Dowg

Dowg

         First let’s say our dog, a giant Great Dane named Dowg, does not have the best of manners.  House broken, yes, but in all other respects Dowg is his own self-entertainment center.  Ever since I brought him home as a puppy he always got into things that he was not supposed to.

         The family already knows not to say ‘Go Out’.  If someone happens to mention the magic words, everybody gets out of the way and pins themselves against walls because Dowg will be charging around corners and over tables to get to the door.  You can be anywhere in the house; you will hear his butt slam into that door, you can expect to find him sitting there slobbering and waiting for someone to put on his leash.

         One day I was in the basement, doing wash with Carole.  I looked over at her and simply said in a normal voice.  “Do you want to -‘Go Out’- for lunch?”  It was like a stampede over our heads ending in that familiar thud of him hitting the door. 

         She put her head down on the folded sheets and started to laugh.  Then raised her head and told me. “You said it, you take him out!”

         That brings us to last week; Carole was having the girls over for a recipe/card party, they exchange recipes and I guess play cards with them, I don’t know.  I was out at meetings with the guys.  She had cleaned and baked the day before.  The house was spotless and smelled like an exotic bakeshop. 

         Card tables and folding chairs occupied every available open space.  When I left at nine in the morning, each table was set with paper tablecloths, lace doilies, paper plates, plastic cups and imitation metal silverware. 

         My meetings ran long, we all stopped at Peters, a small diner in town for coffee, cake and some post meeting jabber.  I expected to find a driveway full of cars and women all over the house when I returned at four in the afternoon.  No cars, even Carole’s car was missing, nobody! 

         I got out of the car and walked up to the front door, Dowg’s slather was all over the storm doors Plexiglas, the front door was closed but not locked.  I opened the door.

         Dowg was sitting there with his leash in his mouth; he sometimes does that.  Doilies, paper tablecloths, upset card tables and folding chairs, paper plates and paper napkins covered the floor in every room.  I realized my mouth was hanging open when he nuzzled me in my crotch, which caused me to inhale sharply.  He followed me as I moved through the debris of the living room, dinning room, day room and in the kitchen there was the remnants of her cakes.  I recognized the binder of her cookbook at my feet and the pages chewed and spread out all over the floor. 

         The front door just slammed shut, “We’re getting rid of that Fucking Dog!” She screamed

         Dowg slinked under the kitchen table, pushing a pile of recipes and playing cards out of the way.  His eyes jumping back and forth, his ears back and rear end shaking.    My rear end was shaking too. 

         “Where is that MUTT?”  She stormed into the kitchen; vanilla icing smeared all over the left forearm of her black lace blouse and left leg of her velour pants.  She saw me and stopped; almost slipping on a slice of Bunt Cake.  “I called the Vet, he has a taker, Dowg the Dog is not living here any more!”  I was sure she could be heard two blocks over.

         I put an index finger up to her lips.  “Shush.  I was talking to Warren today, he likes Dowg, and asked me if we would like to part with him.”  Warren is a good friend who already has a giant Dane and has been looking for a mate for it. 

         “You want to do that to a friend?”  She was pointing at Dowg.

         “He’s a widower and already has one female the same size.  He also has three acres of fenced in land behind his house.”  I took her sticky face in my hands and kissed her forehead.  “So, do you want to give him up?”

         “Are you friggen kidding?  Where does this nut live, I’ll deliver him.”

         I picked up one of his rawhide dog bones that are always laying around and he followed me to the door, tongue hanging out and panting like he did a days labor. 

         As I opened the front door Carole called out to me, “You drop him off and when you come back; this will be your lucky day.”

         I smiled at her with an all-knowing grin.  ‘I’m gonna get lucky’

         I didn’t know she was thinking, “You can help me clean all of this up.”

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