Sunday’s garage meeting was cancelled due to a more-fun-than-the-law-should-allow birthday party, one of very few that have been celebrated since March. Birthdays, bank robberies, stockholder meetings, court trials – lots of things have taken a hit because of a virus we might or might not have and might or might not catch.
There were three of us. A neighbor got on her Briggs & Stratton Murray and mowed her way over to the backyard because we three were clearly out of control discussing possums and placement of the sun in the sky. (It’s not where it used to be.) We were stuffed with lobster, mac & cheese and potato salad, killing a wee big bottle of Champagne.
Wait! Right in the middle of writing that, just now, we heard a car screech and honk outside our office, and wouldn’t you know, there was an Australian Terrier standing in the middle of US62, the federal highway that belts Niagara Falls to El Paso.
The dog was standing on the yellow line defying chicken trucks and Range Rovers, but it decided we’d be more fun.
Last weekend while looking for my car key that I still haven’t found, I cleaned my pack out. One of the things I had in that pack was a makeshift dog leash, a strong thin rope for Armageddon that my survivalist friend gave me for my birthday, and yes I don’t know why.
The rope was not in the pack now because I thought, “Why would I ever need that?”
But I did have three camo bandanas. Knotted together they made an excellent leash for a small dog.
Perlinda had already scored a metal dog pan and filled it with hose water, so the dog was busy lapping like a camel at the end of a two-week haul. He/she was shy about getting close to strangers, so it took its sweet time deciphering English that did not include the words “honey” or “baby.”
We finally got the dog lassoed up in a three camo-scarf leash and headed for Dr. Green’s house.
We’d seen this dog before, a year ago, same circumstance. It was in the middle of the highway wondering what’s next. That’s when we found where it lives.
The sun couldn’t have been any more intense, so dog and I took the shady way through the woods. We only had to stop and regroup twice.
Maybe four times.
We got to Dr. Green’s house, the one Irene Castle built. If you don’t know who Irene Castle was, you might as well turn the page and read your horoscope or do the crossword puzzle.
Dr. Green was walking toward his garage, so I gave a “Hello?” that was ignored. “Hello!” with some contralto. Nothing. “HELLO!” It even startled me and I instigated it.
He turned and laughed. “Oh! There you are!” He was talking to the dog.
“Where did you find her?”
“In front of the newspaper office. She was doing traffic control.”
“The newspaper! Yes. She likes to go to Bubba’s. She must have slipped out when I answered the door to shoo somebody away. She’s fourteen!”
“What’s her name?”
“Oh. Addie. Her name is Addie.”
The dog looked into space.
“Oh. Maybe Sydney! Her name is Sydney!”
The dog stood up and wagged its tail expecting a treat or an adventure or a job.
“OK, I’m going back to work. By the way, I have Irene Castle’s cane, the one with a hand-carved parrot on top.”
“Who?”