A Conversation Between Three Dogs: Part III

The pup was alert, his ears erect. His eyes scanned to and fro and his tongue bounced with each hasty breath. The elder dog lay on the ground at the bottom of the steps, basking in the bright, warm sunlight. The newcomer was nowhere to be seen.

"Where's Dude?" Rascal ignored the question, knowing his defense was only temporary. The question was guaranteed to be heard again, probably in less time than it took to draw a lazy breath.

"Rascal: Where's Dude? Do you know where Dude is?"

"I'm guessing he's on the back porch, hoping for a visit from his Lady Love."

"Lady Love? What's that mean?"

"Never you mind, Crease. It's beyond your years."

"You mean that white girl he's been after?"

Rascal opened her eyes, slightly lifted her head and glanced at the greenhorn pup, surprised at the understanding he had shown.

"I think she's pretty, too. Being around her stirs some feelings in me that I just don't understand." His last few words emphasized a frustration and puzzlement that he obviously felt sincerely. Rascal was speechless.

"I guess that would explain why he's been so mean to me of late. Guess he thinks I'm trying to muscle in on his girl."

"Perhaps," Rascal said. She slightly elevated her brow, an indication of her remaining surprised state, then lay her head back down. The sun was warm and inviting and she intended to enjoy it as much as possible. With her eyes closed and her head down, she spoke again.

"Creasy, you are just one surprise after another. Just when I think you are a clueless bit of dogflesh, you come up with something that shows me that there's ideas bouncing around in that head of yours other than an obsession for lickage."

"Thanks, Raz. I appreciate that." He had intentionally used the familiar nickname the family had given her, an overly familiar gesture. He hoped the intent wasn't misconstrued.

On the back porch, Dude laid in a position that almost completely blocked the path down the steps. He was determined that any passage from the house by this female vision of loveliness would be intercepted. He had endured numerous abuses, injuries and insults from the humans, but his love remained fixed on its target: Tilly, his lady love.

"She ain't comin' out, fella." The words came from the bulldog. They were heavy with a lisp that rendered some pronounciations almost unintelligible. Slobber flew in every direction when he spoke. His accent was decidedly northeastern, peculiar since his heritage was definitely more southern.

"I don't mind waiting."

"They's onto you, Dude. When they take you in, they're takin' her out the front door. When you go in the front, she's comin' out the back."

"Yeah, right."

"Any other reason you can figger they's takin' you in the house at all?"

Dude's countenance fell. Love had blinded him to an obvious truth. It was a truth so obvious as to be picked up by an ignorant bulldog with a pea-sized brain but to be entirely missed by him.

He quietly and sheepishly walked around to the front porch and climbed up, silently sitting next to Creasy.

(To be continued.)

 

A Conversation Between Three Dogs: Part II

Rascal relaxed on the front porch in typical doggish fashion: forelegs stretched out in front of her, hind legs folded beneath. Her dog chin rested on her front legs and her eyes would open from time to time, whenever a sound or her imagination would prompt. Her owners thought she was deaf, but she pretended not to listen to them unless it was absolutely necessary.

Dude rounded the corner of the house and climbed the steps, sitting next to Rascal. He snickered quietly, soliciting an interrogation as to the rationale initiating such jocularity. Rascal, the seasoned veteran dog, didn't bite. He snickered more intensely.

"I'm assuming you won't shut up until I ask you why you're laughing. Am I correct?"

"Yes, you are. So are you asking?"

"If I ask, will you cease this silliness?"

"Yes."

"Then I'm asking."

"Those two stupid dogs out back! I just get such a charge from goading them. They get worked into such a frenzy, and all I have to do is walk just out of reach." He referred to two dogs belonging to some of their family's friends. They were boarding here until the friends bought a home. One was an American bulldog, the other a mutt of questionable heritage and frisky temperament.

"Be careful, friend. That bulldog could eat you for lunch, belch, then have me for dessert."

"I don't see that happening. It'll be a cold day when he can break that quarter-inch cable."

"Still, tread carefully."

"I think I could take the mutt. She's the one I prefer harrassing."

At that moment, the pup rounded the corner. Full of zeal, tongue wagging, he bounded up the steps and tried to wedge his way into the conversation.

"Hey, guys: why are those other dogs so mean to me? What did I do?"

"Creasy: those dogs are wholly stupid. What do you expect? That big one barks at the wind. The little one is totally without discipline." Rascal, while tempted to remain quiet, felt obliged to offer her sage advice to the young one.

"Yeah, but what did I do?"

Rascal rolled her dog eyes beneath her nearly closed eyelids. Her fatigue with the greenhorn pup's simplicity exhibited itself in a heavy dog sigh. Dude looked away, choosing to stay out of the conversation. Creasy's attention was grabbed by a blowing leaf and he bounded off.

Dude broke a short silence. "Poor thing. Will he ever learn?"

"Yeah. He's still just a pup. He'll go under the knife and in a year or so, you won't recognize him."

"The knife? What...will they...what about me? Are they going to..."

"Yep. I reckon so. This family has no desire to raise breeding stock." Dude began to fidget, exhibiting unmistakable signs of anxiety. Rascal showed no outward sign, but she was grinning inside.

(To be continued.)