Harvey Is Not A Pooka

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NEW PROMPT:
Write a poem or story about the dog next door. Is he evil, ridiculous, cute, or troublesome and how does it effect you (or your character?)
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Harvey is a neighbor’s very old dog, 10 percent Springer spaniel and 90 percent mooch. I’ve known Harvey for many years, so when I adopted my oldest cat, it seemed only logical to name her Pooka. Think Jimmy Stewart, if the names elude you.

Even though I live in a cat house, there is always a big box of gravy-flavored dog biscuits around just for Harvey. I’ve tried giving him the Petsmart house brand, but my canine kibble connoisseur will gobble down only the best and most expensive. He lives next door with two young girls and their parents, and I met Harvey way before knowing their names.

For years, when they let him out of their gated yard, Harvey would gallop like a large, brown and white, noisy tornado to my front yard. Lazy cats, sleeping in the sun amidst the tall grass, would scatter when the boisterous sound came closer and closer. The only part of them left behind were loud cat curses that turned the air blue and my ears red, since their meaning came through very clearly. If you’ve never heard a cat swear, trust me you’re in for quite an education.

In those early years, I could hear the two young girls yelling Harvey’s name up and down our country road trying to find him. This was before they realized he always made a beeline to stand right under my front window. He would pace back and forth, waiting for me to open the window and throw out the first dog biscuit. The girls’ voices usually alerted me to his whereabouts. It took only a couple times hearing his sharp impatient barks for Harvey to train me. After that, I’d patiently stand inside my home throwing out biscuits to the “starving” dog.

Don’t dogs have a cut-off switch for food? I could have thrown out the whole box of biscuits, and Harvey would still snuffle them down and want more. Some days I lean out the window and whisper sweet nothings to my big pig-dog. I doubt, however, if he hears my loving words over the sound of his loud crunching. I wonder if the American Kennel Club would recognize the pig-dog as a new breed. Probably not!

Sydney and Madison would eventually come down the road my way and see their dog, but initially wouldn’t come into the yard. They were polite little girls and stood there waiting for Harvey to return home with them. The three of us learned there was one way and only one to get Harvey back next door. Sydney or Madison would come to the window while their stubborn dog was still waiting for more food. I’d hand her a biscuit, and like the Pied Piper, she would wave it under Harvey’s nose before racing home with Harvey galloping closely behind her and her sister.

Only then would my cats, including Pooka, come out of their various hidey-holes. They knew they were safe from the slobbering beast for another day.

The sound of a dog barking has brought me nearly to the point of having hysterics since my earliest years, but Harvey's barking is different. I listen to it and know his humans have finally arrived home from work or school. He gets so enthusiastic and frenzied it always makes me smile.

I'm lucky if even one of my cats acknowledges I'm back home by waking up. Ah well, that's life!

Sadly, Harvey is getting up there in age. According to his humans, his hearing is slowly going, and he doesn’t run as fast as he once did. I’ve learned to carry dog biscuits in my purse when I go outside to my car. Harvey sometimes still comes over to visit when he sees me about to drive somewhere. No errand is more important to me than greeting my buddy and getting my fingers wet with doggy drool when he takes his treat from me.

Cats may own me, but there is a piece of my heart filled with love for a sweet old dog. I just bought a new HUGE box of dog biscuits, so may you have a long life, Harvey!

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Microsoft Word count = 694

"The Writer's Cramp - Poetry Week"  daily contest entry for 01/20/08
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