hazel, run the calendar for fall past me again?”
From the bed, I looked down with more curiosity than annoyance at our youngest member of the pack. Wouldn’t Tucker have gone over this with her numerous times as is his habit being Sheriff of the pack?
“Now that Dogtoberfest is past, it’s prepare the garden for winter,” I said patiently. “Dad will button up a lot of outdoor chores, visitors will come more often, then Thanksgiving…”
When the Maxi-Pin’s upright ears heard Thanksgiving, she rose up on all fours and dropping her tennis ball, even ignoring that it rolled out of her immediate reach.
“That’s the big chimken Mom fusses over, right?”
I assured Pru that was the case. Before I could continue into December’s moon calendar, she adopted a serious look.
“So… if the Big Chimken Day comes around every fall, do certain other things repeat too?”
“Well, during the next month we do Christmas, and two days later it’s my birthday and…” I suddenly found myself alone and could hear Pru running in the distance.
“It’s true, it’s true! KEIRA… KEIRA!”
Pru had shot out of the bedroom on full afterburners. I’m glad we weren’t outside, because with that kind of launch she would’ve thrown a paw full of rocks and dirt. (Ask me how I know.) Truth be told, Promise Prudence Pepper is my successor in the Rocket Dog department. Sure, I can still “Light ‘em up buddy,” but at my age I pay a price the next day.
Pru reappeared at the bedroom doorway after her declarations had been heard throughout the house.
“Tortillas and mixer-machine whip-cream cake, Hazel?”
“That’s the usual course Pru, but sometimes—”
Off she went again, barking up and down the hall with happy fervor. That brought Dad inside from his chores to see what was going on. During times of uncertain curiosity, he usually comes straight to me before he talks to Tucker, as my answers are shorter and to the point.
I heard a couple admonishments to Pru to, “Watch out, make way, Loca” as Dad tried to navigate the hallway and not get taken out by the black missile racing back and forth.
Dad appeared in the doorway.
“I guess Pru didn’t know holidays and birthdays reoccur every year,” I relayed without waiting for him to ask.
Before he could acknowledge this insight, he dropped to all fours unexpectedly.
Keira decided that instead of watching Pru’s histrionics, she’d join the fracas and execute one of her patented bucking-bronco golden-retriever spins right behind Dad’s knees.
Cue gravity.
“Dog-gone-it, Keira Bear, watch what you’re doing, will ya?”
Keira stopped dead in her tracks to await further instructions from Dad (while wagging her Golden flag). Dad, however, had no further comments for Keira at that moment, as Pru took the proximity opportunity to get in Dad’s face.
She placed one front paw on each of his shoulders, furiously licked his face, and asked, “Is my birthday tomorrow, the next day, or next week maybe? Huh, Dad? Today maybe? Is it before Giant Chimken Day, Dad?”
Dad managed to worm his way out of Pru’s tenacious grip (and her questions), standing up and wiping his face on his sleeve.
“Mom knows all that stuff, Pru. Go ask her.”
Mom had left the house and was out shopping, but Pru had forgotten that for a moment. Keira followed Pru in her quest for answers.
Dad and I were alone. He grabbed a swath of tissues in an attempt to get the dog spit out of his left ear.
Tucker came up from behind him, obviously having woken up from a grandpa-nap and still yawning.
“What do the two of you have to report about the commotion that just woke me up? As witnesses, I’ll need you to write out your statements.” He gave another big yawn.
I saved Dad the trouble of answering while he concentrated on drying his ear.
“All good, Sheriff,” I reported. “Just a happy pack expressing themselves.”
Tuck looked up at Dad. “Do you agree with that, civilian?”
Dad got annoyed. “Stop calling me that, Tuck. And yes, there’s nothing to report.”
Tuck left satisfied.
With that, Dad sat on the edge of the bed. “Hazel, I have this nagging feeling that a certain birthday is going to be the unending topic in the days ahead.”
At that I sensed an opportunity. “Dad, you know how you use reframes and redirects with Pru when she’s obsessed or about to get in trouble?”
He stared at me. “Yes Hazel. And?”
“Well, a little bird told me that taking us for a ride is one of the best ways to redirect the pack.”
“Oh, really? And what little bird told you that?”
“The one who lives in my vivid imagination, of course.”
~ Hazel Bazel Rocket Dog (in spirit) ~
