"What If…" by Dave Oney

Fran texted Jen when we were in Loomis to let her know we were five minutes away. We turned right, just past the Snoopy mailbox and drove up the dirt driveway continuing the big right turn, up and around the corner, through the open sliding gate. Rosie was leashed with her bright pink leash to the “waiting for pick up spot” as we entered the parking area. When she saw me open my door and start to climb out of the car she jumped up, spun 180 degrees and promptly slipped out of her collar. That was a cute trick she picked up when we first adopted her. I can never tighten her collar so that it isn’t too tight, but such that she cannot slip out of it. Excited, she ran over to me jumping up and down and spinning in circles.
“You’re back!” she yelled.
“Do we have to go home now?” she thought to herself.
Out loud she said, “I am so glad you are back.”
Thought: “Do you want to meet my friends?”
Said: “Mom!! Yay! Mom is here too!”
Thought: “Do I have to leave now?
Said: “I am glad you are back.”
Thought: “My friends here are so much fun.”
Said: “Did you have fun?”
Thought: “Boy!, or I should say Pup!, I am a dog, after all . This was a great week here!”
Said: “I hope you had as much fun as I did. This week was great.”
Thought: “I wonder when Mom and Dad are going away again.”
Said: “Glad you are back.”
Thought: “That was a short week.”
Said: “You’re back.”
Thought: “I guess we will go home now. Away from my friends. Sigh.”
Said: “Let’s go home Dad.”
Thought: “OH NO! He is going to put me in the white wet box and wash me all over with soap then wash me again then walk me, then brush and pull my hair!! I don’t like wet.”
Said: “HI.”
“Ok, Rosie. Let’s get in the car and go home.”
I slipped her collar back over her head and opened the back door for her to jump in. She took a long look at the little dog area where the daycare dogs were all watching her. She turned back to look at me, then looked at them once more before jumping up into the backseat.
Twenty minutes later I pulled into the garage and Mom let Rosie out. During the ride Rosie moved from the back seat to Mom’s lap so she could snuggle down. When I opened the door from the garage to the hallway Rose ran past me, into our bedroom to look at the bed, then out to the living room to look at her bed. After checking her dish for any food or water she headed back to the bedroom, jumped on “our” bed and nested in Mom’s blanket.
“I am soooooo glad to be home, Dad! I just love you and Mom, and our bed! Thank you for coming back! I really missed you.”
“Time for your bath, Rose,” I called. “Rosie? Rosalita? Where are you hiding?”

The steps leading to the entrance of the Lazy Dog Restaurant and Bar were sandstone tan and edged with dark brown, no doubt painted to help patrons better see each step and not trip. Too bad the architect thought adding one extra dark brown line on the tan sidewalk spaced one step width from the first real step would be attractive. All it really did was to create a fake step which caused me to trip before I reached the real step. Rosie thought that was amusing.
“Hey Dad! Walking goes left, right, left right. It’s not that hard. Even for you two-footed humans.”
“Quiet,” I muttered, as I continued up the steps, contrarily climbing right, left, right left. I waited outside with Rosie while Fran went inside to request a table on the patio, where dogs are allowed. As we were waiting, a little 20 month old boy peeked at Rosie from a gap in the gate.
“Hi,” said Rosie. “You are just my size. Do you want to come out and play with me?”
“He can’t hear you Rose. You know only Mom and I can hear and understand you.”
“I know, I was just being polite.”
“Anyway, you don’t like small people.”
“Be nice They are called children, Dad, boys or girls, not small people. Or if they are dogs, they are pups. And I know I don’t like them, they pull hair and play rough.”
“Granddaughter Grace doesn’t pull your hair or play rough. She is very gentle with you.”
“I know. I just don’t want to set precedence and raise your expectations of my behavior. Anyway, I was just being polite”
Fran and the hostess returned to lead us to our table. We entered through a swinging metal gate and turned left just before the big unlit fire pit located in the center of the patio. There were napkins but no place settings around the pit’s gray stone edge. Apparently this was the conversation spot where people waited for their tables.
I said to Rosie, ”I bet the fire pit was crowded during the cold winter. It’s good it was off today. The temperature is about 80 tonight.”
There was a pit bull laying next to their owner’s feet, just looking around and smiling. He had a stout leash and looked very content and friendly. We took a circuitous route to avoid him. With his tongue lolling out he watched Rosie walk on the other side of the adjacent table.
“Don’t walk to close to him, Rose. You wouldn’t even be breakfast for him.”
“He’s ok, Dad. Harvey won’t hurt me, or anyone,” Rosie reassured me.
“OK, good. You have a remarkable sense of other dogs’ temperaments, but how do you know his name is Harvey?”
“I called HER Harvey because that is HER name. I thought we discussed this along with “the bitch” last week.”
Not wanting to re-open that still fresh wound and recently lost battle, I said, “Here is our table. Do you want some water?”
“No, thanks. I am fine.”
“But it’s hot out here. You should drink some water.”
“I said I am fine. You and Mom just go ahead, enjoy your drinks and eat your human food right in front of me while I sit and hide under your table. It’s fine!”
“Hmmm. I think someone is hot, thirsty and grouchy, but suit yourself. We could have left you home, you know.”
Silence, while Rosie thought, “Yeah. What a shame that would have been. I could have slept with their whole bed to myself, where its cool. I could have played with my toys. Yeah, what a treat to come here and hide under a chair. Pup, it’s hot!”
Rosie wandered around the chair legs, still attached with her bright pink leash, causing me to untangle her every few minutes. Finally, she lay down in the shade and panted.
Yvonne, the waitress, brought us our drinks and a bowl of water for Rosie, which she promptly ignored. We were seated at a small table on the outside edge of the patio. There were tables for parties of two and four. Some were pushed together for larger groups. Seven or eight very young kids hovered near their grown-ups, occasionally making a break for it before being caught and brought back, laughing. Five or six amazingly well behaved, docile dogs lay, sat, or stood by their owners’ tables. It was noisy, but not objectionably so. A small bar with colorful neon flood lights formed the restaurant’s exterior wall.
Rosie stood up and walked around in a circle tying my leg to my chair’s. When I reached down to untie us she said, “I prefer Jack’s to this place.”
Surprised, I asked why.
“Jack’s is smaller. There are fewer watch-out-fors.”
“What are watch-out-fors? “ I asked.
“Things to watch out for, Dad. The world is a dangerous place, you know. It’s smart to be on guard all the time.”
“Oh, poor Rosalita. What did happen to you before you were found lost and abandoned in that field in San Jose?”
Rosie let out a powerful sigh. “I am fine, Dad. I don’t want to talk about it. That part of my life is over. I live with you and Mom now. I truly am fine.”

Just before dawn, the sun still hidden behind the trees, hills and homes to the east, and the sky paling to light blue, orange and white. The crescent moon and one star, actually it was probably the planet Venus, were barely visible in the western sky. We turned right a couple of minutes earlier and were now approaching the next right turn. Rosie pranced along the sidewalk while I followed keeping up with long strides. I am shorter that I was a couple of decades before but luckily still have long legs. She likes to keep the leash taught to be sure I am still there. I always try to keep the leash slack so she will look back and up at me every few steps, just to be sure. She is so damn cute.
I tell her that if she keeps turning around she may run into a sign post, not sure if she knows what a sign post is, or even if we have any here in our neighborhood, but I warn her anyway.
She stops next to a full, dark green bush with bright red flowers or leaves. I am not sure which they are.
“George,” she says.
“Who is George?”
“The dog who peed on this pretty bush.”
“How do you know the bush is pretty and that the dogs name is George? You only see in monochrome and you don’t know any of the neighborhood dogs.”
“I know its pretty because you said so the other day. You were telling the truth, weren’t you?”
Indignantly, I said, “Yes, I was telling the truth, the bush is pretty, but how do you know the dog’s name?”
“Because George peed here.”
“I know you smell a dog but how do you know his name isn’t Fido or something.”
“Fido? Really, Dad? Have you ever known a real dog named Fido?”
“Well no, but how do you know this dogs name is George.”
“Because I call him George. Anyone with a modicum of intelligence knows naming something helps define it.”
“Wait just a minute. I think I was just insulted, anyway, isn’t modicum a pretty big word for a dog to be using? Where did you ever learn that word.”
“Oh? Did I use ‘modicum’ wrong? Like ‘modicum of truth’ or ‘modicum of honesty’ or ‘modicum of integrity’?”
“No, your use was perfect. I was just surprised. Where did you hear that word.”
“I heard it on those boring Sunday news shows you insist on watching every week.”
“But you sleep in bed on the other side of the house while I watch my shows. How could you hear it from so far away?”
“I am a dog, Dad. I don’t suffer all the limitations of humans.”
I raised my left hand and wiggled my thumb.
Rosie glared at me, snorted and turned away, prancing down the sidewalk.
Believing I had won the argument I strode briskly along behind her, keeping some slack in the leash, humming “Girls in Their Summer Clothes” quietly to myself.
Before long she stopped at another bush. This one was not so full and not so pretty. It was very branchy with few leaves and no flowers. Maybe it is a later blooming bush.
“Bitch,” she said.
“Hey, hey, hey,” I scolded. “That’s not nice. Unless the dog who was here was female.”
“Well, she is female, and a bitch.”
“Excuse me. Are you using that word as a noun or an adjective. There is a big difference you know.”
“Dad. I know the different parts of speech and when to use the proper one. This dog is a bitch. She attacked me last year.”
“Rosie. She didn’t attack you. She was running to play with you. She had just slipped her leash, like you do sometimes and just kept running towards you.”
“Yeah. I always play with my teeth bared and a snarl. That’s a great way to make friends.”
“She is an old, nearly blind Cocker Spaniel, with rounded teeth. You should have tried to be nice.”
“Yeah? Try being nice when someone has your lip in her ‘round’ teeth. It hurts.”
“It’s been six months. Let it go.”
“Sure, Dad. You are right, as usual. Consider it gone.”
“Good. Two more right turns then up the hill then we will be home and you can go back to bed.”
I take the lead, with the slack leash behind me. Rosie is walking directly behind me so I don’t know which hand to hold the leash. She knows I hate that.
Under her breath, I hear and decide to ignore, “Bitch.”
All square after one lap around the block.

“Dad!”
“Dad!”
“Don’t leave me here, Dad! I’ll be good! Please!!”
“We’ll be back next week, Rosie,” I said, rubbing her head one last time. “Have fun with the other dogs.”

Fran and I were dropping Rosie off at her boarding home while we vacationed in Southern California.

“A Lucky Dog” is more of a bohemian doggie resort than a kennel. They don’t have any crates for the dogs. Dogs who are used to being outside, spend their time outside. Indoor dogs sleep indoors but spend nice days outside playing with like-minded dogs. Located on top of a small knoll, part of the Sierra Nevada foothills, “A Lucky Dog” is five acres of chain link fenced property. The owner, Jennifer, is a certified Dog Trainer and Behavior Counselor, not that Rosie needs much behavioral counseling… or at least not much. Well, lets just say spending time with Jennifer will not hurt Rosie at all.

When we told Jennifer we would be back the following week, she responded, “Wawawa wawa wawa.”
You may not know that Rosie doesn’t understand English, other than the version Fran and I use when speaking to her. Maybe we should try Spanish. Who knows perhaps with her Cuban ancestry it would help. Translated, Jennifer had said, “Don’t worry. She will feel at home in 5 minutes, have a great vacation.”
Jennifer picked Rosie up, held her under her arm and carried her through the small gate in the chain link fence towards her office. Jennifer’s office is in a nice new out building, located to the right and across a small yard from the main house. It’s a fairly large building, like a free standing three car garage. She has a nice office in the back and a large training room in the front. The office door is usually open so the inside dogs can come and go as they please.

Time warp, one week later:

Text to Jennifer: Hi. We are making good time driving up from LA. Can we pick Rosie up around 5PM today.
Jennifer: Sure, just text when you are 15 min away.
Dave (actually Fran texting on my phone as he is driving): Ok.
Dave (ghost authored by Fran): We just exited I-80 in Loomis, be there in a few.

The steep dirt driveway curves to the right, passing through a motorized gate, ending in a large parking area in front of the house. Jennifer was outside, behind the white painted railing on the front porch, puttering, while waiting for us. There was this dog that resembled our Rosie, except she was the wrong color. She was attached to the fence with a pink leash just like Rosie’s. Our dog is mostly while, with brown highlights. This dog was brown with nearly no white visible.

“Welcome back. I hope you had a great time,” Jennifer greeted us as she walked down the three front steps. “Wawawawa wawawa wa wawa wawawawa wa wa.” Translation of what Rosie heard: “Rosie had a great time, right up to today when she and the other dogs thought playing in the mud would be great fun. Then, for some reason, she thought a run through the burr bushes would be a perfect ending to the day.”

“Dad!! You came back. Of course, I knew you would. You couldn’t leave me. Do you mind if I jump all over you and make you smell as good as me? Of course you wouldn’t. I am so glad you are back. Can we go home now? I like my friends here but I like my bed at home better. Oh, you had better wash the bed you brought here. It may be a bit dirty. I am so glad you and Mom are back! Can we go home now?”

“Rosie, you are disgusting. What were you thinking?” I asked her.
“Thinking, Dad? I was having fun today. Everyone was playing and running. It was great.”
“I am glad you enjoyed yourself, little girl. I hope you remember all the fun when we get home and you get in the tub. It’s gonna take at least two baths to clean you and believe me, you are not going to like the brushing to de-burr you.”

Time warp, two hours later:

“Well, at least you are the right color again. I told you it would take two baths. Now let’s see to those burrs.”
“Do we have to Dad? They really don’t bother me,” she said as she chewed at an especially bad mat and tangle with several burrs caught inside.
“C’mon. Mom will help.”
“Mom? Mom! Save me!!”

Fran and I worked for over a hour and were able to remove the burrs, but most of the mats were beyond us. Her legs, chest and neck were matted so tight no amount of brushing and picking would loosen them. Truthfully, we gave up knowing she was going to be groomed the following week.

Rosie spent the week scratching and chewing on some of the mats that I know must have been pinching her, until we went to the mobile groomer who was doing Frances’s, Daniel’s and Kathy’s dogs at Frances’s and Daniel’s house.
“Wa,” Rosie heard the groomer say . “Wawa. Wa wawawa wawa wa.”  Translate: “Oh. Oh oh. I doubt we can get these tight mats out. We may have to shave her which is too bad because it is so cold outside.”

“Dad? What is shave? It doesn’t sound good for me.”
“She may have to cut your hair short to get the tangles out. It’s your own fault. You remember all the fun you had in the mud and bushes, don’t you? Do you understand ‘cause and effect’? This is the effect caused by all your fun.”
“I don’t understand, ‘cause I had fun you are going to make me prance around naked in public?”

“No. You wont be naked We will go buy you a sweater and don’t worry about people seeing you, I will be so embarrassed to be seen with you I will only walk you when it is dark out and no one can see us.”

I just finished adding the bread ingredients to my larger mixer. (Fran bought me a 7-quart KitchenAid mixer last summer as my little one was tired from heavy use.) Before I could attach the dough-hook and start the initial mixing, I heard,
“Daaaaaad! Gotta go!!”
“Just a minute Rosie. Let me start mixing this then we can go.”
“No Dad. I don’t mean I have to go soon, I mean I have to go now. Like, right now!”
Sigh. “Fine. Let me get my coat with the hood and your leash and a poop bag. Then we can go.”
“Suit yourself. I am just trying to help. I am a good girl. But hurry!”
“Yes, you are a good girl, and thank you for that. Ok, all set. Let me clip the leash into your collar, stop dancing, there, let’s go.”
The rain started the night before and had not let up for hours. It wasn’t one of those South Florida downpours, just one of those steady soaking California rains. I knew my garden would be happy, but also knew my Rosie would not be. She doesn’t like wet. I turned the deadbolt, opened the front door, and let Rosie out first, closing the door behind us.
“Hey Dad. The sky is crying buckets. I’m not going out in that.”
“It was your idea, not mine. Man up, or puppy up, I guess, and let’s get a move on so you can go.”
She instantly stopped prancing, dropped her head and pouted. Can dogs pout? I almost had to pull her along. This was not her idea of fun.
“C’mon Rosie. This was your idea remember.”
“Maybe I was wrong. Maybe it wasn’t so urgent after all. Yeah, yeah, that’s it. I was just kidding. Let’s go home so I can go back to bed.”
“No, we are here, bundled up, you are already wet now, so just do your business, then we can go home.”
“I don’t like you anymore,” she said under her breath.
We walked up Scenic Drive, turned right and crossed at the crosswalk. She looked both ways as well as back towards home, then across Newland Heights, apparently seeking some sort of rescue. She kept her head down, maybe mimicking me, and ignored each lawn and leaf we passed. Seeing her, I realized I was hunched over, trying to shelter my face from the rain, so I reset my shoulders, pulling them both back and down. The Pilates instructor always say,” put them in your back pocket.” It really improves your posture. Rosie kept her head down in a sulk. It wasn’t until the last patch of grass that she stopped, squatted and peed.
“Finally,” I thought. “Maybe we won’t have to go all the way around the block in this rain.”
Scenic loops around, starting and ending about a hundred yards apart on Newland Heights. It’s always a little confusing for people unfamiliar with the area to find us. We direct them from Crest Drive and tell them to take the second Scenic Drive left, not telling them it is the same street as the first Scenic Drive left. See? Confusing. The tip, or middle of the loop is much lower than either beginning so no matter which way you go there is always an uphill to return home.
We walked down the far side of the loop, the first Scenic Drive.
Rosie kept her head down and at every house or two would stop and shake, as if that might help.
“I cannot believe he is doing this to me,” she thought angrily. “I could have held it for another hour or two, or maybe until tomorrow. This is just so unfair.”
“C’mon, Rosie,” I urged, “once you go you can go home. But I will have to dry you off before you can go back to bed.”
We were by the tip of the loop now. This was about as far as she normally walks without “it” happening.
Suddenly, “Oh man,” she cried. “This is it!”
As soon as we passed the hedge on our right she pulled the leash tight and struggled to the grass at the next house. The grass was covered with red, orange and brown leaves, but that did not dissuade our intrepid hero from the task at hand. She hunched over, rather than squatting, and I knew the time had finally come.
“Ah, ah, ah, aaaahhhhh!”
Moments later, she was finished, scratched the sidewalk with her back legs and waited for me to clean up after her.
Patting her, I cooed, “Good girl, Rosie. That is such a good girl.”
She thought to herself, “Man, what a fantastic gig I have. This may be the best job ever. All I have to do is poop and I get my reward. Now, which way to bed?”