LITTLE ROCK — The minute my tired feet entered the kitchen I knew something was up. The dogs were lined up waiting, trying desperately to be patient, but Duke was the only one sitting still. Duchess stood, then sat, then half-stood again. When an eager yowl escaped her throat, she bobbed her head up and down, as if agreeing with what she’d just said.
As usual, it was Baron who broke line. In his excitement, he began turning circles. With only three legs, however, his circles became ovals, and the more he turned, the more his orbit collided with nearby objects. Soon his head was bonking the kitchen cabinet at regular intervals.
I put the groceries on the island. Bonk! went Baron’s head. Up, down, yowl, replied Duchess. Bonk! went Baron’s head again, and I scooped up all eight pounds of him to prevent further orbiting. Even as he snuggled against me, he quivered with excitement.
“What’s up?” I asked Duke, the spokesman.
“We finished our list,” he answered solemnly. Then, tone softening, “How was your day?”
I smiled. This was going to be good. “It was long,” I answered firmly. “I’m going to change and settle in, and then we’ll talk.”
Baron yowled in disappointment, and Duchess cast Duke a desperate look. Duke cocked his head. “Negotiable?” he asked.
“Non-negotiable,” I replied, heading for the bedroom. “My feet are killing me.”
Fifteen minutes later, as I curled up in my favorite spot on the couch, all three dogs lined up in front of me. Duke nudged Baron forward and the orbits began. Duchess quickly repositioned herself so he bounced off her and not the coffee table.
“What I really (two turns) really want (three turns) is a new puppy to play with!” he blurted out. I was taken aback. No preliminaries this year.
“I’m tired of being the smallest,” he stated, and in a burst of excitement, he leaped up on Duchess, back-flipped off her and then jumped up next to me.
Duchess stepped forward next. “I’d like more fish,” she announced, and then stepped back and started to sit down. As soon as her posterior neared the ground she levitated it back up and stepped forward again. “And I’d like more biscuits for being good.” Again, she backed up and almost sat down, then bounced up and stepped forward a third time. Duke, who could hear and sense what was happening, shook his head.
“Most of all, I’d like a puppy, too — one that’s my size so we can race,” she said.
I sensed a theme.
Finally, it was Duke’s turn. “Even though I can’t see anymore, my auditory and olfactory senses are sharper than ever. Therefore, you should know that I am monitoring a marauding ’possum who invades the yard nightly. I have alerted him as to the closest perimeter he will be allowed to cross, but to keep from waking you and the family, I am remaining silently vigilant. He’s been here since mid-September.”
I was surprised. Used to be, the dogs would go bonkers whenever anything entered the yard. I thanked Duke, and he nodded slightly.
“This is my job,” he said. “But between a failing hip and my minimal remaining eyesight, we must accept that I may not be capable of serving you as diligently as you deserve. Therefore, this Christmas, I would also like you to get a puppy. A puppy I can train to take over my duties when the time comes.”
Ah, I thought sadly, this was the heart of the matter. Leaning forward, I hugged his neck. “Not yet,” I whispered. “What you can’t see, you can feel, hear and smell even better than before, right?” He nodded.
“That’s exactly what we need,” I told him, and turned to the other two dogs. “There will be no puppies this Christmas or next. However, more biscuits for being good is a solid yes.”
The blur of white fur that cartwheeled in the air was Baron. Duchess yowled at the ceiling with joy.
“As for more fish,” I added, “given the gastro-intestinal issues a change of diet causes, we’ll move slowly on that one. But I’ll consider an expanded menu.”
Baron looked to Duchess to see if this meant something good. When she yowled happily again, he started orbiting. Bonk! went his head against the coffee table, and Duchess moved into place to block the collision.
As the younger dogs celebrated, Duke laid his loyal head on my lap. “I do hear a little better than I used to,” he admitted. “Not sure I’d have heard that possum two years ago.”
“See?” I said, scratching his neck. “You’re still the best guard dog ever.”
Write to Jennifer Hansen at Arkansas Democrat-Gazette, P.O. Box 7, Springdale, Ark. 72765. Email her at:
Family, Pages 34 on 11/28/2012