All Ears

All Ears

(for Dulcie, and her tail of devotion, always wagging for me)

You use my legs as a runway

to join me in the moonlit hammock,

happy despite the complaints I make

as my tender shins are prodded

by the nails I left untrimmed again.

The hickory tree hides us from most

of the stars and the neighbors, so I tell

you my secrets and your long silken

ears are wee elevators of emotion,

flaring and sliding up when they hear

“go”, “ride”, “cookie”, “ love” and “read”;

flattening and going back when you catch

“bath”, “vet”, “cat” and “bedtime”.

You lie on my stomach, queen of all

you see and hear and smell and touch

with those fluffy house slipper feet,

and I watch you, knowing full well

that one day those ears will hear

a final “go” and you'll trade your leash

for wings, and I will be inconsolable.

You already wear a halo,

and have since you first tucked

your golden head into that juncture

between my love and wisdom

that the Beloved finds so enchanting.

I'll treasure every day of grace

I get to share with you, my angel.

2010 © Lorraine D. Achey

Scaring the Tea out of Me

What could be lovelier than a tea party at a well appointed Victorian bed and breakfast? (Visit http://romancingthepast.com for a quick setting of atmosphere, if you will. Thank you. Charming, isn't it? Go see Cate. She's wonderful, best tea in the business! Thus ends my shameless blurb for a truly delightful experience.) A nice, soothing walk back to the house, enjoying the beauty of the spring flowers and the quiet of the day after tea, that's what.

So how come I never get that?

Even though I am dreading leaving my family after such a short visit, as I walk, I am thinking about getting home to the Sweet Duet. Now, the Sweet Duet used to be The Three Dog Opera and Theatre Company (or more commonly, the 3DOT) until the passing of Shani this past January. The girls have adjusted well, as soon as they found out that I was still the one in charge, but we all miss our Bear.

And when I'm gone, even for a day, I miss the Duet. Dulcie, in particular. Usually I manage to find some kind soul who loves that I'm fussing over their loyal canine friend, and my dog withdrawal is lessened for a bit. Somehow, on this trip, I hadn't had a chance to pet a dog for about 45 hours. (Which may be some kind of record for me. Did I mention my addiction of choice is dog fur?). So during our short walk, I'm starting to long for a dog to pet, ears to rub, chin to scrub. The perfect ending to a wonderful day.

Imagine my delight when just across the street, I spy a cream colored Labradoodle trying with great enthusiasm to convince a short Corgi type dog to play. The LabraDoodle is off leash, though her human is close by. He's unsuccessful in his attempt to stop her from annoying the Corgi, who is on a leash held by a small, confused woman. She's not quite sure of the LabraDoodle's intentions, and is simply trying to get her dog away from all that curly exuberance.

My party continues on toward home base; I cross the street, intent on getting my hands full of Happy Dog. I'm just reaching down, touching Happy Dog's silkiness with my palms when the air is rent with the shout, "NO! YOU CANNOT TAKE THAT DOG HOME WITH YOU!". It's my friend Amber, who in her intention to tease me, sets off a chain reaction that nearly ends in total disaster.

First, I nearly, yes, very nearly wet my pants. Remember, I've just had some of the best tea I've ever seen poured out of a teapot, so I drank several cups of it. But my bladder is smarter than my reptile brain, so it kept things under control. Barely.

Secondly, I snatched my hands off that dog like my mother had caught me snitching her stash of chocolate covered peanuts. Some dark corner of my brain scanned the area for my mother; perhaps she'd followed me there, simply to shout at me. And when Happy Dog felt those hands leave her back, she went after them, leaning all of her considerable weight on me, a wobbly woman who was now concentrating on not peeing herself.

I caught myself before I fell into the flower bed or hit my head on the stop sign post, but it was close. Even with all this going on, I noticed that if I'd been startled, Happy Dog's poor man looked terrified as he reached out to break a possible fall. We shared a look of commiseration; by then I know I had a hand over my heart, too breathless to speak. He seemed too shocked to say anything himself.

When I finally could say something, I said, "Beautiful dog." I could hear Amber saying other things in the background, but I was no longer paying attention to her. I was busy trying to let the two of us on the sidewalk, separated by a panting Happy Dog, salvage some sort of dignity in our encounter. I'm not sure it worked, and that's a shame, because Happy Dog lived just down the street from my family. It would have been nice to be able to go down there and say hi when I visited, but I'm not sure that's going to be possible.

Because, you see, I'm still not really sure that the man's whispered "Thank you!" was because I'd admired Happy Dog--or because I didn't try to take his dog with me as I left him standing there in the flowers surrounding the stop sign.

Talking to dogs. . .

Tonight, Elias (my nephew by choice) and I were chatting about our favorite parts of the delightful movie "Clue". I've visited at their lovely home, and slept upstairs in their tiny attic room. To get there, you have to climb some incredibly steep and somewhat narrow stairs, and there are no handrails. A wee scary for an aging, short legged auntie with an old back/leg injury, but I managed (until I begged to be sleep downstairs the last night! Thanks, kids!).

When I first opened the door and looked up those stairs, immediately I saw the scene from "Clue" where the French maid and the Federal agent are sent to search the attic. Neither one wants to go up the dark, scary staircase first, so they end up struggling up the narrow steps side by side, their butts bumping together and their shoulders pressed against the walls. So, that was how I climbed them; suitcase in one hand, the other shoulder pressed firmly into the wall. Dubbing them the "Clue Stairs", I joked about wearing a groove in the wall with my shoulder.

And what, you may be wondering, does this have to do with talking to dogs?

I shared with Elias that one of my favorite scenes in the whole movie is when the butler is dealing with the dogs, just as one of the male guests arrives. Butler shouts at the dogs, "SIT!" and the guest immediately plops down on a bench by the front door. The butler apologizes.

I then realized that I had done much the same thing to a recent visitor at my house. Now, most of you who know me and my Sweet Duet know that I talk to them like people. Full sentences, most of the time. So Dulcie was running to joyously greet Visitor, and I said, "Be CAREFUL! Keep your feet on the floor!" Then I wondered why Visitor was standing so very still. (At 25 pounds and resembling a sweet miniature golden retriever, Dulcie doesn't generally scare people.) Sheepishly, Vistor confessed, "I thought you were talking to me!" Apologies were made, and laughter was shared. Dulcie even got an ear rub out of the deal.

I told Elias I was glad I didn't use our usual "stay off the guests!" command, which is "All four on the floor!". I might have turned around to find my poor guest crouching on the couch, or worse yet, fleeing this house of madness.

So, if you love your dogs--and your visitors--at least learn to preface a command with a name. It'll save everyone a lot of confusion!