Prince by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview
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Chapter 15
The summer heat gradually but consistently built up in Corrales, by June registering daily highs above 100 degrees, ten more than usual, which prompted many people to be more convinced that global warming was a reality. Lack of rain and the frying desert floor impeded all but the hardiest of plants not privy to a watering system. One result of this was that people walking or driving through town felt as if they were in some sort of an unreal amusement park as one spot would look parched and brown, while its neighbor appeared to be an oasis. The consistency of this lack of continuity became so commonplace to the travelers that they soon took it for granted that this was the way that things are, should be and so what? That was the common take on the situation until a series of possibly set brush fires broke out on parched properties and spread to the well-tended oases.
They were minor in scope, helped by vigilant oasis denizens armed with handy hoses and the paucity of burnable material.
Some unsavory loners lacking proof suggested that the fires were started by the Fire Department in an effort to elevate their volunteer status to a paying job. While this wasn’t a topic of conversation in polite company an “unbiased” study performed by a University of New Mexico graduate math student, using Fire Department records, found a direct relationship between the
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number of fires and the number of Fire Department “volunteers”
over the prior ten year period. The Fire Department severely criticized the findings and methodology, but complete refutation was not possible due to record destruction at headquarters, the result of a fire of undetermined origin.
Prince was an intuitive smoke detector, his sensitive nose capable of locating a lit Virginia Slim from a half mile and as a result a few morning Bosque excursions were deferred by his demand to find the source of the Camino De Lucia stink. Polly didn’t want to oblige him, desirous of getting to the wild Bosque as soon as possible. But, since he was compelled, she only had two choices; both bad. She could try to pull him to the grassy path, in which case he would sit, thereby maximizing time in the development, or she could give in to his wishes, go to the smoke source and hope he quickly tired of it. One bright, hot June morning she followed the latter option and he excitedly ran to the smelly miniature conflagration. The good news was that it was already out, doused by the hose proficient oasis neighbor, when they got there, but it was still smoldering. The bad news was that about half Camino De Lucia’s residents were already there, many giving Mr. Hose instruction as to how he might have done things better.
Possibly because the most insightful of the instructors realized that there was little further point in telling someone
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how to do something they had already successfully done, their attentions were drawn to Prince extending the capabilities of the little girl haphazardly running behind him. As Prince bounded through the crowd attempting to get better views of the foul circumstances, Polly was subjected to the self-appointed professors’ attention and heard remarks of; “That dog walkin’
you?” “You should have him trained,” “Who’s in charge?” “You shouldn’t put up with that,” “I know a good trainer,” and even one “Disgusting.” The remarks were accompanied by laughs of derision; provided by the witty speakers. Polly started to really freak out as she was being subjected to her growing sensitivity to unsolicited public opinion in stereo, in quadrophonic sound, in octagonal dimensions and she wasn’t getting paid like a rock and roll star. “Very, very unfair,”
she thought. The zombie faces merged, blended and twisted as if she had inhaled too much laughing gas and all she wanted to do was get out of there before the boa constrictors climbed to her neck. Cell phones flashed like switchblades, only they were held in front of the contorted zombie faces. This was a horror movie no one else saw, as they considered it their version of everyday reality. She thought of telling Prince to bite everyone, as that would no doubt put an end to the vocalized value judgments, redundancy and oft spoken “humor,” but decided against it because it would also cause tons of trouble,
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especially for Prince. She kept trying to pull him away, but he didn’t want to leave until the stench was completely gone. She accompanied her yanks with screams of; “Let’s get out of here, Prince,” which didn’t move him and he gave her warning growls.
After a few desperate tugs and screams he came to see that something was bothering her terribly and without full understanding went in her direction. She ran, surprising the entertainment hungry crowd with her ability to take the lead.
Her thoughts were only of escape and privacy and she didn’t stop running until they passed through the grassy path leading to the Bosque. Out of breath she stopped and looked back to see if she was still in the range of the cell phone photography club. Not seeing anything other than cottonwoods and houses now insignificant in the distance she sat down.
Prince thought; “That’s what I’m supposed to do.” He didn’t precisely know what was wrong, but was adequately perceptive to surmise that it involved the noisy human crowd.
He knew it was serious as when she cuddled and petted him, he could feel her body and hands uncontrollably shaking. He sat with her listening to the light sporadic breeze play hymns through the leaves, melodically accented by tiny warbles until the morning sun warmed her bones and the solitude freed her mind.
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She stood up and snorted a laugh. She looked into Prince’s worried eyes and said; “I’m a nut, aren’t I?” He maintained his stare, though his look changed to one of curiosity, cocking his tongue accented face to one side. She said; “Come on. You can tell me. I won’t be mad. I trust your judgment completely.
Well, almost completely.” She laughed and quickly realized that her fondness for her own jokes mimicked that of those for which she had no respect, so to differentiate herself she kissed his nose and rubbed under his chin. She started walking and Prince stayed at her side, still not sure that she had recovered. He forfeited his customary ditch dunks and crossed the iron bridge dry and tentatively; even more so than the humor attempts of an intellectual, post-modern, conforming and best-selling author.
Almost reaching the levee Polly led Prince to the clear ditch and insisted that he go in. She firmly said; “Get in there. I know you want to and I won’t be treated as an invalid.” Prince really wanted to get to the deepest part of the softly flowing water, but didn’t want to risk upsetting Polly. He looked to her and made a sound approximating a lilting; “Aroo.” She raised her voice and said; “Do it already,” tugging his leash toward the moisture. He thought;
“All right, all right. Gee,” and scampered down the brushy bank, pulling Polly, who slid down on her butt and got her legs into the stream the same time he did. Prince thought; “Uh, oh,”
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but Polly started laughing as if she were possessed. He drank and waded until he was thoroughly saturated.
He was ready to exit and looked to her for approval. She nodded “Yes” slowly, displaying half-closed eyes. He pulled her up the bank and ran over the levee, Polly yelling; “We’re crazy.
We’re both crazy. And we don’t care,” improvising words to the tune of an ancient Sex Pistols’ classic.
Polly didn’t care which direction he went; north, south, east and west were all fine with her as she expected that no matter the direction, they would soon meet someone with an agenda that nobody else bothered to pay attention to. They were magnets for every nut within ten miles, so the best thing they could do was agree with whatever stupidity they heard, counter with something even more absurd and laugh at the show.
Previously Polly had an aversion to laughing at misfortune (black humor), but now thought; “Why not? It’s us or them and we didn’t start it.”
Prince took the southeastern trail by the river and Polly shadowed on the thin path, hoping she would soon see a nut with advice. She was in the perfect mood for it. After a few hundred feet they were in the umbrella-coyote lady’s domain and she quickly made her presence known. From a fifty foot distance Polly saw the hurrying woman and called out; “Good morning. Hi.
I didn’t get your name last time.”
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Umbrella was mumbling something indecipherable and seemingly incessantly. She didn’t look toward Polly and Prince as she quickly moved, waving her arms around as if she were a candidate for a strait jacket and sequestering in a padded room.
Polly said; “How very rude.” She turned to Prince and said; “See how arbitrary they are. When you want to talk to them they ignore you.” Her own words struck her. She thought;
“Maybe that’s it. Pretend you want to see them and then they’ll leave you alone.” She again called to a rapidly disappearing umbrella; “Hey, I said good morning. Don’t you have any manners whatsoever? ......... Nut.”
Umbrella turned back to them and Polly got scared because of the last word. She didn’t want to be turned into a toad or be subjected to whatever else this one could do and she wanted the same for Prince. Polly stepped toward her and said; “Sorry.
Joking. I got in a silly mood today.”
Umbrella looked at the duo with a start, apparently just noticing them for the first time. She exhaled heavily and said;
“Oh, great. Just what I was conjuring up.”
Polly said; “You conjured us?”
Umbrella’s arms stopped waving and in an authoritative headmistress’ voice said; “Yes, of course. Why else are you here? Don’t ask silly questions. There isn’t much time.”
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Polly recalled her recent determination to out-absurd the nuts and laugh, but she saw that in reality, or unreality, whatever this is, that was much easier said than done.
Umbrella patted Prince’s head, which he almost tolerated, making the slightest of growls and turning his head to the side.
She said; “Good man. Good and ornery.” She directed the next communication to Polly and said; “Here’s the problem. Somebody dumped a big, white, long-haired, malamute mix here and he is trying to take over the place. The coyotes might be able to take him out, but a number will get hurt or killed in the effort. He’s three times their size and I’m afraid Whitey will start to pick off the males.”
The brush rumbled before any more words could be said.
Whitey was fifty feet away, glaring at Prince and slamming his paws into the ground. Polly saw no other choice. It wasn’t a matter of merely acquiescing to Umbrella’s request, as even were she not there this dog wanted to fight Prince, so she detached his chain and worried.
Prince saw the defiant and threatening look on the huge dog and the next thing he saw was red, red and red accompanied by a pounding bass drum. Prince thought; “Who is this amateur to act so tough? You’re a puffed up, inexperienced, domesticated mutt.
You’ll soon find out what you’re messing with,” and he charged.
Not having been stood up to previously Whitey’s confidence level
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dropped a few notches and rather than directly attacking tried to side step the attack. Prince had anticipated this from an inexperienced fighter and sunk his fangs deeply into the side and back of the unprotected neck left easily available to him.
He lifted his paws off the ground, pulled down and just held on until Whitey fell and then a bit later stopped moving. He let the limp body go, sneered at it and thought; “This was the easiest fight I’ve ever had.” He walked back to Polly somewhat proud, but also feeling somewhat unproven, feeling as if Michael Jordan would if he had just beaten an eight year old one on one.
His head bounced from side to side as he trotted back to Polly, feeling unnecessarily guilty as he licked the blood from his nose and mouth.
Umbrella said; “Wow!”
Polly said; “Wow!” and re-hooked his chain.
“He’s a hero. He’s a hero to my coyotes, too. They were afraid of that big thing.”
The two women kneeled and stroked him in seeming disbelief of what they had just eye witnessed.
Prince relaxed and thought; “I like the strokes, but it wasn’t that big a deal. Really.”
Umbrella stood and said; “I’m going to try something.” She put two pinkies in the sides of her mouth and blew out air, producing a sound only Prince heard. He alertly looked up at
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Umbrella and behind her he saw seven skinny, black and tan coyotes, half his size, emerge from wherever they were hiding.
Umbrella said; “Do you think he can behave himself?”
Polly held the leash firmly and said; “I don’t know.”
Prince watched the seven very slowly step in his direction.
His first thought was that here was the main event and they’re going to gang up on me. He looked to Polly and made a noise like; “Whrrmpf,” wanting to say; “Get this leash off of me!” A multi-toned red drum kit played wild modern improvisational jazz and he whined to Polly to let him loose.
Polly said; “You better send them back.”
The coyotes took another step and were only fifteen feet away. Prince had to do something right now and step one was that, in an effort to get free, he bit Polly’s hand in blind desperation. She screamed, but held onto the leash. Umbrella made some high pitched sound and waved her arms across her chest numerous times. The coyotes stopped and turned back, at which point Prince understood that they were merely trying to thank their champion and he felt horrible that he had again bitten Polly. He licked at her hand, but she withheld it from him, putting it in her own mouth. With an angered tone, Polly said;
“Sometimes you’re so great and sometimes you’re the dumbest dog on earth.” He knew he deserved a smack in the head or worse, so
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he whined and licked her feet as if to say; “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’ll never do that again.”
Umbrella forgave him, rubbed his head and said; “Maybe someday.”
Polly was not yet in a forgiving mood as she tasted her own blood. She stared at the sheepish dog and said; “That’s twice and it’s no joke.”
Prince’s eyes pleaded sorrowful apologies and he wished that she would hit him and thereby there would be some sense of parity in his mind.
She glowered and he made love eyes.
Umbrella tried to break the impasse by saying; “Try and understand, Polly. He just got through a fight to the death which you allowed and then he thought he was getting into another one, which you hampered.”
“He wasn’t getting into another one!”
“You and I knew that. But, he didn’t.”
Polly’s face softened some and she gave her tail wagging puppy a rough rubbing on his back and ended on his head, grabbing his snout.
Umbrella said; “You two need some time together alone.
Take him for a long walk and if anyone bothers you I’ll turn them into a sickly toad.” She walked into a heavily wooded area
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with seven happy-seeming coyotes at her sides and disappeared into the shade.
Polly led Prince toward the river and he kept one step behind. She noted his unusual position and thought that it was appropriate under the circumstances. But after a few hundred feet of well-worn path alongside the Rio Grande she was bored.
She was accustomed to watching his movements, trying to anticipate the next one and watching for broken tree limbs and other obstacles on the ground. Watching the river’s lulling repetition was fine for short spells, but she wanted something to demand her attention for the long run or else she might sleep through it. She stopped and kneeled beside Prince who immediately started licking her face. She put her still bleeding hand in his face and said; “Lick that, you little devil.”
Prince did what was instinctive for him and Polly put an arm around his neck and said; “You’re forgiven.” She stood up and leash-led him to the front, saying; “Now, make this an interesting trip.”
Prince got the idea and proceeded to take her through areas with no trails. Polly was soon merrily yelling; “Slow, slow,”
as if she really meant it.
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Dad received little open support for his ideas, which became popularly known as the “Love Your Bank” program, but took some encouragement from a Marketing Department program which initiated a sign and name change. What was formerly known as the First National Trust now displayed overhead placards saying
“Firstrust” with three red hearts at the beginnings and ends of the words. He had seen children in cars pointing and laughing.
He hoped that the signs proved to attract deposits as well as attention. Perhaps even more significantly he was happy to have had his annual review, during which the words fire, move on and dismissal were not part of the dialogue.
Mom was pleased that she was able to get a Financial Analyst job with Intel, possibly the only employer in the vicinity to utilize such esotericism. Her only concern developed when the mask change dictated forced her to abandon her feigned smile and adopt a feigned look of deep concern.
Instead of worrying that her face would freeze into a Bozo look, she now worried that the required, uniform, PBS news anchor, need-to-take-a-good-dump countenance might scare Polly and other children; maybe even Dad, but that could be amusing.
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