Old Mack’s Tales

June 13, 2011

Walt’s Sunday Shenanigan

Filed under: Uncategorized — Ron McKinney aka "OldMack" @ 12:10 am

Much Ado over Nothing

Chris and I were having our coffee at our cafe table on the porch.  Our three dogs came out to join us.  It was a fine morning and the dogs were sniffing the light breeze.

Walter, our new Cur, raised his muzzle from my bare feet, stood and ambled over to a bush to piss.  Instead of coming back to his pack, Walt took off, trotting west, cutting across neighbors lawns, heading for the dry drainage ditch at the end of our dead-end street.  That was the last I saw of him.

Chris took off, trotting after the dog, bellowing his names: “Walter!  “Goober!” (Walt’s alias)) All to no avail.  She went only as far as the ditch and then came home.  “Don’t worry about him.  He’ll come home pretty soon.”

The funny thing was it was she who was worried; worried that I’d get angry about her misbehaving dog.  I wasn’t worried.  “I told you,” I said in a voice tinged with sarcasm, “He’s a Polish Cur.  They are hunting dogs, like to chase squirrels, coons.  I’m not worried.”

Half an hour later a golf cart comes up our street from the ditch area.  Walter seems to be leading the damned thing.  Walter stops to piss on our mailbox post and then saunters up to our porch.

By then the guy in the golf cart, whom I recognize as the manager of the trailer park south of our subdivision, and his old lady park in the street and get out.  The man says: “Your dog chewed the ear off one of our people’s dogs.”  The woman is shouting incoherently.

“Walter’s a peaceful dog.  The dog in your park must have attacked him.  Probably a case of self defense.”

We called the Sheriff and the Animal Control.  They’ll be here any time.  His wife was talking on her cell, probably giving the cops our address.

Sure enough here comes a deputy in his squad car.  All spit-shined and wearing his medals.  He asked to see my driver license.  There I was barefooted without my wallet.  “Excuse me.  I’ll go in and get it.”

After examining my license I showed him my state-issued disabled vet I.D. and said: “I’m going back indoors.  The dog belongs to Christine.  She can answer your questions.  I retrieved my cards and came indoors.  Cops bug the shit out of me; make me wish I hadn’t sold the shotgun.  So I scarfed twenty milligrams of Valium, poured some fresh coffee and sat down for a third reading of Joan Didion’s “The Last Thing He Wanted,”  In my opinion it’s her best novel.

And then the dog catcher arrived and a second squad car.  I put a choker leash on Walter and took him into the backyard where he could give them a run for their money if they wanted to take him away.

Soon the second cop returned from examining the “victim” dog and came back to report no blood, no injury.  Meanwhile the first cop is trying to take a photo of Walter.  I gave him my URL and told him to look up my website and copy the picture on it.

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