Monday, June 21, 2004

A Dog's Day Of Summer

It's the first full day of summer and the season is off to an unusual start.

I opened the back door following my mid day nap and all three dogs came racing in. That is not uncommon - it's not like they only now discovered air conditioning - but our special needs dog Winston was acting a bit odd-albeit that is not an easy call to make.

I was in the kitchen making a small bag of popcorn. While our other two dogs were eying me hopefully, Winston went off on his own. This is not unusual either, since we long ago determined that everyday Winston apparently forgets almost everything, so every day every thing in the house is essentially a new experience.

My usual tactic when Winston is out of range is to periodically bellow, "Winston...NO!" I resorted to that approach in this case. I had no idea where he was, but I've found he's almost always up to no good when he's out of sight, so yelling, "Winston NO!" is something of a pre-emptive strike.

It's not like he pays any attention to me's purely for my benefit.

Anyway, the popcorn popped, and armed with a big glass of sweet tea I left the kitchen, but there was no sign of Winston.

There were no socks dragged out of the bedroom. Amy's crocheting stuff - this is a new hobby which I've been told is going to produce an afghan but which thus far has spawned a sweatband for me to wear while walking which I suspect will result in the neighbors having gleeful memories of bad John Travolta dance movies - was all still in the bag on the floor by the couch.

The bedroom door was closed...the trash from the guest bathroom had not been ripped to shreds, neither had the toilet paper been discovered and dragged gleefully through the living room.

A chill ran up my spine. Winston at times shares the trait of certain serial killers... you may not know where he is, but you almost always know where he's been. There was no evidence of him anywhere in view.

Although the general level of disorder on the first floor was unchanged I reassured myself that normalcy would be restored as I climbed the stairs certain to find whatever carnage he had wrought.

"Winston, NO!"

What the heck, it couldn't hurt.

I bounded hurriedly up the stairs suspecting that one of Amy's beanie babies - it was a stage, she got over it - might be meeting an unpleasant end....but they were all still sitting in the racks, gathering dust as always.

Okay, now this was strange. I went down the hallway, but every door was closed. Still, there was no sign of Winston.

Then I saw him - sitting in his crate, wagging his tail and looking quite pleased with himself.

There wasn't anything, or any remnant of anything, in there with him either.

He apparently decided to come into the house, go upstairs, and go to bed.

Every dog has his day...I guess this is Winston's.

Too bad he won't remember it tomorrow.