This tired Mastiff and Otto have a lie down on the backyard blanket. Chihuahua Lola wants to know why she and her bloodhound brother Otto are the same color, what with their coming from different breeds. My head aches from her barrage of questions causing my thoughts to drift to Bella walking in an easy manner across the dog park. Looking closer I can see the sadness in her eyes. She remembers the man who ruined her beauty with a shotgun. I hear her sweet voice saying, “I’m sorry, Bernard.” I can feel the ducklings settle themselves in my neck ruffles where the heat warms their bodies in the cool evening air. I send a sweet message to my girl and say, “Someday soon.”
I’m not a dog who can hold a grudge so her talking mean to me when calling me a milkmaid slipped from my mind along with the cruelty of being belittled by the one you love. Most dogs are unable to hold a grudge due to a fluke of nature causing them to be in a blissful state most of the time except when at the mercy of meanness triggering them to suffer more from disillusionment than any emotion that would hurt a human, especially the one they gave their love to and forgot to take back during a scuffle of words and other brutalities. I heard a lot of stories on the dog grapevine from hard-done-by dogs, but Bella being shot and spending her days thinking she’s less than beautiful causes my heart to hang heavy.
My Kahu hollers from the backdoor, “Bernard, bring your friends to the dinner table for some pie.” Lola’s fast for a wee thing and hustles through Otto’s legs before he’s finished yawning from a full stomach and bone-idle contentment. I roll the twins in the grass and press on their bladders to make sure they’re empty before letting them loose inside the house. It’s a trick I learned from necessity. They trot along beside me peeping with glee forgetting they nearly gave their Dad a heart attack when thinking it a bright idea to climb the trellis with flat feet.
After chowing down on dessert and walking in the dusk to Larry’s Harley, Otto and I sidle next to each other and give a manly bump of camaraderie similar to a handshake. “Thanks, Dawg. That Larry make a fine Kahu like yourn. I owe yer my life and loyalty, Dawg.” A tear rolls down the sniffer’s jowl when Larry shows him a special collar engraved with his name and new phone number. He gently slips it around his neck and buckles Otto in the sidecar along with Lola who still wonders why they look alike.