~ Spring, the Season of Yes ~
Feeling restless to the point that a solo post-breakfast nap in the master bedroom just wasn’t going to happen, I resigned myself to rejoining the pack.
Mom’s office was empty, and even though the carpet felt soft and inviting, I knew I’d get in trouble if I stayed in there alone. Common neighborhood noises tend to filter into the office (when Mom isn’t rockin’ out), and I tend to vocally announce my concern over some (most) of them. As a descendant from a long line of Rez dogs, I’m hard wired to watch over the camp and be ever-ready to alert all.
I’m not like The Mystery Dog that barks for hours at a time. I can’t see his house from here, but his pack family lets him out on a second-story deck, up and behind the house across the street. Hence, the mystery.
I envy him, as he probably gets to see and hear and scent so much more from his elevated position than I can from my backyard. Then again, maybe I should be contented with my life where I’m at. I don’t think The Mystery Dog gets much attention, as I don’t hear two-legged voices from his direction.
Keira, my pack-mate, a Red Golden, has been a bit barky lately when heading outside. She’s had to make the most adjustments to Prudence’s adoption to the pack.
At first Keira had deep jealousy, then was aloof to her new sister. Pru, being a streamlined athlete, and Keira not so much, used Keira as a friendly sparring partner. Trading a toy from muzzle to muzzle, the open-mouth measuring game, and the “You caaaaan’t catch me” game eventually led to a bonding that Keira would reluctantly admit.
As my readers know, the every-busy Pru has gone to Dog Daycare a number of times. Of course, I, being the former co-pilot of Dad’s driving adventures, felt deep disappointment.
Keira and I thought it was a case of favoritism. Over time it became apparent that the outings were to give Mom (and Keira) a break from Pru’s never-ending busyness. We also noticed Prudence was learning to take breaks and losing her compulsion to be on the move all the time. Somehow, socializing outside the pack helped her adjust and mature (a bit) and to flow better (mostly), inside the pack.
So, back to Keira’s new vocalizing. She blasts out of the backdoor to charge at a random corner of the back yard and pronounce commanding, urgent barks. She tries to show Pru that she is brave and as a “Deputy of the Pack Sheriff Himself” member of the pack, Kiera has authority in the back yard.
Pru watches from the doorway just in case Keira did see something. (She didn’t.)
Pru thinks Keira’s a bit touched in her faculties, but Keira thinks she has displayed her rank in the pack. Regardless of their widely differing perceptions, and a difficult start together, you’d never be able to separate them now.
All these musings passed through my mind as I left Mom’s office and passed by Tucker (our Sheriff) consoling Pru on the living room rug. Tuck patiently washed her face and ears as Pru related something about a four-legged at daycare named Bella. From what little I heard, Bella was faster, more athletic, and gave Pru quite a comeuppance during play.
I pretended not to be listening as I passed by to the already open sliding door. Mom and Keira must be in the garden.
I had two ways to think about what I had just heard. At first, I wanted to stop and listen more so I could gloat and maybe tease Pru a bit. Then I thought about the tone of her voice and the fact she really was hurt to learn she wasn’t the fastest or most agile at school. I didn’t hear a “Life’s not fair” entitled-brat edge to her voice. I guess I didn’t have the heart to embarrass her further.
I didn’t want to go out in the garden with Mom and Keira. I was hoping for a stretch in the sun without any botheration.
Another reason I’m keeping a low profile in the garden area is… Well, Mom put fresh dirt in some of the beds. I kind of tasted some from this bed, then that bed. Early the next morning, before the family waking hour, I headed into the kitchen to get a drink of water, but gakked (Dad’s word) dirt patches here and there.
Like I said. Keeping a low profile in the garden for a while.
My biggest regret is not the discomfort of the first two-legged encounter of my leavings, or the fervent lecture I got for eating dirt in the first place. No, my biggest regret is that my annual Chasing of the Lizards season is going to hit a snag if they run and hide near a garden bed. Not a good look me hovering over a garden bed in light of recent events. Hovering, not Hoovering… must keep that in mind.
When I got outside to find Dad alone cogitating on the math of a carpentry project, I felt my spirits lift even though I wasn’t aware they were a bit low. I guess that after-breakfast nap is more important than I knew.
One-on-one discussions with Dad without multiple interruptions are rare and short, as you can guess.
After some well-meaning, but distracted ear waggles, I thought I would bring up something. Having Dad distracted might even be helpful.
While he was asking himself if the clangy metal strip read sixteenths or thirty-seconds, I asked him whatever happened to the pack putting on The Three Muzzleteers play he had promised us.
Counting the little dashes on the strip, Dad answered rather brusquely that making and handing out cardboard swords was probably not the best idea, especially now that Pru is part of the family.
I was sooooo ready for that answer and quickly turned the tables on his fully engaged attention.
“How about a good old-fashioned western drama?” I asked, using certain words for persuasion purposes. Old-fashioned (activates nostalgia) and drama (sounds less dangerous) should help seal the deal.
Dad looked up and asked to no one in particular, “Fourteen sixteenths is, uh….”
Since I’ve been around long enough to have heard this one before, I blurted out, “Seven-eighths.”
Dad scratched more numbers on a board while telling me, “Maybe…a western.”
Pru, who was now in the doorway listening, barked out, “I could be Black Bart!”
Dad shook his head while still penciling more math, “Wouldn’t be proper, can’t have anyone run over by Roy Roger’s horse.”
I was going to contest the details of old Bart’s demise, but Pru interrupted.
“I could face Johnny Ringo and do that line… I’m your buckle hairy.”
“Huckleberry!” Dad and I said in unison.
Dad looked at me and shrugged. “What could go wrong, Haze? Might as well do a western…uh… DRAMA… understood, Hazel?”
I didn’t answer, because as soon as I sensed a yes, I ran inside to tell the others.
Spring is feeling so good right now!
~ Hazel Bazel Rocket Dog ~
