Prince by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview
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Chapter 10
Prince eventually drifted off to the soothing and steady tick-tock of the Art Nouveau clock musing about the pleasant changes in his life and the mysterious Polly with all her eccentricities and inconsistencies. He wasn’t the least bit displeased or troubled; it was merely a matter of canine curiosity. She had a fragrant warm body and sleeping next to her was even better than the pillow he had to inadequately heat up himself.
RING. RING. RING. RING. Prince jumped up ready to fight and looked around for the challenger. He indicated his readiness by saying; “Grrrr. Woof. Grrr.” Polly also got up, though more conventionally and pushed the clock’s off button.
She said; “It’s just a clock but I hate when it rings too.”
Prince didn’t understand, but her sound was not one of alarm, so he went off full alert. But to be on the safe side he got off the bed and checked under it and behind furniture.
Finding nothing capable of attacking anything, only dust competent at producing sneezes, Prince jumped back into bed, but Polly remained on her feet. She smacked her hands against her thighs and said; “Come on. Come on, lazy boy.” Her intentions were clear to Prince, but he looked to the window and saw that the sun had not yet risen. He squiggled his body on the bed
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attempting to bury himself further in. He gutturally cleared his throat. Polly thought that rather than try to move a stubborn dog that it was a better idea to show him something that would make him want to move. She went to the kitchen, put dog food in a dish and brought it to the bedroom. She stayed at the doorway and soon Prince whiffed something delectable. He sniffed at the air. His laziness was overwhelmed by the strong suggestion of food. Prince got out of bed and walked to Polly.
She held the plate over her head, walked down the stairs slowly so as not to trip over the excited and curious dog and continued into the back yard. She placed it on the grass twenty feet from the door. Prince thought that his energetic efforts were responsible for the end of the silly game and he ate as fast as he could, just in case Polly decided to take the meal back. She said; “Bye, bye, Prince,” a phrase she intended him to understand in time to mean; “I’ll be gone for a while,” and went back inside.
“Mmmmmmmmmm,” delightedly groaned Prince. He finished as quickly as usual and looked around the place as well as he could under moonlight. It didn’t look treacherous but the dark also didn’t disclose all its wares. Prince thought he’d investigate a bit later, the sun bound to show up and lend assistance.
Right now a cushion in the triangular room seemed the best choice available.
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Polly didn’t think she had the luxury of going back to bed, as she’d soon have to prepare for another school day. She went into the kitchen and heated up her own Nature’s Delight spicy, black bean sausages and Honey’s scrambled eggs with cherry tomatoes and six green beans in herb-lemon Chardonnay sauce.
She was secretly proud that at age ten she had already learned all of her mother’s cooking skills, but didn’t want to say that in fear of getting it as a full-time job. “That motionless microwave can prove to me that it’s still alive.” She pushed the right buttons and it purred.
Having completed his morning patrol of the fence borders and finding it satisfactory inasmuch as Prince couldn’t detect any hiding enemies, he was aimlessly jaunting around giving attention to whatever interesting aroma or shape got his interest at the moment when he heard two car engines start very nearby. He ran to the small western fence and saw Mom, Dad and Polly leave. “All right, I’ll look at the home grown stuff some more and I’ll guard the place while you’re gone, hopefully not too long.”
Polly was less content with her day than Prince. She wished she could be with him, but instead here she had a front row seat in the Ms. Dermer fifth grade show, complete with the
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fragrance of the day; bleach. Though not pleasant Polly had to admit that this was a distinct improvement over formaldehyde.
She optimistically thought; “Maybe she’ll soon upgrade to air spray.” As Ms. Dermer read from “THE WESTERN BEND HISTORY OF
SOUTHWESTERN AMERICA FOR YOUNG PEOPLE; Convincing Ethnocentrism in a Learning Format,” the class stared at their desks and pretended to be taking notes filling their pads with thickly detailed black and white versions of an elaborate yin-yang symbol or a standing vision of a yet to be discovered insect, depending on point of view. Kids had no copy as for some reason the book had not been approved by the timid and stodgy school authorities. Polly could care less as her mind was elsewhere. So as not to get caught at this kind of disrespect and receive the consequent stupid public form of chastisement, she stared directly at the teacher, maybe reader a better description, but saw what was in her mind; Prince in her back yard coupled with her walking with him somewhere absolutely wild. She realized that this was a fantasy as the closest she would be getting to anything wild was the Bosque, a maximum 500
foot deep strip of land bordering the river. If one went to river’s edge they would be no more than 800 feet from the nearest house. She pictured a path in a thick and deep pine forest. It was chillier than she expected as the dense needles let little light through. The path consistently went up as if
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they were on a mountain and he was impatiently trying to bring her to the top. Prince kept the chain taut as he would have nothing of the “Slow, slow” stuff he kept hearing. He seemed preoccupied with getting to something; something he must think will disappear if he doesn’t get there soon. She had trouble following him as he easily took the curves and she had trouble, both physical and mental. Sometimes she had to slow down more than usual to navigate branches at her head level while Prince saw no such difficulty from his lower vantage point. She also held back a bit because she was a bit afraid that waiting beyond the next curve will be a bear. She laughed when she thought to herself; “The way he’s going, if we find a bear, Prince will find him first and scare him away.” She heard a thunderclap; no, it was a much-too-fat book closing. Polly re-adjusted her focus and saw Ms. Dermer take off her almost unframed glasses and slowly elevate her carcass from her seat. She turned to write something on the blackboard and all Polly saw was what looked like a heavy, glittery, orange by way of brown set of curtains she had accidentally brushed against when she was in the “Flushed Fowl Motel” on a weekend trip to Ruidoso which almost covered the teacher’s back. The blackboard soon announced; “Quiz tomorrow on attempted forced Christianity of Native Americans by Spanish.” Ms. Dermer turned to the class wearing one of her infrequent smiles. The nature of it was
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apparent when the afternoon sun caused an intermittent shine to emanate from the red on a white background, tin Saint George’s cross chained around her neck, now resting on the front of the draperies. The bell sounded the end of another school day for Polly.
She dawdled some taking plenty of time to adjust her backpack allowing all her classmates to depart. She walked to the front of the school and waited for her mother near the driveway.
Prince was unaware of it, but he too, actually learned a history lesson. Over the course of seven hours he was adept at chasing away intruders who showed an unwarranted interest in his new home. By ferociously barking and showing teeth he scared off three repairmen, seven or eight SUV’s and two panel trucks sent by “The Water Guy’s Affordable Sprinkler Service,” all mysteriously having an inordinate need to dally by his fence.
The price of liberty is eternal vigilance. He failed to nap during his busy day and was tired. He tried numerous times, but was always quickly disturbed by the rumble of the road or the loud, laughing human chit-chat. He wondered what it was that was so valuable in Polly’s house and for the time being concluded that it must be her bed, as that was his favorite thing. Who could possibly want the wooden and plastic things
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taking up romping space on the floors? But the bed; now that was a different story, with its plush comfort and warmth, who would care about anything else? He was not aware that if he had some way of making his thoughts known they would be considered his pretty predictable predatory pileous puppy perspective permeating peak passages, soon expected to change when he reached “dog” status. What do they know about it?
Just as he got to his pillow he heard something disturbing the gravel driveway and ran to the fence to investigate.
Instead of barking like a maniac and showing his incisors he wagged his tail when he saw it was Polly and her mother. Polly exited, immediately saw him and ran over. She gave him a sloppy pet necessitated by the obstruction of the wire “horse” fencing.
She held up one index finger meaning that she would be right back and trotted after her mother.
Prince had mixed feelings. He was very glad to see Polly, but he was exhausted from a full day of work he’d never be able to tell her about. He slowly walked toward the back door, stopped short of it and flopped in the grass with a sigh. He must have drifted off into a dreamless sleep as the next thing he knew Polly was next to him wearing her old clothes. She shook him and said; “Come on. I’m ready!” He didn’t want to offend her, so he stood up and imitated a happy posture; his tongue out and his tail wagging. He may have gotten adequate
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sleep as he now felt at least mentally enthused. She put Marian’s long leash on him and he led her to the triangular room. When she unbolted the door they went through the garage, down the driveway and into the asphalt paved road.
Seeing no impediments Prince pulled Polly left heading back to the puddles. She had no choice other than slowing him down as she couldn’t keep up and as a result his neck got an occasional silent stop signal, jerking him back, but he kept the same speed apparently unfazed by the physical inconvenience bordering on out and out pain. As is the usual case with Camino De Lucia, an impediment presented itself. “Chrissy,” a sixty year old, gray haired, resident complaint monger was walking toward him, her head shaking as if she had Parkinson’s disease or that she was speaking to some imaginary person at her side; and worse her unleashed, young, black hound mix was ahead of her and running.
Prince, too, started running, detracted by Polly’s hold on the leash, but intending to get up a head of steam sufficient to meet any challenge. He heard Gene Krupa’s manic drumming and saw visions of a red-throated hound. He growled as loudly as he could and saliva fell to the ground. Polly and Chrissy started yelling things at the same time, cancelling each other out.
When the hound got near Prince he saw that his excited attempt at friendship was not the best idea he had ever come up with,
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stopped and went back to Chrissy, who angrily made a production of finding his leash. Prince felt badly as he now knew he had unnecessarily gone into combat stance when a potential friend approached him. But, he didn’t know what else to do as a delay in responding to an attack could be deadly. He tried to calmly walk to the scared hound, but Chrissy kept her body between them and forcefully told Polly; “Keep that dog away from mine.”
Polly was also frightened by the hound’s charge and quickly responded; “He’s on a leash. Try doing the same yourself and there will be no problem.”
Chrissy said; “He’s a nice dog.”
Annoyed with the inference that Prince wasn’t nice, Polly yelled; “So is he. But, I didn’t know that the law made exceptions for NICE dogs,” referring to the town’s leash law.
“Every idiot thinks their dog is nice.”
Chrissy deadpanned; “Including you,” as she made an insulted fabrication of getting by Prince, who wanted to give the hound a canine apology; a face lick.
Polly shortened her grip on his leash and with difficulty held Prince next to her. She surmised his situation and said;
“They can be properly introduced on their leashes. That’s the best way.”
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Thinking that redundancy was effective at a multiplicative rate or demonstrating a deficiency in short term memory, Chrissy said; “Keep that vicious dog away from us.”
“How would you feel if a strange dog came charging at you?”
Chrissy felt proud to say; “I wouldn’t growl and spit,” as she wiped the drool from her chin.
Seeing no possibility of her apologetic puppy making a friend Polly kept walking as Prince dawdled, looking back at the unsure hound. They eventually made eye contact and Prince visibly sighed, as if to say; “What does she expect me to do?”
Polly shook her head slowly and mumbled; “I don’t know.
She’s lived here longer than anyone else and thinks she owns the place.” She giggled when she added; “She may actually have been on this planet longer than anyone else.”
Prince didn’t understand, but saw a way to forget his sorrow; mud puddles. He ran right at yesterday’s passion with Polly running in exhilaration behind him. He splashed through them with Polly to the side attempting to stay on her feet at full speed. Now experienced in the art of mud-running she remained erect as he splashed and slid through the dirty, wet delights. The splatters generated by his feet sprayed her pants with dripping dots. Thoughts of Chrissy disappeared as they frolicked until both of Prince’s back legs went out from under him. He fell and sat in the mud with an embarrassed look on his
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face. Polly chortled and Prince felt extremely silly with his rear end entirely brown, wishing that she didn’t laugh at him.
But he quickly realized that he did look ridiculous and was glad she displayed her honest reaction. He got up running, oblivious to any audience.
Two eyes and a possible brain was in its customary place; the window of its misshapen house. A Stephen King corridor of imaginarily flowing blood was in the brain part, seeing the horror, but also seeing its hilarity in that no one to date has ever drowned in blood. Brain thought; “We have some degree of evidence that miracles have been performed, but no one even believes that, so fat chance the blood is going to scare me.
Sure, somebody gets stuck cleaning it up, but that’s about as bad as it can truly get.” The humorously macabre mood shone in the eyes and it was time to put the rest of the body in motion.
Two eyes and brain has been a reluctant, but regular visitor to a psychiatrist office, with no termination immediately foreseen.
TEAB has never wondered what would happen if he didn’t pay his bill for a while.
He put on the modified vampire costume his mother gave him permission to buy when he was ten years old. Sure, its thirty years later, but he still lives with his mother and with some adjustments the outfit is still wearable. His hero is Norman Bates. This was funny to him as he saw the opportunity to
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disobey his mother with some danger of getting caught and to scare someone dumber than he was.
He went out a side door and saw the dirty ten year old girl with her dirty dog. He approached slowly and quietly as he wished to produce a surprise effect. It worked as the duo were so involved with each other that Polly ran right into him, but it had its drawbacks as he didn’t anticipate getting hit as hard as he did. Polly came to a whirling halt, looked up at TEAB’s face and screamed, then reverted to appropriate manners and said; “Sorry.”
Prince mildly growled, part with a high pitch, trying to convey more curiosity than threat. He was interested in the face and considered the black cape and clothes strange for the suburbs. It was worthy of further scrutiny.
TEAB was trying to re-gain his wind. He was slightly stooped over and he held up one hand as if to say; “Wait a minute.”
Polly thought she detected something more bizarre than Prince did and tried to keep him moving, so that she could get as far away from the man with the clown face as possible.
Prince was unfortunately stubborn right at this moment and continued to eyeball their new acquaintance.
Breathing heavily and sporadically, TEAB chastised; “You really should watch where you’re going.”
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Polly resisted laughing as she was very uncomfortable, but also thought that was one of the dumbest things the weird clown could say. She again said; “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
She tried to move Prince to no avail.
TEAB raised his arms, expanding the attached cape, bulged out his eyes and said; “You should be afraid of vampires,”
trying to be ominous.
Polly was stuck in this spot as long as Prince wouldn’t move and she realized that if this nut caused her any trouble he would handle it. She said; “You look more like a clown.”
“I’m a vampire.”
“Clown.”
“Vampire.”
“Clown. Who ever heard of a vampire with crisscrossed mascara and big red lips?”
TEAB considered her point and couldn’t argue with it. His confidence shaken by his rushed inattention to detail, he tried to think of some plausible explanation and said; “I’m on my way to a costume party disguised as one of the Insane Clown Posse.”
Polly said; “Ooooh, I hate them.”
“They’re good. They did this stuff before anyone ever heard of Eminem.”
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“They probably did it before Moses, too. They’re old enough to be my grandfather.” She thought; “God forbid.
Imagine them visiting over the holidays.”
TEAB was flustered as he wasn’t scaring this little girl and her dog looked as if he wanted to be friends and he was insulted that anyone would call his favorite rappers, ICP, old and not so great. He said; “Oh, I guess they’re just too bad for little Miss Suburban.”
She put her tongue between her lips and made a “thphtthpht”
sound, then seeing that they were at an aesthetic impasse said;
“You want to pet my dog? I think he likes you.”
TEAB was confused as he didn’t expect that anyone would like him; no one had yet. He gazed at Prince’s interested face and his wagging tail. He decided to get on one knee and say a close-up “hello.” Prince licked some of the red dye off TEAB’s nose and received caresses on his neck. TEAB smiled and asked;
“What’s his name?”
Polly said; “Prince, appropriately.”
TEAB continued his petting and said; “Glad to meet you Mr.
Appropriately.”
Polly said; “No, no .........”
TEAB smiled at both of them, ever more meaningful with his gigantic red lips and said; “I know. I know. I’m just trying to be silly; like this outfit.”
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Polly smiled again and she saw someone approaching from the rear. A heavyset older woman wearing loose lime pants and a tan blouse, reminiscent of a dying broadleaf garden weed called out;
“Rod-nee.”
TEAB whispered; “Oh no. It’s my mother. I’m going to get killed.”
Polly said; “Well, you know it could be seen as a little weird for you to be out here dressed like a clown.”
Rodney retorted; “Vampire.”
Polly started to say; “You know what I mean,” but was only able to get to the “You know what” part when Mommy interjected;
“Rodney Claiborne, you get right into the house this instant!”
Rodney’s forty year old laugh lines were highlighted by the vague declining sun, making them resemble craters and he mumbled; “Aw, Mom.”
Polly found the whole thing amusing and almost stifled a small laugh. Prince mentally prepared to battle the quickly oncoming battleship.
Mom spoke harshly to Polly, saying; “What is so funny?”
Polly said; “I had to sneeze. Do you mind?”
Mom failed to specify her preference in the matter and directed her conversation at Rodney, Rod-knee and TEAB, though she was not familiar with the acronym. Mom took him by the hand and led him toward the house, saying; “I wish your father was
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here to see this, God rest his soul. He’d of known what to do with you.”
Rodney was watching Polly’s reaction to his demise and kept looking back at her, hoping that she didn’t regard him as big an idiot as everyone else did. Polly’s kindness overtook her sense of humor. She gave a wave and said; “See ya’ Rodney. Good luck.”
Rodney tried to walk slower than his mother to show that he had some say so, resulting in him being noticeably jerked. With a quick burst he said; “If dad was here he’d let me have some fun.”
“Fun? Fun? You call that fun? Why, I’d expect that at the very least .......... ” Her voice became completely unintelligible when the door slammed.
Polly and Prince looked to each other and neither had a simple comment or explanation. She said; “I think Rodney’s a friend,” and they walked on.
Presently out of puddles and therefore less excited Prince moved slowly. That is by his standards. Polly would describe his gait unknowingly in baseball terms; “He took a little off the fast ball.” She would also come to know that unlike her state-of-the-art stainless steel space heater Prince really had only two speeds; fast and stop, with the current pace being the best break her legs ever would have. He spotted a curious
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rabbit about fifty feet up an unfenced property and upped his tempo to the hilt pulling Polly. At the magic ten foot imaginary boundary she held the leash firmly and leaned away from him. Most properties being fenced this was the first time he had to stop due to some unseen line of demarcation. Polly tried a new command-request on him and said; “Not too far!”
holding him at the ten foot line. Prince thought this was either a mistake or that Polly was being unreasonable, so he pulled away while she pulled back. He was maddened, but still determined as he thought that he was stronger and if he remained persistent that he would get to meet the interesting bunny up close. He pulled and pulled, but all he succeeded in doing was establishing the beginning of a neck rash. This girl was a lot stronger than he previously thought and new tactics were in order.
She tried to steer him away and repeated; “Not too far!”
Prince reflected on the sound of her three short words. He associated the brevity with being resolute, though the tone was imploring, so he decided to growl and see if he could change the resolution. He looked in her eyes with menace on his mind, growled like he meant it and tried to pull away. As his neck got another dose of whiplash he heard; “NOT-TOO-FAR,” this time in no uncertain terms. He grumbled and sighed thinking he was owed an explanation that couldn’t possibly come. “If the rabbit
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can go there why can’t I?” He dragged his feet and grudgingly followed Polly. She petted his head and said; “You’re the best dog.” While he was proud of the contented display he would have been happier to have made closer contact with the privileged rabbit. He turned his head to take one last look and it appeared as though the wily rabbit stuck out his tongue at him.
Prince bristled, slowed down and made a noise that sounded like
“mmrrph” at the bold bunny who now was on his hind legs doing something with his front pair.
Polly suspected what he was thinking, but couldn’t come up with any way of assuaging his dismay. Fully expecting that it would mean nothing to him she said; “Invisible lines are drawn all over the place. I know where many are, but you’ll have to learn. It’s not that big a deal. Some people believe that they have something precious and everyone else wants to get it. How would you like it if anyone who felt like it could come in our back yard?” She thought that the dialogue was much too long, but it was the best she thought of. Prince agreed and looked at her as if she was a post-modern author lecturing on the inevitability of marginalization as if it were a recent phenomenon. She came up with another idea. She stopped and used the side of her sneaker to draw a line in the dirt. She said; “This is your side,” as she stepped to the other side.
Prince immediately followed her and she said; “No, no this is my
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side,” and ushered him back to his place, having to cross onto his side to do so. She saw that this had no shot at doing anything other than confusing him, as she went to his side and he went to hers when she returned to it.
She sighed heavily and considered the matter hopeless as Prince happily looked to her after violating the “boundary.”
She didn’t know that he was thinking; “My side is your side and that’s all there is to it.”
They silently “walked” until they saw Sandra and Felipe with their shaggy white Lab mix Rosalita. Like Prince she was leashed and also like Prince she furiously pulled at it attempting to meet a new friend as quickly as possible. Prince had a slightly different viewpoint; he considered the possibility of attack when he charged. Both dogs were stopped five feet from each other, though it wasn’t of their own volition. Felipe wrinkled his brow as he easily held back Rosalita and watched with concern how Polly was having trouble with Prince. He said; “Is that dog all right?”
Polly wasn’t sure what he meant and answered the question five different ways, saying; “He’s not sick. Not physically anyway. He’s a fighting dog. He’s all right with me. I don’t know if he’s all right with you.”
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Felipe shook his head, nervously watching Polly’s tenuous hold on Prince and rapid fire said; “No, that’s not what I mean.
Will he attack?”
Polly wished she could be more re-assuring, but said; “I really don’t know. I haven’t seen him with many dogs yet. He’s new.”
Sandra looked down at Felipe, unintentionally vibrated her full figured body when she shook her head and said; “Well, okay.
But maybe we ought to keep them apart.”
Felipe’s stature dictated that his eyelevel was at Sandra’s bosom, which he enjoyed in private, but felt exposed by in public. It reminded him of his pocket-sized stature, while at the same time touching a nerve or a gland or something. He thought it risky, but he was compelled to invite the inevitable.
Ignoring Sandra as best he could he looked to tiny Polly and countered with; “We should get this over with because this is going to happen again. Do you have a good hold on him?”
Polly wrapped the chain around her forearm and held Prince closely. She gave a mixed message as she mildly shook her head
“no,” but said; “Yep.”
Felipe momentarily turned to Sandra and said; “Do all you women talk alike?”
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Sandra raised her voice a few octaves and said; “Don’t you start up with me now.” She then smiled, patted his head and pulled his ponytail as if he were Prince.
Felipe let Rosalita inch forward. Her tail wagged and Prince quickly reproduced her behavior. They began sniffing each other all over, then settled face to face for a mutual
“window of the soul” study. As the dogs made cow eyes Felipe reached down and rubbed Prince’s back, saying; “Good boy, good boy.” As the experiment seemed successful all parties wore smiles. Felipe stood straight, again looked to Sandra and said;
“Smart dog. He knows to be careful around the ladies.”
Polly and Sandra weren’t sure what he meant if anything, but neither wanted to spoil the moment. They remained silent and content, thinking; “Yeah, you should be careful around the ladies,” for different reasons than Felipe joked of. Prince and Rosalita also chose to keep their thoughts to themselves.
Sandra said; “Many people around here are afraid of Rosalita because she runs right over to them.”
Polly kept her eye on Prince just to be sure that something wouldn’t go wrong and said; “I’m learning. I kind of expected that, but the way they do it is surprising me.”
Sandra replied; “I think I know what you mean. The funniest thing to me is that if I taught Rosalita to be aloof the same people who claim to be afraid of her now would come
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over to her and ask why she’s so anti-social. Some people are just born to complain.”
Felipe chimed in with; “They think that they appear superior, impeccably mannered, tasteful or discriminating when everyone else thinks they’re just something to be avoided. When they have something legitimate to complain about nobody listens.
Well, listen Polly. It was good meeting you and Prince. Next time we’ll let them run right at each other. I think they’re in love.” The couple walked away and Prince tried to follow.
“No, no, no, no, no,” Polly said softly as she held onto the leash with both hands. Rosalita looked back and Prince let out a small whimper and thought; “Polly, you’ve got to be kidding me on this one. That’s my woman.” He suspected that Polly was adamant in her decision and that Felipe and Sandra wanted to leave for some reason, so it would probably do him no good to try to break away. If successful the departure process would just be repeated, he might jeopardize his good relationship with Felipe and Sandra and therefore Rosalita and he would offend Polly. He thought that he’d like to put on a little show for Rosalita though, so he pranced side to side giving the appearance that he was desperately trying to get free, but at the same time caused no inconvenience for Polly.
She thought that she understood what he was doing and thought;
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“That’s a pretty complicated maneuver. Keep doing stuff like that and someday you’re going to get an IQ test.”
In a short time they were again at the fork in the road.
Prince stopped to see if Polly would indicate a preference and she did the same. This time he didn’t wait to see the song and dance routine and went down the straight path. He first saw smaller and older Southwestern houses in varying states of repair, some showing signs of current restoration work. No people or dogs were there to distract him and as a consequence he heard the slight wind rustle through the few trees and bushes blooming there. His puddle search was satisfied about half way down in one large spot in front of a corral inhabited by four burros. The pronounced gully holding the muddy water was so deep and generous that it must have been created by someone utilizing heavy machine tools to establish a drainage system.
He bolted for it and as a result of his speed he lost his footing and slid through half of it on his back, coming up appearing more like a chocolate lab than a Dalmatian. He shook off as much as he could, which worked reasonably well for his body, but was woefully insufficient for his head and eyes.
After his front paws re-established passable vision he saw that Polly and four burros were laughing uncontrollably. His first reaction was embarrassment primarily due to Polly’s reaction.
He didn’t care what four stupid burros thought, remembering that
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in some circles they were referred to as jackasses. He showed his defiance in barking at the burros, intending to convey; “You just wish you could do this you big jackass,” to which the burros made no understandable reply, continuing their laughter, either because they had no answer to his true statement or because their advanced sophistication suggested that they couldn’t possibly be seen talking to a mere dog.
Even though he had had his fill Prince again entered the puddle, this time at a slower pace and he looked sideways at the four arbiters of taste standing in their own dung. He brought down his front paws heavily in an attempt to splash some of the mud on the self-satisfied group living enclosed by a wire fence.
He wanted to get some on Polly, too, but was unable to reach anyone. The laughter continued but now it seemed strained as at a cocktail party with neighbors. He knew he didn’t have anything to lose as he was already covered with mud, so he did a belly flop in the puddle’s deepest spot, without having had the benefit of seeing the fat kid perform the same maneuver at the public pool. He managed to disperse about half the soft mud, some of it hitting the respectable ones and Polly.
Polly didn’t seem to care and continued her laughter, now at her own spotted condition, thinking that she must resemble a
“Liver” Dalmatian, one with brown spots. The burros turned their backs and made ear-splitting untranslatable “uh-uh-brak-
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brak-brak” sounds that must have some prayer-like significance in their world as they all seemed intent on saying it repetitiously, despite rudely cutting off other burros to do so.
Prince thought that the rear view he was now given resulted in a distinct improvement and chuckled as he watched the unwashed derrieres perform a “Shaker” ritual as if the Load was upon them while he slowly played in his puddle.
They heard a car disturb the nearby gravel. Mary Jane, the sixtyish owner of the huge two story adobe with multi-colored leaded glass windows on some of the upper floor and the puddles and the burros came out the petite front door and yelled; “Hey, that’s my puddle.” She didn’t show any evidence of having been in it recently, but Polly took the effervescent woman’s word and gave Prince a serious tug. Prince thought she was making a belated reaction to his splash, made a small growl and defiantly sat right there in the remainder of the wetness.
Polly saw the woman’s unzipped pink jacket with the broken yellow peace sign, half on each side and thought; “Uh, oh. Both are being absurd and I’m going to get caught in the middle.”
She didn’t relish being the voice of reason as she fancied herself playing that role much too often with her parents.
After all she was only ten years old and had plenty of time for rationalism later in life; much, much later.
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Mary Jane displayed her rolling gait and brushed back her waist length dirty blond hair, stared at Prince and either squinted a smile or had a reaction to the sun in her clear, unencumbered, naked eyes.
Prince suspected that there would soon be support troops for Polly’s endeavor and thought that he should give fair warning that he was not a dog to be trifled with. He made a discernible growl and heard the drums beat out their commanding cadence. He crouched, ready to pounce.
Polly saw his posture and wanted to avert the possible confrontation, so she said to Mary Jane; “Give him a chance. He doesn’t understand.” She again tried a tug, but Prince ignored it, his eyes focused on the approaching destroyer of fun.
Mary Jane said; “I’m just kidding. He can play in my puddle as long as he likes.” She bent over some and using a childish voice she added; “I just want to meet the dirtiest pretty boy. It’s a boy, right?”
Polly was visibly relieved, her body now depleted of starch. She said; “Yeah, that’s a boy all right. But, could you just hang back a little. He’s freaked.”
Mary Jane stopped and directed her conversation to Prince, saying; “I don’t want your silly puddle. I have a hot tub.”
Prince forgot the loudest of the drumbeats. He was encouraged, but not completely certain and he emitted a sound
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designed to convey both confidence and polite questioning, which sounded like a slightly high pitched “Aarroooo.” He cocked his head to one side and softened his gaze.
Polly said; “He’s getting there, but wait a little bit.”
In a blasé manner Mary Jane said; “I know. I’ve had plenty of dogs and those burros aren’t exactly easy to handle.” She shook her head slightly and spoke softly to Prince, saying; “Do you really think I want to touch your dirty little body?” She turned completely to Polly and added; “When they get like that the best thing is to ignore them. When did you get him?”
“Day before yesterday from the shelter. They said he was a fighting dog.”
“Most any dog will fight if you don’t give him any other option.”
Polly had a new perspective and her mind wandered to her short experience with Prince to see if that “truism” applied to him. She didn’t want to be contradictory, but it seemed to her that for Prince, fighting is often his first thought and not a backup plan. She just nodded affirmatively not wanting to make him sound “bad.”
“What’s his name?”
“Prince and I’m Polly.”
“Mary Jane.”
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Prince knew his name and that they were talking about him, but neither woman looked his way. He thought it necessary to join the conversation to clear up any possible misunderstandings. He slowly walked over and looked up at their faces.
Polly said; “He’s okay now. You want to pet him?”
“Not yet. Let him wait a bit more. It always works when you ignore them. Even succeeds on my husband.” She laughed and added; “Most of the time.”
Polly also laughed, genuinely amused and had an initial recollection that her mother often did that when Dad got persnickety. She filed the thought away for future reference.
Prince let out a whine and put his dirty paws on Polly’s pants, as if he wanted to climb to another level.
Polly held his paws and Mary Jane petted his head and said;
“All right. He’s waited long enough.” Polly put his paws back on the ground and Mary Jane spoke very babyishly to Prince as she stroked him all over, saying; “I knew you were a sweetheart.
Who are you trying to fool with that growling act? Who? Who?
Tell me who?”
Prince could tell that Mary Jane liked him and that was enough for him to feel good and completely forget the drums. He was still curious about what they were saying of him, but couldn’t find a way to ask.
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Mary Jane, still smiling and petting, said; “Does he think he’s the boss?”
Polly was already getting somewhat sensitive about the commentaries she had been receiving concerning her perceived lack of control over Prince, but she sensed that Mary Jane was a friend and didn’t want to make a surly answer. She calmly replied; “I’d like him to be able to do whatever he wants as long as it doesn’t hurt me. He’s really got the sweetest nature. The big idea about getting him was that my parent’s primarily want me to have something to protect me from the crazies, so even if I could train him to be docile, that’s not what we want.”
“Do you like it when he pulls you around and gets you muddy?”
Polly said; “He’s more co-operative than he appears to others and I really don’t mind. That’s why I wear clothes like this when we go walking.” She made a small giggle and pointed to her mud-spotted high water pants and tight, short sweatshirt.
“Don’t you mind when other people look at you as some kind of sucker for allowing his behavior?”
Polly quickly and boldly answered; “I don’t care what they think, if they think anything.” She immediately realized that she was lying, but offered no correction. She thought; “That would have been a truthful response just a few days ago, but the
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unsolicited opinions are already wearing on me. Am I supposed to curtail his behavior, at the same time making both of us less adventurous, to possibly satisfy people who I really don’t respect? Their commanding judgmental attitudes, in and of themselves, are enough for me not to value their views. I know that some people were born complainers and if it wasn’t Prince they’d be advising me about clothing, hair style and anything else their watchful eyes found worthy of derision.” She was at the crux of the developing problem. She wanted to exercise her inalienable American right to the pursuit of happiness and yet she didn’t want to be socially seen as something to be laughed at. It was a delicate balance, but right now if she was forced to choose one or the other she’d pick the simplicity of good old American freedom over a steadily creeping, invasive and insincere social order, realizing that it was much easier said than done.
Mary Jane said; “I’m rooting for you two, little girl.
They can make it hard.” The old hippy blinked her eyes a few times staring at Polly and got back into her vintage red, faded and rusted Volkswagen. She rolled up her gravel driveway and noticed the pine “White Rabbit” lawn ornament to her left was on his back again. She had righted him countless prior times and he was showing severe signs of wear from lying on the barren dirt. His erect standing posture was apparently a sin in the
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eyes of the brown, coarse haired, living rabbit which resided in the vicinity. She hesitated, considering the constant futility.
She looked back at Polly and Prince, then thought; “One more time.” She stopped the car, got out, zipped her jacket and put him back as he truly belonged.
Polly mumbled; “Bye, Mary Jane and thanks,” discernible only to Prince. His new friend now departed, Prince was ready to look for more and pulled an initially reflective and spacy Polly down the road, bringing her back to the reality of the moment. She had to move quickly or jerk Prince’s mud covered head.
No surprise to Polly, but a huge revelation to Prince was a paved crossing road, which he couldn’t see from the fork. He enthusiastically thought; “There is some diversity to this straight road!” and he pranced right into it, Polly right behind and careful not to run into the corner cholla cactus grove. He walked the center of the two way street eyeing the new houses.
This section was built only a year prior, around the time of Prince’s birth and now half were occupied and half empty with
“For Sale” signs in front. The street was empty though some newcomers surreptitiously peered from their windows in hopes that Prince would not squat on their property.
The builder made his work as simple as possible by clearing off everything that had grown on the land, which was once said
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to be an irrigated apple orchard and no one seemed to know for sure and only the rare trouble maker would say that it was subsequently used as an illegal medical waste dump. The norm in Corrales is that it is extremely tacky to say anything negative about the local real estate, as it is the single largest source of income in town. So, whether or not this development was the site of criminal doings was of no interest to the long term residents for both economic and social reasons and no interest to the current residents of the new area as it would decimate the value of their largest investment. The only people who had a real interest in knowing the truth had no way of finding it; the potential new buyers and the kids growing up in the area drinking well water; two non-voting groups who make no political contributions and consequently really don’t matter to the proper, socially and economically conscious townspeople. If such a matter were ever brought up in polite company it would be dismissed as speculative here say, jealousy or sheer stupidity which may well be the case. Most often the one to say such a ridiculous thing would be silently stared at before the others found some reason to excuse themselves, re-enforcing the local happy talk requirement.
The twenty house subdivision was originally marketed as
“custom” homes, though all the untrained naked eye could make of the claimed customization were the different colors of the
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stucco and two different entranceways; ten wide and deep; ten narrow and long. Initial landscaping efforts were in evidence with five foot sticks striving to become trees and small mounds of organic scrubs striving to become bushes. The two story houses were huge and appeared even bigger on the cleared land; perhaps the builder’s central point. Wooden stockade fencing, already showing signs of rot, broken boards and loose footings standardly marked three-quarters of the borders, surprising, in that if the builder was truthful (a stupid expectation) the material was new a year ago while its current appearance was more akin to something near ready to be too decrepit for a first rate, large city museum. The fronts differed where various types of gates were closed near the centers of wire “horse”
fencing, providing near perfect visibility of what the owners wanted to be seen. If any horses had actually ever been there they had already escaped, providing an undisturbed full frontal view of the titanic, high status, valuable houses.
Prince thought that there was something weird about the area that he couldn’t quite put his paw on and he now smelled something unpleasant. He sniffed the air as he moved, turning his head from side to side as he couldn’t focus on the stink.
It seemed to come from all directions, a new experience for him as up until now his olfactory senses had been able to pinpoint the source of odors which he would then proceed to investigate.
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“Ah,” he thought; “Only a year old and I already have to find a way to deal with the multiplicity of the new. I didn’t expect this until I was at least seven.”
He had a somewhat untraditional take on the gigantic Southwestern houses. An irreconcilable incongruity existed in their “newness” which concurrently copied the oldest style in America. They seemed as if they wanted to appear comfortably numb in their stoic unmarred facade when in his opinion they looked both lonely and completely exposed at the same time.
Considering his artistic and pop-psychological musings possibly mere privileged sophistry, which had no momentary purpose, he re-focused on his primary concern and thought; “Where is the cause of that stink?” He stopped and looked at Polly. He thought that after having sniffed the air curiously and then looking to her she would understand his question and try to answer it.
He was correct in thinking that Polly would understand his question, which was a no-brainer, but he was wrong in assuming that having understood it she would be able to answer. Polly wasn’t sure which stink he was referring to as she was able to discern four possible sources; the almost pleasant smell of cut wood still permeating from every open garage door, the light scent of singed plastic which seemed to have taken residence everywhere; the mixed general stench of sealants, glues, bug
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sprays and God knows what else emanating from the overflowing dumpsters sitting near each un-occupied house and likely to remain there until the builder sold the property and paid the local hauler; or the fantastically strong aroma of wildflowers growing on all boundaries of the development starting at the point where the bulldozing ended. But she unknowingly omitted at least one more possibility; cooking scents in every occupied house’s kitchen. Since she was unable to detect its ethereal presence it never became one of her considerations and she was unaware that Prince’s super snout could easily tell what people were heating up. Her nasal congestion didn’t matter to him as he had detected similar bouquets all over Camino De Lucia. He was very accustomed to the pleasant perfume and considered it a delightful, disorderly, voluptuous, syndromatic, condition temporarily out of their reach when outdoors, only easily attainable at home. Following her own interest and hoping it was shared she decided to bring him to the wildflowers.
She nodded “Yes” to him and confidently led him to an area of five one acre lots the builder could not financially handle and convert at the back of the development, thick with apple and elm trees. And wildflowers!!! They were primarily early blooming Blackfoot Daisies displaying inch long white rayed flowers with a yellow center and a rounded mound. Initially reluctant to follow as Polly seemed to be leading him away from
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the houses he thought the most likely cause of the stink, he was glad he trusted her when they got to the daisies. They weren’t the source of the foulness he had detected, but he liked them so much he forgot the past. He followed his own interest strongly suspecting it was also hers and happily sniffed, ate and rolled in the present; a thick, natural flower garden. Polly sat and watched him play, supporting herself with her left hand on a mature elm as a warm southerly breeze confirmed the existence of spring.
They lost track of time until the natural sundial’s long shadows told her it was getting ready to go off duty. They were somewhere between a half and a full mile from home, depending on route. Polly was not interested in being out on the un-illuminated streets after dark, especially those which stank.
How could she be sure that a green slime vampire wouldn’t emerge from a dumpster? She tugged Prince and said; “Come on. Time to go.”
Prince felt as if he had just gotten there and he was certainly not through yet. He merely ignored her tug.
Polly was disappointed at his reaction as she thought that even a dog was capable of telling when the night was near.
He could tell, but it made no difference to him.
Polly tugged harder and loudly said; “Come on already.”
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Prince growled, but the drumbeat was as mild as that on a Connie Francis record and the red vision was more like an apple which sat in a kitchen table basket for two weeks.
Undeterred by the tiny roar she again tugged, this time pleadingly saying; “Prince, we have to go home.”
Prince recognized the tone and had he the ability to speak would have said; “You know, it takes longer when you rush me.
It’s not that I’m purposely being un-cooperative, but that’s the way it works.” Being tongue-tied he just made a sound something like; “Ggrrmmggrrmmggrrmm.”
Polly relaxed and said; “Okay, but when the green slime vampire comes out you have to bite it.”
Prince detected her compliant relaxation and knew that she had said something to do with biting. So, he too re-relaxed breathing in the plentiful flowers. Soon he got up and ran home the long way, pulling a happy Polly, who almost kept up and only reluctantly held him back of necessity. Showing what was to become a pattern, Prince wanted to go back home on a different route than he had come out of it and went through the woods, down a lightly trafficked Corrales Road and made a left onto the straight part of Camino De Lucia.
Onlookers, some walking the street laughed at the sight, some genuinely amused to see Polly’s arms outstretched, dirty blonde hair pulled back as if in a gale, wearing mud spotted
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high waters and a sweatshirt that revealed her belly as she ran, asking a tongue unruly Prince to go; “Slow, slow,” which he only obeyed when his collar abruptly tightened, again resuming full speed when Polly caught up. People called out various things to them which the duo could not make out and Polly would just say an out-of-breath “Hello, hello” to them, not wanting to be branded as anti-social when it might be avoided with minimal effort. She knew that not saying hello was more than a venial sin in Corrales, slightly below hitting someone with a stick.
Most of the people were saying something to the tune of; “Hey, watch it,” or “Stop,” but that didn’t matter as the rapid traveler’s main concern was that the obstacles didn’t make an irrational move. Prince and Polly would anticipate their logical movements and quickly adjust their path to avoid a collision. Not even being aware of the possible brands Prince could care less about the likely perceptions and was most concerned with dodging people and negotiating turns, the latter accomplished with a calculated slide which gave the impression of being random.
They made it down the driveway, through the garage, through the triangular room and into the sunset back yard. Polly removed the chain and sat, seemingly unable to take one more step now that no more were necessary. Prince also sat, leaning against her leg. After she got some of her breath back she
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said; “If we do this every day I’m going to go out for the next Olympic trials as a miler.”
Prince knew she was saying something about having had extended herself to the limit. He licked her face and thought;
“I really wish I could tell you this, as you did just great. I didn’t expect to make the whole trip non-stop and was willing to break if you insisted on a stop. It’s amazing what people and dogs can do if given a little push.” He smiled at her recalling his own not so distant days of being given strong incentives to fight, thinking that now there was something better to not fight for.
Her recovery process took less than a Pop Singles radio station song. She showed him her index finger, indicating that she would be back shortly and went inside.
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