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Fowl play
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Most often dog walks are a commune with nature. We overlook the scenery. The dogs race in circles while I stop frequently, professing a sudden fascination with plants. “Look, a blossoming yellow-bellied craberosa,” I’ll exclaim between panting. “Sure, Dad,” the dogs seem to say, rolling their eyes. “You’re just old.” They believe in unconditional love and that any person 50 or older is an antique. “I may look rode hard and put up wet, but I’m not worn out,” I huff at them. “I’m just vintage — an artifact with a story to tell.” My story, lately, mainly involves Cadence the Wonder Dog. On our nightly walks the 3-year-old Belgian terv, his nose to the ground working at 500 times the capacity of a human’s, is constantly on the prowl for new sources of “cologne.” The other day the intrepid explorer came upon an explosion of feathers scattered 10 yards in every direction. Cade was beside himself with anticipation. My mind raced considering possible scenarios. Perhaps a low-flying nonathletic bird, misdirected in heavy fog, had crashed into the mountainside. Or maybe an extremely athletic coyote, cougar or fox had leaped high in the air to catch the bird by surprise. Cade quickly found the extremely unlucky duck and grabbed the carcass by what was left of its neck. A game of keepaway ensued. Razz, the 12-year-old Belgian shepherd, is spry for his age. Razz is Cade’s mentor and best dog buddy. Razz, though, has the propensity to be annoying and sometimes insufferable as he tries to herd young Cade and keep him out of trouble. Best of luck. When the dogs were hopelessly tired of playing keepaway, Cade moved to stage two — rolling in the rotten duck. After liberally applying “Essence of Duck,” Cade realized it was time to show his human unconditional love. Usually on walks it’s challenging to keep him nearby. He has an insatiable curiosity and loves to beat the bushes and become more burr than fur. But with Essence of Duck liberally applied, Cade suddenly became lover boy. Never has a dog become so earnest in his ardor. Cade began rubbing against my leg, difficult since I was by that time dancing about like Michael Flatley in Riverdance. All the while Cade’s big brown eyes looked lovingly up at my pirouetting form with a goofy expression of ecstasy. Now I’ve smelled a lot of odors in my life. I know by experience that an adult skunk can spray 12 feet. I’ve been around hog farms and cesspools and uncontrollable sweating like Richard Nixon in the first televised presidential debate against John F. Kennedy. I’ve shared an eighth-grade football locker with Milton Frank, a guy who had the unfortunate superstition that washing his uniform would cause him to be cut from the team. I’ve been in rotten egg fights, and climbed past the sulfur bomb that is Devil’s Kitchen on Mount Hood. But few of these odors had the cringe factor of Cade’s Essence of Duck. Later that evening, the odor seemed to have diminished, and so I brought the dogs in the house for the night. When I was settled in for a comfortable sleep, within a snore of dream land, near bliss, Cade decided it was time to crawl into bed with me. Cade’s idea of sharing space, however, is different than mine. He wants to share the space I already occupy. That night he burrowed his nose into where my face had been to share what remained of his Essence of Duck. What remained was a lot. A wave of dizziness overcame me. To prevent a gag reflex I quickly grabbed some dirty, sweat-stained socks off the floor and pulled them over my nose. Ah, relief. Cade hunkered closer, happy to share in his fowl play.
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