Читать книгу Bad to the Bone: - Bo Hoefinger - Страница 12

It was a long two days as I awaited the return of the angel to take me home with her. I smelled her before I saw her. She was close, front lobby close, and before I knew it, the loudspeaker blared, “Cage eight for pick up.”

Cage 8, that was me! Sure, I was being treated no better than a Grand Slam breakfast at Denny’s, but hey, at least I wasn’t going to be served up to some drunken college kids.

I packed my belongings, said my final good-byes, and with a leash around my neck, sprinted for the door.

She was just as pretty as I remembered, and she smelled even better. She had an engaging smile with nice white teeth. They weren’t Bugs Bunny big or Rocky the Squirrel small, but just the right size. Looking at her, I guessed she was roughly four years old and couldn’t have weighed over a hundred and five soaking wet.

This was my new mother.

She took the leash and led me outside and to the beginning of a most memorable life.

On the ride home she never stopped smiling, constantly alternating her stare between the road and me. I knew if I played this right, the unconditional love coming my way could be used to my advantage. I sensed it was going to be easy. Very easy.

That said, I still had to be careful. People were a fickle breed. If I jumped back and forth in the car too much, or a burp was erroneously construed as a growl, or even if an inadvertent fart squeaked by the goalie so early in the game, the tide of goodwill could turn against me.

I sat upright in the passenger seat, looking forward, doing my best to “mirror” her behavior. When we stopped at one particular light, I noticed a car next to us filled with kids. They were pointing at me and trying to get my attention, but I ignored them like they were the paparazzi. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see my mother laughing at my actions.

“You really think you’re a person, don’t you?”

Hey, if it gets me out of a cage and into a warm bed, sure. Heck, I’d be willing to play a cat to get that. Okay, maybe not a cat, but you catch my drift.

To seal the deal I employed one of the most powerful tools available to canines riding in cars; it’s called the “leanin.” No human in the history of dog/owner relations has ever been able to speak negatively of their dog after experiencing it.

As the car turned left, I leaned in toward my mother. I mean, really leaned in, until my ears pressed against her shoulder. I kept leaning until my head slipped from her shoulder and into her lap.

My mother laughed and petted my head.

It was official, she was mine.

After what seemed to be an eternity, we pulled into a driveway in front of a small, two-story mustard-colored house. No, not classic mustard yellow, but Gulden’s Spicy Brown. I noted to myself: landscaping in front could use some help.

My mother secured my leash and opened her car door. Almost immediately, the cabin of the vehicle filled with a mixture of odors. It was overwhelming, and although I much preferred the new owner smell that preceded it, I was compelled to find the source.

I jumped across the seat, onto her lap, and spring-boarded my way to the outside world. As soon as my paws hit the cold driveway, I was off like a rocket. I could practically taste my freedom, when my head snapped backward; I had reached the end of the leash, onto which my new mother was holding fast. Hmm…she was stronger than she looked.

After I got over my humiliation, she led me around the yard so I could smell the surroundings. My new home was squeezed in between two other, non–condiment-colored houses. Welcome to suburbia, I thought. This sure beat the cramped quarters of the city and its concrete playground. Sure I’d miss the easy access to the theater district, but at least I wouldn’t be badgered to “go poopie” in a hidden stairwell.

With the skill of an urban graffiti artist, I left an artistic “Bo Lives Here” message in the front yard. Moments later I made my way to the back of the house, looking to create another work of art.

When I turned the corner, what I saw purt’ near put a tear in my eye. For what lay in front of me was a vast expanse of unexplored woods. No houses, no roads, no people. Just trees, bushes, and yes, oh yes, a creek. In law circles it’s called “forever wild.” In canine circles it’s called a dog park. There was so much to explore, I couldn’t wait for my chance to do it “off leash.”

Next, she led me through the front door, across a tiny foyer, and into the kitchen. Say good-bye to the 1990s, and say hello to the 1970s. This place was decked out in Hershey-brown cabinets, yellow appliances, and a Dating Game flowery linoleum floor. Not really my style, but if Tiger from the Brady Bunch could handle this type of décor, well so could I.

My mother and I stood there in the kitchen. I looked up at her. She looked down at me. After a few moments of awkward silence, it was apparent my mother didn’t know what to do. Finally, she tied my leash around the dishwasher handle and sat down at what I’ll charitably call the kitchen table. Others, with less tact, would call it a card table. There she sat, looking at me and smiling. And there I sat, looking back at her and scheming.

How should I slip this collar off? When should I do it? How fast is she? What was a big plant doing inside a house? When should I water it?…

The thoughts just kept coming and wouldn’t stop. At last my mother got up and left the room, reappearing with a blanket and a handful of dog toys. She placed the armful of stuff on the family room floor, which was conveniently located off the kitchen, then she released me from the dishwasher and coaxed me to join her.

“Come here, Bo. Lay down on the blanket. C’mon buddy.”

My first instinct was to blow her off and go check out the freshness of the toilet water, but I thought it better to do as she said and feel out the situation. I lay down on the cushy blanket and perused the plastic doggie newspaper that was part of the potpourri of toys strewn about. It was an old paper; Nixon was still president. My mother took the opportunity to lay down behind me and started petting my head. Having been yelled at and abused for most of my eleven months on this planet, I hadn’t experienced this kind of unconditional love. Heck, I didn’t even know it existed until this very moment. The best part about it was that it was a two-way street. It felt good, and right. I had just finished the sports section, when a loud grinding noise filled the air. It came from outside the living room door. It was the first time I’d ever heard a garage door opening, and to this very day, it’s a sound that gets my juices flowing.

“Your father’s home!” my mother squealed.

Seconds later the door opened into the living room and in walked the hero from the dog pound.

I guessed he was about the same age as my new mother. He sported a Fred Flintstone five o’clock shadow, stood about six feet tall, and displayed average girth. If you smelled him in a crowd, you wouldn’t notice him. Even though he appeared average, I suspected his size would allow him to control me on a leash, unlike my skinny mother.

His eyes widened when he saw me and he quickly approached, staring directly at me the whole time. This move would have been unsettling under any circumstance, but was even more enhanced by his rather menacing unibrow. Was this a power move on his part, or was he just clueless? Hadn’t he ever gone to doggie body language school? When I met his challenge and growled at him, he quickly averted his eyes and backed down. Bo: 1, new father: 0. I made a mental note: “don’t fear the unibrow—it’s not as scary as it looks.”

After giving my mother a quick kiss, he sat down and we all just lay there for the next few hours on the floor. They petted me and fed me, told me I was cute and smart, and basically doted on my every move. Every human should have it so good. That’s right, I said human.

When it was time to go to bed, we walked up the tiny steps to the bedroom. Upon walking in I spotted the place where I would sleep. No, not on the floor, or the dog bed, but rather on top of that big old mattress, and smack dab in the middle of the two well-worn spots where my parents slept.

Here I lay, after the most wonderful day I had ever experienced, thinking about the fortuitous change in my life.

It was obvious my new parents were a couple in need of canine companionship, and who better to bond with than me? But, truth be told, we all got what we needed. They needed something to love besides themselves and I needed to be loved.

I rolled over and stretched my legs, pushing my mother to the edge of the bed. Ahh, much better. This could be a fun life after all, as long as these humans proved trustworthy. Based on my previous encounter with humans and a home, this was still up for debate.

I woke up the next morning, momentarily confused by the softness of my bed and the quietness of my surroundings. I certainly wasn’t in Kansas anymore. Much to my delight, I lay between two bodies, both of which were awake and gazing at me.

Their constant staring made me a bit self-conscious. Did I have a booger hanging out of my nose? Was my fly unzipped? No, it was just the fact that I was so darned cute. What can I say, I hit the gene pool lottery.

“Bo, !@%TDD$%@#$FDF?” my mother asked. Loosely translated that means, “Bo, you gotta whiz?”

Of course I did…and so day two of my new life began.