Bum Rush
Poppy’s Dog Days
The yeasty smell of bread dominates the house, and Walk Woman and Food Man sit together, sipping from white cups, mmm-ing and sighing, groaning with happy noises as they bite into the bread rolls she’s just pulled from the oven.
“I can’t believe I haven’t made these for you before,” Walk Woman takes another bite then holds it towards him, as if to wave. “Happy belated Valentine’s Day.”
I lick my lips. Walk Woman bakes bread every week, but it doesn’t usually carry the sweet scent of sugar or the bitterness of chocolate.
I edge closer, not too close so as to be begging. Walk Woman doesn’t like begging. Doesn’t like me near the table, actually, even though squeezed between the table and the wall, totally out of the way and not at all poised to pounce on any morsel that may fall.
“I’m glad you did today,” Food Man says, chocolate gathering in the corners of his mouth.
I inch forward. If he would lean down slightly, I could lick his lips free of chocolate. I could delicately clean his mouth…
“Poppy, get out. Go lay down.” Walk Woman points a chocolatey finger towards my bed.
I glare at her and lay down with a groan against the wall, NOT in my bed, which is too far from the table.
“Where are you skiing this morning?” Food Man sips from his white cup.
“Winston’s Way. It’s a new trail they opened up last year, about 16 km. Hopefully last week’s snow will slow it down a bit.” Walk Woman finishes her bread roll and slurps the remains of her own white cup, setting it down with a clatter. She collects her dishes and carries them to the kitchen where the remaining bread rolls sit on metal racks. “I should be back in four hours give or take.”
She runs down the stairs, but I stick close to Food Man who puts his own dishes in the sink. He’s been known to drop crumbs, though no luck today. He also heads downstairs, straight to his desk and his screens.
Walk Woman returns with her sticks – the long flat ones and the pointy shorter round ones – which she places outside the front door.
I don’t like it. Those sticks mean she’s leaving the house. Not only that, but strangers will soon arrive to take her away.
I sit by the door that lets me into the yard where I can sound the alarm when dogs or cars or people pass by.
Walk Woman glances at me, and I show her my best pleading face.
“Not a chance, Poppy. You just want to terrorize my ride.” She turns on the kettle to heat water then rifles through the fridge and cupboard, gathering unappealing food like nuts and dates.
I’ll eat nuts if I have to, meaning if they fall on the floor, but I prefer the pepperoni sticks that she’s now putting into a bag and zipping shut.
I shift and listen, ever vigilant.
She fills two water bottles and stuffs them with the food into a small bag then gathers bits and pieces of clothing and sticks them in a separate bag next to the boots she’s set next to the door. She pours hot water into a tall cylinder, and I smell the scent of peppermint.
A car arrives in the driveway, and I announce its arrival, turning circles in front of the door and leaping onto my hind legs.
Walk Woman ignores me. IGNORES ME!
I bark again. And again. And again.
LET ME OUT!
She doesn’t acknowledge me, refuses to look at me, then disappears with a “Bye babe!” and a slam of the front door.
I am left alone, nose to the door, head cocked, listening to her speak to someone outside. I bark. The car leaves with Walk Woman in it.
Food Man is downstairs, busy tapping his fingers and punching the keys on the board in front of him. He won’t resurface for hours.
I pace. I sulk. Every week she leaves me. And every week I beg to go with her.
Walk Woman is just that: Walk Woman. She takes me on walks. But when those sticks come out, I don’t get to go. I am left behind.
The smell of yeast and sugar rouses me, and I lift my nose and sniff my way over to the kitchen counter, where six bread rolls await on metal racks.
Carefully, quietly, I put my front paws on the counter and grab one. I rush to my bed and sink my teeth into the soft, fluffy exterior. The inside is both sweet and bitter; chocolate oozes onto my bed. Normally I’d stop to lick it off, but there are more rolls waiting and no time to waste. I grab another and bring it back.
By the fourth roll, my stomach is feeling a bit bloated. But my window of opportunity is shrinking. When Food Man eventually ascends from his dark habitat, he’ll clean up what I haven’t eaten. It’s now or never.
After bread roll number six, I can barely move. It reminds me of the time when I discovered how to knock the lid off my food container and ate until I wanted to puke. I did it several times, actually, until Food Man began storing his boots on the lid.
Right now, I can’t think of food. I lay on the floor, stomach uncomfortably full, and close my eyes.
Food Man’s footsteps on the stairs wake me. I lift my head, groggy from a food coma. He enters the kitchen and begins to wash the dishes in the sink. My head falls back to the floor, and I watch him with one eye. He bounces to music and whistles occasionally.
After the dishes, he washes the metal racks that held the bread rolls. My stomach is still distended, my thoughts a bit hazy.
The haze leaves when he picks up the leash at the front door.
WALK TIME! WALK TIME! WALK TIME!
Due to my happy dance, he can barely clasp the leash on my collar. Our walk is just a neighborhood cruise, nothing exciting, but I love it just the same. A walk is a walk is a walk.
An uneventful promenade, he feeds me lunch on the front yard porch upon our return. I’m not very hungry, of course, but I eat it all slowly. I remain outside to soak up the sun and close my eyes.
A CAR!
A CAR IS PULLING INTO THE DRIVEWAY! A STRANGE CAR!
WALK WOMAN IS GETTING OUT OF THE CAR!
WALK WOMAN! YOU’RE SAFE! AND ALIVE!
HEY NEIGHBORHOOD! WALK WOMAN IS BACK! SHE’S GETTING HER STICKS OUT OF THE CAR!
WELCOME HOME, WALK WOMAN!
WHOA! STRANGERS! GETTING OUT OF THE CAR! NO! DON’T HUG THEM! BACK AWAY!
“Poppy!”
I hear Food Man as if from afar. He’s calling me into the house, but I need to alert the neighborhood and Walk Woman. I don’t know those people she’s with.
WALK WOMAN! GIVE ME A SIGN!
Walk Woman shakes her head and greets me with a hand through the fence. “Quiet, Poppy.” She smells like sweat and snow, which is strange because there is no snow here.
“Poppy, get in the house.” Food Man insists. After Walk Woman’s greeting, I slowly plod inside.
Walk Woman enters the house, and I whine and smother her with the love and affection she’s missed since she’s been gone.
“Okay, okay, Poppy, down.” Walk Woman sounds tired. I can feel the chill of her legs through her pants. Trapped with strangers in the cold all morning, I can only imagine what she’s been through.
She stops petting me, and I nudge her again. She ignores me.
“I’m going to take a bath,” she tells Food Man.
She disappears, and I lay down for a rest on the floor, avoiding my bed, lumpy with dried chocolate. My stomach feels heavy like a loaded Kong, but the thought of a Kong right now makes my guts clench and tighten. I close my eyes.
I wake to Walk Woman with wet hair smelling of coconut and bananas. Food Man emerges from his downstairs den and lays down on the floor with me. He loves a good snuggle, particularly the classic stiff-arm cuddle when I place my paw on his chest and push away. It’s my favorite move, and I close my eyes and groan with pleasure.
“What’s that?” Walk Woman’s voice holds a note of alarm. “Hub, get up.”
Food Man doesn’t react. We’re immersed in a cuddle bubble, and he hums contentedly. I sigh.
“What is that? Oh my god. Get up. Look!”
Walk Woman’s pointing at my bed, but her lip is curled. “What IS that? GET UP!”
I lift my head and scowl. Walk Woman has no respect for the cuddle. Food Man rolls away and slowly pushes himself up.
Walk Woman shoots me a dark look, her eyebrows pinched, lips pursed.
I get up slowly. Okay, Walk Woman. You win.
I inspect my bed to see what the fuss is about, and I sniff the chocolate that has hardened into large brown splotches across the fabric. Though my stomach is still too bloated to complete the task, I lick the blobs to show her I’ll take care of it when the time is right.
“It’s chocolate. The chocolate rolls!” Her eyes turn wild and her voice lifts, almost in a panic. “Did you put the rolls away?” She glances into the kitchen with its bare counters.
“What? No, I cleaned up the racks. I thought you’d put them in the fridge.” Food Man scratches his head then shakes it. “Oh my god, Poppy ate them all.”
Both Food Man and Walk Woman stare at me, and I wag my tail. I love them so much.
“Holy fuck, dog, you ate our chocolate rolls.” She groans. Her voice confuses me. Chastising but also impressed.
“I wasn’t sure if she’d shit the bed or what.” Hands on hips, Walk Woman stares at the empty kitchen counters. “I thought you probably shouldn’t cuddle with her if she had a bowel issue, but when she started licking it I knew it had to be chocolate. Our chocolate rolls!”
Food Man sounds stunned. “I washed the cooling racks. I thought you’d put the rolls away.”
“She hasn’t done this in years, not since the scones. Our fault, of course. Dammit.”
Food Man’s voice drops to a plaintive whisper. “I was looking forward to those.”
“Yeah, I bragged about them to my ski buddies.” She glances again at me. “Ugh, this could get uglier.”
“Dogs aren’t supposed to have chocolate,” Food Man says.
“She’ll be okay. She’s a large dog, and there wasn’t enough chocolate to hurt her. I once had a dog eat an entire box of chocolate cookies, and it didn’t seem to affect her at all.” Walk Woman picks up the bed with one hand and holds it away from her body. “At least it’s not dog crap, though that’s coming next.”
With my distended belly, I don’t feel like following her down the stairs, but she’s carrying away my bed, and I’ve reserved that chocolate for later. She drops it on the cement floor, and I begin to lick up the chocolate, even though my stomach tightens at the bitter taste. Walk Woman picks up my downstairs bed and carries it up the stairs.
“We’ll switch these out until she’s cleaned off her other bed.”
I thank Walk Woman by lying down on the new bed upstairs. She knows what a body needs. A soft, clean bed for a tired, aching belly.
Walk Woman and Food Man are both at home. I close my eyes and groan in bliss.
My stomach is blessedly, rumblingly full. Rumblingly.
WALK WOMAN! OPEN THE DOOR!
OPEN THE DOOR!
I NEED TO POOP. OH, I NEED TO POOP.
NOW!
Walk Woman runs to the door, and I dash outside to my favorite corner. I poop and walk at the same time, crouched and clenching for the next five minutes while Ripley watches from next door.
Hah, Ripley, eat your heart out. Do you get chocolate bread rolls?
Finally, the burning bum rush concludes. I lay down on the pavement. The cold seeps into my hot belly and cools my body.
I love my life.
My granddog is tall enough to grab a turkey off the counter. Tiny corgi-leg Toby, uses a system of hopping from one chair to another until he is on top of the table to get at my birthday cake. Lessons learned the hard way.