Let me tell you a tale of blatant deceit and treachery, compounded by theft from an innocent. We living here in Paradise have it pretty good – but we also have to be aware that evil lurks. This particular fall from grace is in the form of Man's best friend. He's a 54-pound black canine that has pushed his way into our home – this after his rightful Tico* owners had cast him out for what are now becoming obvious reasons.
He's the one that we took in as a manageable puppy back when WW was still with us. As I reported to you earlier, it was because he had used his considerable wiles and entrancing sweetness to win over first me then Cristina, that when confronted by the continual fights between WW and him (aptly named The Black) – we decide to banish WW in his favor. Would that we could go back and rewrite history to reward the good, and punish the bad, but we are stuck with the fruits of the past as we lived it then, and must make the best of the resultant imperfect world.
And to make this story of immediate relevance, I feel honor-bound to report that The Black is presently splashed across my lap as I write this – all 54 black pounds of him! (I can only hope that he does not start to snore….) Just as I am unable to rewrite history, it seems that I am also unable to learn from it. I must have done some wretched things in some past life to be suffering as I am suffering now. I don't want this story to get sidetracked and degenerate into a running account of the present – but what is going on right now, as I attempt to report his criminal behavior, bears directly on that account. I think that he must sense in some way that I am in the process of broadcasting proof of his treachery to persons unknown – and he, in an apparently innocent attempt to get more comfortable in my admittedly scant lap, has pushed me back in my chair making it almost impossible for me to reach the keyboard.
OK – he's gone now. Neither was he able to get comfortable, nor to stop me from occasionally pecking out the incontestable truth over his interpositioned bulk.
We have another dog – Dukie, a purebred toy poodle. The Black is certainly not pure, and he reveals that much of his heritage springs from that reviled breed – the Pit Bull! When first we met, he was still living with our Tico neighbors. He just stood there, looking at me with his Devil's eyes – no white shows, just the dark brown blending imperceptibly into the coal-black of his coat. He gave no indication of his intentions – he just looked at me. I thought it best to give him a wide berth, lest his sinister neutrality turn aggressive.
Here again, you can see how he infiltrates – intrudes into that which is only peripherally related to him. I had intended to tell you about Dukie, but The Black just took over the paragraph above. It's as if I am doomed to be pulled into his orbit no matter what other destination I had recorded in my flight plan. I will now attempt to bend this paragraph back to telling you about Dukie…. Dukie is just a white fluffy speck as compared to The domineering Black. In no way can he defend himself against the other's dark and massive presence; and he can be easily eclipsed if ever their interests are in conflict.
Dukie arrived during WW's reign, long before the appearance of The Black. Luckily for Dukie, WW, and now The Black – and for all the dogs that cross our paths – Cristina is very giving and sees to it that they are well fed and relatively clean. (I too benefit from her attentions in this regard, although I still balk at the frequent baths.) When Dukie and WW were to be fed, it was just a matter of putting their initialed bowls on the floor and letting them feed. WW, although much larger than Dukie, respected Dukie's claim to the bowl bearing his initials: D. If WW wandered too close to Dukie before Dukie had finished his meal, WW would heed the resultant growl, and keep his distance. Perhaps when Dukie had left the table, so to speak, and had also left some morsel in his dish – then WW could help finish Dukie's portion without any resultant yapping protest.
With The Black, it is a very different story. While he will not reveal his aggressive nature by charging or growling, or by forcing Dukie from his rightful meal – The Black (unless restrained) will nonetheless invariably wind up eating what was intended for Dukie. He does it through quietly masked intimidation.
He himself wolfs down whatever appears to be food whenever it is within striking distance. He is always done seconds after the TB bowl is lowered into range. Then when finished inhaling his portion, he becomes very interested in helping Dukie with his. Dukie, of refined breeding, tends to eat more discriminatingly – he first sniffs the aroma of each of the various constituents in his bowl, and then he begins by delicately selecting out the most flavorful bits. He is of the chew-20-times school, and takes his time dining. The Black is openly contemptuous of Dukie’s effete picking at his food, and if unrestrained, will settle uninvited right next to the unfinished and now thoroughly distracted Dukie.
The Black is not in the least put off by Dukie's warning growls. He'll just sit calmly inches away and watch Dukie chew. But Dukie gets so intimidated and incensed by having his territory invaded, that he soon devotes all his attention to protesting: growling, yapping, and at times snapping. At that point, The Black figures that if eating is less important to Dukie than making such a racket of protest, that he is willing and able to take up the slack until eating the whatever becomes a moot point.
(The Black has just returned from wherever he was and has rejoined me in my chair. This time he did not come to splash his big black bulk across my lap – no, this time he has inserted himself behind me, and is in the process of accommodating himself by pushing me completely out of the chair and onto the floor.)
Today (and for the rest of the month) it is raining down here in Paradise. Cristina usually feeds Dukie where he usually hangs out – tied under the cover of our detached rudimentary two-car garage – but with today’s unusually heavy rain she had brought him up to the porch where the rain-laden wind couldn't get at him. The Black, being a creature of the streets, usually runs free. Cristina ties him up, restricting him to the porch, only at feeding times, so that Dukie gets a chance to eat unmolested. But today both were tied up on the porch when it came time for morning bones (freshly warmed in the toaster oven). What wasn't apparent until Dukie exploded in a series of ear-splitting yips and yaps, was that the radii of their respective tethers described intersecting circles. Foolishly Dukie had strayed into The Blacks circle of influence with his unfinished bone.
The human contingent rushed outside expecting the worst. We were not disappointed – The Black was calmly chewing one of the bones – the other lying at his side for later. Dukie meanwhile, boneless, was straining against his radius at its circumference aimed directly at The Black and the bones – all his noise-making organs at full max. After a quick conference we, the human element, decided that the best option was to relieve The Black of the bone he wasn't currently working and give it to Dukie, who was then retied beyond any accidental intersection with The Black for the remainder of the morning bone chew. That seemed to be a good solution. The Black continued to contentedly chew, and the retied Dukie quieted all alarm systems as he devoted his attentions to what was left of the bone he now chewed.
Paradise returned to its peaceful default setting. Then after a few minutes, The now boneless Black, appeared at the side door with his innocent face on, requesting entrance. This, gentle reader, is the climax of the tale. In my trusting ignorance of his true intentions, I opened the door and unclipped his tether allowing him to enter.
In the side door he came, through the house like a shot and straight out the front door! His true intentions were immediately announced by Dukie’s silence-shattering outrage – his bone gone yet again! This time The Black took full advantage of his freedom and happily loped out of range of interfering humans to finish helping Dukie with his bone.
You might think that this story would have a more righteous ending than it does – what given the clear good-versus-evil theme and plot, and our daily vows that good shall triumph. However, it is not so. The fact is that we continue to be taken in by The Black at every turn. One look into his deep brown liquid eyes, and we are entranced – sold again on the ever-fleeting idea that he is really a just wonderful companion with a wacky penchant for the occasional practical joke. And my pride makes me convince myself that I was going to end off here anyway. But in reality, I am now completely pushed out of the chair and attempting to type from an impossible position. I’d reclaim my seat from The Black, but I hate to disturb him when he is snoring so peacefully.
*Tico is a nickname for Costa Ricans