Dreaming of Silver Roses

The Almost Christmas Pup

 

 

            Nana led us on the quest. Ever amazing, our Nana had a lead on the illustrious breed of choice that my little brother and sister had their hearts set on -a beagle!

Now traditionally speaking our Nana is terrific at lots of things. She knows people. She is generous to a fault. There is one area however that she does not excel at – procuring the perfect pet. We had experienced her “gifts” four times. Each of the dogs had “issues”. So this adventure concerned me a bit. Thankfully on the drive, I was free to quietly observe with my father and Nana talking in the front seats and my sister and brother chatting in eager expectation in the back seats next to me.

 The first sight to meet my eyes on the turn toward the dog’s residence was the John Deere green farm equipment parked right in the yard as we passed over the cattle guard. Our suburban manufactured home may as well have been located on Mars because it felt like we were miles away from anywhere as we bumped slowly down the dirt road kicking up dust. I felt like we should be in a beat up Dodge pickup hauling hay. My sister and brother noisily pointed out the lack of livestock as they saw the cattle troughs but no bovine in sight. The dust from outside crept in a bit through the door seals and a/c vent tickling my nose and throat.

I had some serious misgivings. Nana’s motto seemed to be “If it has a pulse, it’s a good pet”. At fifteen I was the oldest of the kids in my family; so knowing who would inevitably be taking care of the new dog, and knowing mom’s misgivings about the whole concept of a new pet, period, I was determined to be extra cautious and choose a dog that fit our entire family’s needs.

We drove up to the home with Nana and exited her silver Chevy Malibu like circus clowns in front of a rustic traditional log cabin. I felt that I should have expected that given the scenery. I waited for Grizzly Adams the Mountaineer to emerge from the quaint scenic domicile. Instead a young college age and very pregnant woman came through the door beaming at Nana. While the adults talked shop about local town news items, I began to set my eyes to checking out the ranch for where this mystery “Lassie” might be.

Something else caught my attention first, however. At the young woman’s feet waddled out a portly male beagle. He was docile, rotund, and if ever there was joy personified in a dog, this was it! I actually felt a slight rise in hope as I bent down to stroke his silky brown ears. His large brown cocoa eyes looked at me as warm and placid as a mountain lake on a sunny windless September afternoon. I thought what a great dog!

The young woman was saying, “That’s Ethan. He’s four and the father of the dog you came to see.” I had a really good friend named Ethan who swore that his name meant ‘strong, firm, or safe’. This soft rotund version seemed to be just that. I bet even the rabbits in the fields surrounding this house were totally at rest with the mellow, peace loving Ethan on guard.

We followed Nana’s friend out to the barn. As we rounded the conventional red corner, I saw a small kennel with a young beagle inside. She was gorgeous with her black and brown markings on her short white coat. She jumped and bounced with greeting oozing from every pore of her body. As I reached out a hand her direction, her wet pink tongue lapped and slobbered eagerly in a gesture of friendship and excitement. Nana’s friend opened the kennel gate.

 Let me just say that it was like the dog was on a four year sugar rush binge. Seriously, when the pen door opened, I could have sworn there was the announcer from Louisiana Downs horseracing track coming in over the loudspeaker, “And they’re off! It’s the wild one in the lead by a long stretch at lap number two. There she comes around again at lap number three in record time, folks! This dog is super sonic!”

After a split second of shock, what I found most amusing was how she freaked the barn cats out of their minds as she blazed a trail like a streak of summer lightning around the barn, up the middle breezeway, and past the young owner who immediately began calling out, “Oh good grief, Lady! Lady!” She even perked up the geriatric and seemingly previously unmotivated Ethan. He waddled and trotted in a romp with her until it became obvious it would take nothing short of a miracle for him to keep up. Nana’s friend laughed nervously and breathed, “She isn’t always this hyper; we just haven’t worked with her out of the pen in a while.” I thought to myself, YA THINK?

My dad and Nana tried to be heroes for the very pregnant lady and catch the racing diva pooch. I had to wonder if they secretly laced her kibble with rocket fuel! As I hastily went with my brother and sister back to the car, I thought to myself, NO way! No stinking way.

We watched as dad and Nana tried to get a hand on “Lady the Indianapolis 500 canine Wonder” for about ten minutes. With the sun setting in west and the hay bales as a back drop for the scene, I said to myself, but apparently out loud since my sibs laughed, “Now this is entertainment!” By lap eight, I think all human hope was abandoned. My brother and sister were sad that the shooting starlet couldn’t be touched or played with right now. I didn’t voice this line of thought but just the same I thought to myself, Maybe, maybe, if we tied porch chops around your necks you could stand out there and smell her as she raced by and grabbed them in midair in passing like a 747! Or maybe more like a Tomahawk missile or Stealth bomber on a run! NO WAY are we getting that dog. No Way!

Dad, panting slightly like he had been in an aerobics class for the last fifteen minutes, comes over and sits in the drivers seat. I was of course was back in the back seat with the kids to give Nana the front seat again. Dad sits for a second, clears his throat (and probably tried to catch his breath), and says to me, “Um, she’s a really pretty dog.”

I think, how in the world could you tell? I only saw her rear view perspective as she burst briefly out of hyper space! I say aloud however, “Um –hm.”

“You… aren’t saying much.” And all who know me know that is an indicator of ill winds that blow no good in my line of thought. I knew dad was fishing for information.

“Dad, um, maybe could we let them know discreetly that, that particular dog isn’t really the dog for us. I… just don’t think we can risk taking that dog anywhere other than a ranch in Montana and we don’t own one.” I could hear Roy Rogers singing, “Oh give me land lots of land under starry skies above. Don’t fence me in…” from somewhere in the corners of my subconscious mind.

            “Yeah, I was kind of worried about retraining her on… some of… the habits she has acquired that might not work well for where we live.”

            I think, YA THINK? I calmly say, “I think that’s a wise call, dad. Mom would kill us over that dog, don’t you think?”

            Dad hummed his assent. Nana climbed back in the car talking still. The pregnant lady was saying something about how it might look entirely different if we came back earlier in the morning tomorrow to view “Lady”. Nana, ever the diplomat, was assuring her that we would all discuss it and let her know.

So I sighed and knew that the Christmas pooch search would have to continue. I text messaged a few good friends of mine later that night. I said that somewhere over the Lone Star State, if they saw a flash of light and feel inclined to cry out, “There’s no need to fear! Underdog is here!” that it wasn’t Underdog flying by. It was just a young puppy from a North Texas farm who can not come live in our casa no matter how cute her hind portion may be in a blur (after all that’s the only part of her I saw well). We would still be praying for our special family addition.

            Somewhere else in my subconscious mind, a line from Disney’s Peter Pan was playing, “Sorry, Nana.”  Well it was a toss up between that and the movie, “Cats and Dogs”! As mom said, “Nana’s pet luck struck again!” I know that I will forever stand in wonder of that almost Christmas pup from Nana.

Filed under: Uncategorized, kids, short story on February 15th, 2008