Scalawag

No Feet On The Ground; Deb Marshall art

Since  Abu Dhoggi died last summer, and Catmandoo has decided that he’s become Catmandog, a friend regularly brings Sherlock the Northumbrian Terrier and Clare the black lab to visit so I can get some doggy energy. No matter how good a dog Catman has become, he is, in spite of himself, still full of wild cat energy, and except when he’s peeing on visitor’s tires or chasing herds of turkeys or deer out of the yard, and attempting to catch and kill other dogs, he acts very much like a very large, very opinionated, mostly benign Lord of the Universe in large, semi-wild, cat form.

Consequently, we have to monitor who’s indoors when doggy friends come to visit. Fortunately, Catman is mostly deaf, so if he’s deep in a catnip-induced cat dream and the visiting dog is able to reign in his curiousity and stay away from that room, no damage is done. Mostly if Catman is out, the dogs can come in; if Catman is in, the dogs must stay out. This doesn’t bode well for me getting a dog anytime soon.

However, I keep the pantry supplied with dog lure (treats) which I dispense freely, thereby buying the affection and attention of the dogs who come visit. I also am good for kisses and long sessions of scratching, so Clare and Sherlock are happy to see me and let me abuse them in wonderful ways. I end up smelling doggy for awhile, which makes me happy, and I have dog drool smears on my pants legs again.

The other day a photo client of the Husband’s came with her Jack Russell terrier, Scalawag. Scalawag is a very busy, very curious, very active little dog, and I watched her range over all our back forty, sticking her nose into everything, finding something odorous to roll in, which she repeated at least four times with a break between each luxurious roll to sniff the spot all over again; looking for mice in the garage, checking out the paths in the garden, investigating the stack of hay behind the raspberries, racing around the perimeter of the field again, her nose going and her tail wagging every moment. She is, to say the least, a very cheerful little dog.

After a bit I heard her at the kitchen door, and as Catman was soundly sleeping in the far room, I let her in. One dog lure in the snoot, a few more in my pocket, and out we went to water the plants on the wart. I was surprised at how curious Scally was, sticking her nose into all the pots as I poured water into them from the watering can. In a moment, I realized it wasn’t really the plants she was interested in, but the water – she started biting at it, and got her head totally soaked, and seemed to be having a grand time. 

Down we went to get out the hose and and water the raised beds closest to the house and refill the watering cans. Hoses are wicked exciting, Scally indicated; and watering raised beds even more so. She darted and bit, darted and bit, getting soaked with water, tail wagging madly the whole time. It was so funny to watch I had to shout to the Husband to come down and see, and he and Scally’s mom came from the studio to see what was making me laugh madly. “Oh, if you put it on stream instead of spray, and move it in a big circle, she’ll chase it,” Scally’s mom said. So I did. And she did.

Watering the garden beds became a switch-off from spray, “wait, wait, wait!” to stream “go get it!” with racing and barking and wagging and total drenching – of me and of the dog, who no longer smelled like whatever she’d rolled in earlier. The best part was this little rascal would wait as I sprayed water into the beds, and take off like a shot after the stream as soon as I switched it over. And best of all, because she’s a little dog she could fit in-between the big bags and pots I grow potatoes in, and watching carefully, wait 'til just the right moment to shoot out from her hidey-spot and grab that stream of water as it raced by, ears flying, tail wagging, up into the air into a mouthful of water!  And then do it again, and again, and again, because – why not? It’s FUN!

We managed to get the close-by beds watered, and the watering cans filled, and Scally beat up the hose sprayer head once or twice when I put it down to move something or pull a weed. That was also fun, especially as it seemed to make the stream come out again when I helped. 

Eventually I had to put the hose away, dispense the last of the dog lure, and go give Catman his morning pills and treats. Scally headed home with her mom and my guess is, she slept most the way, dreaming of waves and water snakes and racing, racing, racing. I’d laughed longer and louder than I have in a long time.

 And fell in love with a soaking wet, wag-tail rascal.

For the blog, 20 June 2019

Happy Summer!