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.)
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