In Which The Pup Comes Home, by BUZZ

Hey Everyone,

Buzz again.  So anyway, where was I? Oh right, the pup was in the back yard, caged like a coyote, and J went upstairs to get K.  K came down and they sat on the back deck and let the pup come up to them.  They petted him a little.  K said, “You’re right, he’s pretty cute. But he’s so skittish and wild.”  

J finally, finally fed me, and gave the pup some water, which he drank; and a biscuit (wait a second), then she tried again to let him in the house, because it was pretty chilly. He ran off and stared at her.
“Well,” J said, putting on her coat and picking up the leash. “Let’s try this again.”  K went back upstairs to work, and I trotted towards my bed. What an exhausting morning.

“No, no, stay here. Buzzy, you have to come with us,” J told me. “I know you think you need a nap, but all this fresh air will do you good! And I need you to let him know it’s okay. He’s better if you’re around. So come on, let’s go find out where this puppy lives.”

I tried every technique I had honed over the past thirteen years to avoid going back out. Stinkeye. Hangdog. Anchor. Butt drag. Deaf as a dinner dish. Slinky. Invisible. Nothing worked. The Big She ignored everything.

Of course she was right. The pup came right up to me. I’m like that, not to brag, but the harmony and scent of a JRT life well-lived is irresistible to other dogs.

By the way. If humans would quit taking so many showers and baths, if they would let the true, honest scent of their bodies do the talking, the world would be a much less confusing place. This is my firm belief.  But J said once she stood behind a true, honest man in the grocery line and she just about passed out from all the honesty emanating from under his arms and out of his unmentionable area pores. I just stared at her. And??  Did she sniff his butt to get the real story? No? Well then, don’t complain to me. 

We walked the other way this time, to the end of our street. On a whim, J went to a door and rang a bell.  The woman there told us that the pup lived across the streetfrom her. WHAT! Two doors away from us? And we had been outside how long??

Up a driveway, up some stairs to a small front porch with a couple planters on either side of the door. J rang the doorbell.The pup was wiggling and jumping, completely crazed with excitement.A woman answered the door and as soon as I saw her apologetic face, I knew this black and white Philistine was home.  THANK GOODNESS.

“Is this your dog?” J asked.

“Thank you so much. Yes. I opened the door and he just bolted.  He’s completely out of control.  We have to keep him kenneled all the time.” She pointed to a large dog cage in the corner of the living room with a tiny fleece mat in it.

“You know, you really should have an ID tag on your dog. I’ve had him for over two hours. I just had no idea whose he was.” J didn’t say it unkindly, and I was glad she mentioned it.  An ID tag on the wild child and I would have had my breakfast way earlier. 

"I know. I'm sorry. He's just out of control." The pup raced over and leaped against the woman, then careened around and jumped again.  “Max! Down!” she said helplessly, then looked at J.  “See?”

“Max is his name? Well, if you want, I could stop that jumping immediately.”  As if taking the challenge, the pup raced up to J, took a mighty leap, and J put up her knee. “DOWN.”  His chest hit her square in the kneecap and he fell back, gave her a shocked stare, then walked to the edge of the couch and sat down.  J went over and petted him.  I hid a smile.  Could have toldya, buddy. Heh. 

“That’s IT?”

“Pretty much. No dog is going to choose to get smacked in the chest. Not if they’re smart anyway. And he is intelligent, you can tell.   Jenny, by the way.”

“Donna.” They shook hands.  “Well, we’re going to get rid of him. I have an ad on Craigslist right now. My daughter will be heartbroken but we just can’t handle him. The cats are a mess and my husband is tired of dealing with it.”   What! I glanced quickly to see if the pup had heard. Doubtful. He was loudly sucking up water with his gigantic pink tongue, a cigarette boat-sized wake sloshing over the edges. Yipes.  All that slobber.   I looked away. I don’t mean to brag, but I take great pride in my mannerly lapping.  Most JRTs do.

Now the next part, I missed. I was still trying to get my head around but he is intelligent, you can tell. The pup ate three kibbles and tore into the kitchen, then skidded up to me and licked my muzzle.  Mmmmmhmmmmm. Serious intelligence there.  I was questioning J’s, for sure.

And J’s intelligence failed, bigtime.  “Well, please don’t get rid of him until I get back to you.  We may want him.”

“Seriously?!” The woman looked so happy. “Oh, that would be wonderful.”

“Ah, please, please...don’t get your hopes up, I need to talk it over with my husband. But I’ll let you know today.”

And that is how the pup came to live with us.  K has told the story enough times that I know how their conversation went. 

J: Guess what I want for Valentine’s Day

K: That dog

J: What! How did you know?

K: Oh please. As soon as I looked out the window and saw you with that wild animal at the end of the leash, crossing the lawn, I knew we were going to get another dog.

J: But you didn’t know they were wanting to get rid of him!

K: Doesn’t matter. I knew. Happy Valentine’s Day, honeybun.

J: Admit it, you like him, too.

K: I like him too.

J says now, she had a what have I done feeling as soon as that conversation was over.  But if there is anything I know about J, it’s that if she decides she’s going to do something, she’ll do it. That is the Big She I'm constantly doing battle with.

The next day the pup joined our household. J changed his name to Maxwell, as in Maxwell Smart; she said, like the secret agent, he is both smart and ditzy. I agree with half of it. Like you don't know which half. Heh.

Along with the secret agent, to a lesser degree, the little girl who loves him (and now me too), came into our lives.  I like that part. But oh man, the training was something else again.  So much to do, so much to undo. So much for an old man to put up with. 

 I'll check back later with more. Forced march on the docket.