New Kid on the Block

The cold I managed to avoid last week was not pleased at being evicted and sometime in the night, it returned with an attitude - it's moved out of my throat and into my head and chest, making sleep difficult and requiring a Puffs box to be close at hand at all times.  I dare not bring my eucalyptus cough drops home for fear that the black dog will hunt them down no matter where I put them - she has a positive genius for finding and devouring them, wrapper and all.  Although I have no proof of it, I suspect she enlists the support and help of the cats in this search, promising them God knows what in return for their agility and stealth in opening drawers and cabinets that she can't reach.  I don't like to think in terms of conspiracy theories since I'm seriously outnumbered so instead I down aspirin and cough medicine and orange juice and take my time in a hot shower.


In the shower, I hear barking, too muted to be my own dogs but close enough that it must be the new dog next door - he's a twelve week old Blue Heeler whose name I don't yet know - we only met briefly last night and as I was a little fuzzy minded with the cold coming on again, I had only a quick impression of him.  My first thought was a fireplace log on short, stubby legs, incredibly compact and solid and moving at an alarmingly high rate of speed - he hit my ankles and knees with enough force to knock me back into the car, then leaped and climbed on top of me and began covering my face with anxious, sloppy kisses.  Whoa! I finally managed to yell, laughing too hard to put much volume into it, I give!  My neighbor, Kevin, appeared from his garage in the nick of time and disentangled us, saving me from what certainly might have been death by affection.  This young puppy is going to be a handful and I wonder how best to warn The Cat Who Lives in the Garage, then immediately realize that no warning will be needed - she hasn't survived this long on luck or good looks  and most certainly knows about him already - I doubt she or any of the other wandering minstrel cats are any too pleased and while I don't know Kevin well enough to know if he'll be a good and responsible owner, his back yard is fenced and I do know he has a good heart.  For the moment, I'm willing to overlook his not being a cat person - he's young and may not know any better.


There comes a great clatter from my front windows - my own dogs in loud and righteous protest at the sight of me and a new four footed friend have mounted an offensive and are clamoring for attention and their evening meal.  The puppy gives me a last wet kiss and I go inside to face the music.  


You'd think at my age I'd have better things to do than explain myself to dogs.
You'd be wrong.