Whistle Stop - Not!

I have an almost 16-year-old deaf English setter, Chase.  Joining him is the 12-year-old dachshund, Charlie, with arthritis in all four legs who cannot run, but he can hear perfectly fine.  Completing my dog pack is the 9-year-old itchy English Shepherd, Abby, with a t-shirt who must be on a leash because she can still run...and hear.

We have a routine.  In the afternoon when I return home, we all end up in the front yard for the dogs to do their business and stretch their legs.  They might acknowledge other neighbors who walk by with their dogs.  They might bark.  Charlie might hobble in their direction for a few inches.  But the one day when I lose my voice:  Charlie charges up the driveway after a neighbor walking her black lab puppy.  I can't yell.  I can't catch up because I wasn't prepared for this miracle.  I can whistle.  Yes ,I can still whistle!  I whistle.  The lab turns and looks at me.  Charlie continues his charge.  He refuses to make eye contact.  I whistle again.  He runs into the street.  I drag Abby who has just perfected "the squat" and she leaves deep ruts in the front lawn as she protests her unfinished business.  The neighbor praises her well-behaved puppy and tries to have a conversation with me.  Apparently there is no universal sign for "I've lost my voice" as I clutch at my throat before realizing that this is the sign for choking.  I give a feeble wave and attempt to pick up Charlie but he scampers away and heads for the back door.  I push Charlie and Abby through the gate and realize that Chase has ended up at the front door.  I need an out of order sign for me and hope that I find my voice very soon.

When One Door Closes Another One Opens

Ogden Nash once said, "A door is what a dog is perpetually on the wrong side of."  For me this became what I was perpetually on the wrong side of.  

One evening, I left my office in a rush and also left my house key behind.  I was an hour away, sitting in a Wal-Mart parking lot when I realized my dilemma.  I called the Englishman who was working out of town.  I had two options according to him:  drive a two hour round trip at 9 o'clock at night to retrieve my keys or see if one of the windows in the house was open.  I tried the windows first with no luck and then I proceeded to my own plan:  the dog door.

During one of the renovations, we added a dog door.  We were dubious that Chase could fit through it even though the door was supposedly the largest size.  He had no problems with the door but I wasn't so sure that I could fit through it.  Abby exited the door and stared at me, hopeful for a treat.  I removed my coat and placed my cell phone through the door and inside the house.  I really hoped that I wouldn't get stuck and need to call 911.  I lay on my side and stretched my bottom arm through the narrow opening and launched myself inside with my other arm.  I was halfway in and wished my arm was three feet longer so I could reach the door knob.  I was suddenly attacked by wet dog kisses on my face and Abby was on the outside trying to force herself into the opening with me.  Quickly, I flipped on my back and gracefully pushed myself along the tile floor like a back stroke Olympian.  I was inside!  Proud of myself, albeit a bit bruised, I called the Englishman and told him of my success.  I vowed to hide a key outside the house but procrastination is my middle name.

Weeks later, I returned my rental car to a dealership that was an hour away and left the key to my house on the ring.  I didn't want to tell the Englishman or anyone.  I didn't even want the dogs to know but they figured something was up when once again, I used their door instead of mine.

Beauty and the Beast

I took Abby on our typical walk while it was still light outside.  She wore her hot pink American Apparel hoodie that had a rip in the sleeve and I was too lazy to put a different one on her for the sake of appearances.  I grabbed two doggy bags for the journey.  Several feet from our front door, Abby squatted to do her business and I figured that I would pick it up later.  We made it to the sidewalk and on the border of our property and the neighbor's, she squatted once more.  This time, I dutifully picked it up.  Since our walk had just begun, I didn't want to carry the bag with me.  I eyed my mailbox and dragged Abby toward it, hiding the bag in the tall weeds on the back side of the post.  I turned around to continue the walk and was met with resistance:  Abby was once more in the squatting position.  I had no idea how one slender dog could store so much poo inside.  Not risking the chance of a fourth maneuver, I decided to handle it later and dragged her down the walkway toward the library.  There were cars in the parking lot but no one was outside as we walked by the front doors.  At the tennis courts, I could discern the out of town accents from the players on the courts as they took in the beautiful Spring weather.  We returned to the library which is where I saw him.  

This wasn't the first time I noticed the glorious specimen of a male.  On many evenings as I walked around town with Abby, we passed each other on opposite sides of the street, never once meeting.  Oh, he was 100% English of this I was certain. He was black with a beautiful thick white mane and a perfectly centered white streak from his head to his nose. What a glorious English Shepherd and he sat rigid and obedient next to his owner on the library bench.  He refused to make eye contact with us.  Abby pined for him, pulled toward him.  I tried to use the bushes as camouflage and avoid all contact but she protested with loud whines.  I heaved forward dragging my country dog with the off center white stripe, raggedy pink hoodie hiding her itchy spots and thin coat that was slowly growing back.  I struggled with my Pretty Woman while the Richard Gere of dogs ignored her.  She was my Molly Ringwald in Pretty in Pink.  The dog from the wrong side of the tracks who was drawn to the posh stud from the right family. "Oh look at that dog!" shouted a group across the street.  They pointed to the Lion King who seemed to sit just a tiny bit taller.  "And there's another one!" cried another person and pointed to Abby as I pulled her down the street.  

My cheeks felt hot and were probably the same color as her hoodie.  I retrieved my hidden treasure bag from the mail box, took care of the piles left behind by Abby and immediately ordered another hoodie from American Apparel in hot pink.  I had one article of clothing that was about to be retired. The next time we met, Oh Beautiful One, Abby would be the Beauty and not the Beast.

Deaf But Not Dumb

For a dog born with fantastic hearing, Chase did not take his hearing loss with grace.  By the time we noticed the loss, it was mostly gone.  The high pitched dog whistle did not help, yelling louder did nothing and eventually I was grateful for the extensive dog training that he had gone through when he was a puppy which combined hand signals with voice commands.  

At first, Chase was quite distressed by the change in hearing.  He would snooze in the kitchen while I cooked, the smells of our Blue Apron meal gently lulling him.  If I left the room, he would bark until I returned and invited him to follow with a quick hand motion.  He would easily startle, especially if he did not see someone approach him.  He would see the other dogs bark at the front door and join in, often barking in the wrong direction.  It took months, maybe even a year, but we finally worked out a routine.  

Our dog sitter was also hearing impaired and when we first met her, she asked for a demonstration of the hand commands that Chase understood.  We felt relieved to find a dog person that had a deeper understanding of a lack of hearing.

I think Chase could read lips.  He certainly understood when I said "No" which was more often than I would prefer.  I also believed he could "hear himself" in his own head.  He didn't whine lowly anymore working himself louder and louder.  He instead started with a loud bark that only increased in volume and intensity.  I couldn't tell him to use his inside voice any longer but he did understand the "palm up" in his direction. 

My favorite time of day was when I returned home after work.  Abby greeted me at the deck gate and Charlie was close behind.  They could hear my car as it entered the neighborhood, perhaps even further away.  Chase, however, slumbered away in his crate that had a custom memory foam mattress.  I left the kitchen door open and waited for the smell of fresh air to drift into the house to wake him gently. He was just as stubborn without hearing as he was when he had it.  If he didn't want to obey, he refused to make eye contact with me.  In his mind, no hand signal, no need to comply.  Just like the old days.

Cautionary Tails and Tales

It was dark when I decided to take Abby for her walk.  This presented challenges as I only had two pockets in my jacket.  I needed several dog bags because Abby was legendary for the "triple play" bowel movement and I had no intentions of repeating the "pretend to clean up after her" move.  I also wanted to carry my cell phone and a flashlight.  We set off, unsuccessfully sneaking out of the house while Chase and Charlie protested loudly at the front windows.  

Abby walked obediently beside me with just the occasional light tug to sniff a few spots along the way.  I eyed her hoodie and wondered if she would allow me to shove a few dog bags into the pocket on the back of it.  We followed our normal route:  Down the sidewalk, across the street, through the library parking lot, across the front of the library and out the side of that parking lot.  Before I crossed the next street I eyed the tennis courts which was my typical path, or the small wooded path and picnic area which was usually reserved for last, after I circled the courts.  

I opted to go through the woods first, crossing the aging wooden bridge because I could see a lot of people playing tennis on the well-lit courts and I reasoned that they could help should I scream.  You know, from any murderers lurking behind the trees.  Or in the bathrooms...I picked up our pace and decided a nice jog was in order.  Abby and I were through the woods, over the bridge and past the bathrooms in record time.  Slowing the pace, I walked around the tennis courts and tried to interest Abby in a stray yellow ball.  While this was Charlie's favorite activity, Abby seemed unimpressed.  

Ball abandoned, we headed up the sidewalk-less street and into the side of the library parking lot.  As I reached the first sidewalk, an older SUV careened into the empty lot and parked at an angle next to a utility building.  I could see the face of a small child peering out the passenger seat window.  A couple of people jumped out of the vehicle.  Abby tensed and planted her four paws on the sidewalk, pulling back from me and staring at them.  I was sure they were up to no good.  Maybe getting rid of a body?  I needed to reach the front of the library where I knew there was a security camera.  I dragged Abby who was now growling.  It took some effort:  lunge and drag, chastise the dog, repeat.  Finally I was in front of the camera.  Good.  The moment was documented, just in case.  I managed to pull Abby across the street to the opposite sidewalk.  I heard car doors slam and the vehicle quickly left, driving in the opposite direction.  Relieved, I allowed Abby to stare at the red taillights until they disappeared from view.  We headed back to the house where Chase and Charlie waited on the deck to protest as soon as we were spotted.  Safely back in the house I vowed to cut back on the true-crime podcasts as I passed out treats to my three-pack.

Keeping up with the Neighbor?

It was cold for Georgia.  Bitterly cold.  I had just enough daylight to take Abby for a walk.  She greeted me at the front door and I quickly shoved a couple of bags into my pockets and attached the leash to her collar, hoping that the other dogs wouldn't notice.  No such luck.  I looked down to see Charlie at my feet.  I shoved him into his Sherpa coat and found his leash.  Chase hadn't woken and I pushed both out the door.  

Abby and Charlie froze on the pathway.  The cold penetrated their paws.  Undaunted I pulled both across the front lawn, grass crunching beneath my boots.  Charlie sat down refusing to budge.  I looked back at the front windows.  Chase still hadn't realized we were outside and I wanted to keep it that way.  Three dogs were difficult to walk on my own.  I plucked Charlie from the grass and tucked him under my left arm like a football.  I yanked Abby's leash and managed to set the pace as we reached the sidewalk.  I was determined to walk these dogs, even if that meant carrying a twenty-pound oversized dachshund the entire trip.

Three doors down I saw the male occupant of the house poking around the trunk of his car.  Holding back my first thoughts that he had a body in it, I quickened my pace and avoided eye contact.  I hadn't seen his wife in a while, after all.  Reflexively I did a side eye in his direction.  He was no longer in the trunk.  He was now leaned against it and wantonly stared at me.  To be fair, all three of us were dressed in a cacophony of colors.  I was in a burgundy plaid wool jacket with bits of my pink puffy vest visible, Abby was in a bright blue American Apparel retro hoodie and Charlie's beige Sherpa coat oozed out from under my arm like rising bread dough.  I practiced speed walking until I was at the end of the street and out of view.  

I was mildly annoyed.  No other neighbor was outside on this blustery winter day and serial killers really ought to clean out their trunks after midnight under the cover of darkness.  I crossed the street to the library and Charlie kicked me, the signal that he was willing to walk on his own.  We did the usual walk but cut it short and returned to the neighborhood on the opposite side of the street.  I hoped the neighbor had retreated to the comfort of his own home.  No such luck.  Not only was he in his front yard, he had one pint sized Bichon Frise tucked under his left arm, clearly copying my earlier style, and was tossing a ball to his other Bichon Frise.  I was surprised because I thought that this was a one-dog household.  Both sets of canine eyes followed our sidewalk movements and the neighbor paused the ball tossing.  Charlie and Abby watched the neighbor as I led them briskly away.

Charlie and Abby were eager to return to the house and I was equally happy to be inside, doors locked and safe from any neighbor who was trying to keep up with the canines from three doors down.

Up in the Tree Tops

The Tree Top Walkway at Kew Gardens sounded beautiful.  The Englishman and I were in the gardens for the entire day and I was determined to find it.  This took a lot of effort because even with the map of the expansive Victorian gardens, I seemed to be the one navigating.  Map reader I am not. Directionally challenged to perfection, unable to distinguish left from right unless I form an "L" with my left hand, I still clutched the map with no assistance from the Englishman.  

Eventually we stumbled upon the rusted steel structure.  After climbing 118 stairs, I gingerly stood upon the platform and looked down through the holes in the flooring.  The Englishman bounced ahead, pointing out birds, flora and fauna in the tree tops.  I followed carefully behind him, feeling a bit ill and counting the missing rivets in the pathway.  It was a long way down.  The metal was really rusty. I was unimpressed with the "rustic" description in my guide book.  The Englishman turned around and watched as I cautiously stood on the metal frame between two panels.  I tapped the tip of my shoe on the panel in front, testing it's stability.  The Englishman laughed and hopped like a rabbit over the next several panels.  I could feel the structure sway.  "Where is the inspection plate?" I asked him.  "Aren't they required to have one?"  I was too far to turn around so I had no choice but to proceed forward.  I weighed the option of running or crawling and decided to stick with my toe tapping method to ensure that each panel was safe to stand on.  I didn't take a single picture.  I didn't dare.

We finally reached the stairs and elevator.  I opted for the elevator and quickly stepped inside the enclosed chamber. The Englishman asked me why I bothered to climb all the way to the top to bird watch when all I did was look down? I responded with my own question, "Where is the safety inspection plate in the elevator?".  There wasn't one.  The Englishman sighed and the elevator jerked and swayed as it slowly creeped down.  I was grateful when we reached the bottom and I realized that I didn't need to have my head in the clouds.  I simply appreciated being grounded.