NEVER CROSS MY MIND

I love dogs but I’m not a dog lover. We had dogs when I was a kid and we had dogs when my kids were kids but my part in the scheme was always from a distance. They came when I called them and appreciated my massaging around ears and under jaws but they loved someone else. I was alright with that, never made the man/dog bond. All of my family keeps pets now, dog or cat or both and I make it a point to be sociable, show affection, share food and must say I take some pleasure in that regard. But when I go home it never, ever occurs to me that I could have a dog of my own.

When in Michigan I hang my hat with my Outlaw/Back-Door family at Watsonville, a 40 acre patch of woods with a 15 acre blueberry patch. My room is at the end of the hall, my truck sleeps in the second space from the barn door. Watsonville has its own dog population, they know me well. If they are outside when I pull in they parade around my feet, hoping for some attention; if inside they ignore me all together. Depending on the season and the weather, they may or may not have carpet privileges, sometimes confined to the kitchen. Keller, a big, brown Labradoodle has cataracts, can’t see well enough to find food on the floor but dodges through trees without mishap. He is subordinate to Sanford, the Chihuahua/Terrier that thinks he is a grizzly bear. Sanford spends his time on patrol, you can hear him barking from any direction, any time; inside he either asleep on a mat by the kitchen door or perched in the bay window, guarding the fort and the berry patch against squirrels or raccoons, whatever strays across his line of sight. Birds at the feeder don’t trip his trigger but if a squirrel spooks them, he goes off like a machine gun. Anything, anybody; strangers need to be challenged and friendlies get a vocal welcome. Keller barks along, just because, even though he can’t see past the porch. They go to the door, anxious and eager to squirt through the gap out into the fray.

Last night I was by myself in the kitchen, the sun was down but still light in the west. Sanford starts barking, really excited. Keller chimes in; they have a way of knowing the other’s song and dance and this one was a big deal. My first motion, shifting my weight forward to pull my char back was their signal to charge the door. But I got up for a look outside, not about to turn them out for a romp in the snow; who knows when or in what condition they would want back inside. When I didn’t go to the door their noise went up 10-20 decibels and the look Sanford gave me was all daggers and arrows. 

Looking back outside, everything was either black or shades of gray but something was moving in the drive, several somethings. The deer I had been hearing about were on the move. They heard the barking and stopped. They know that dogs behind closed windows are no threat but they still wait and watch. I picked up my smart phone and reached for the door, making growling sounds and threatening body language that kept the dogs back. Creeping to the corner of the deck for a photo, the deer heard me open the door and were moving away. Not a great photo but if you don’t try, you don’t know. Back inside, Sanford was back in the bay window , still barking and Keller was curled up on the sofa. 

That little herd of 4 or 5 does and their yearlings had been passing through every evening for several weeks. Sanford is a warrior at a distance and, like Don Quixote, leads his faithful side-kick Sancho Panza (Keller) off through the woods after a windmill he really doesn’t want to catch. When I head out in a few days I’ll think about my canine buddies back at Watsonville, about our near-deer encounter and feel like I’ve cheated them somehow. For a dog, what would be more fun than chasing Bambi through the snow, into the woods? But I won’t be feeling guilt, the carpet won’t be dirty on my account and the thought of me getting a dog of my own will never cross my mind.