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.)
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