Told You So

On a sunny but cool-ish April afternoon, I let the dogs out and the little dachshund immediately goes straight to the doggie door on the garage and wiggles through, just as he's been doing for the past week. I've followed him once or twice but have never been able to find whatever it is that he's so convinced is there. I've been inclined to think that one of the neighborhood stray cats has been searching for a place to have her kittens and as has happened before, the little dog would alert if it happened but so far there's been nary a single bark. I suspect it's a waste of time but he's becoming a little obsessive about it so I decide to traipse after him one more time.

The garage, to put it charitably, a combination landfill and hoarder's paradise, is a disaster and I often wonder how it's still standing. I try never to go in except to do the laundry and I confess there have been times when the darkness and mustiness have unnerved me. You never know what may be lurking in those black corners, rustling and watching in yellow-eyed anticipation.

But this is broad daylight, I remind myself, and the little dachshund isn't afraid, so why should you be?

He has managed to climb up on the old church bench and then navigate to the mid-level shelf, nosing aside an old ironing board and weaving around a half dozen old paint cans, a roll of discolored carpet and several boxes of trash. I climb up after him, vaguely thinking that if I fall and break a hip, I'm going to regret leaving my cell phone on the charger and not in my back pocket but what the hell. The dog sits, cocking his head at the space between the exterior wall and the shelf and looking somewhere between expectant and curious. Still, I see nothing, no movement, no eyes (yellow or otherwise), no hidden dangers. The dog whines very softly, paws gently at the wall and pushes away a clump of lint the size of a basketball and I'm suddenly up close and personal with a pair of red-rimmed, curious eyes, peering at me from less than a foot away. It's a young 'possum, definitely annoyed but not overly concerned by my presence and completely indifferent to the dog who is now panting and wagging his tail furiously.  While I'm considering what, if anything, to do next, the small intruder makes an independent decision, turning tail and easily slipping over a board, back into a nest of lint and out of sight.

The little dachshund sighs with disappointment but there's a definite glint of "I told you so" in his eyes.  He's not likely to let me forget this.