The Nose Knows

The nose knows, I remind myself as I watch the little dachshund race out the back door and head straight to the dilapidated old doggie door that leads into the garage. He is convinced that something - cat, possom, raccoon or rat - is in the garage and I know better than to doubt him. Flashlight in hand and garden rake in the other, I follow him, opening the garage doors slowly and carefully so as not to disturb whatever trespassing little creature has taken refuge inside. Better in the garage than under the house tearing up the ductwork, I tell myself. It's little enough shelter from this cold and cruel weather and I'm not necessarily interested in evicting whatever it is.

Tail wagging anxiously and whining softly, the little dachshund goes exploring. He crawls under the boxes of debris, winds his way around and past the stacks of trash, investigates each nook and cranny and eventually manages to climb up a discarded old rug to where he can reach the built in shelves and check all the hidden places. Something out of sight rustles and he freezes, staring intently at a cardboard box sitting high on a pile of filthy old blankets and moth eaten towels. I bravely shine the light directly on it but see nothing and when the rustling stops, I reach out with the rake handle and cautiously lift the lid of the box, expecting I don't know what, something otherworldy to come flying at me or perhaps a pair of luminous eyes peering back at me. But there's nothing, just an old carboard box with a ragged blanket inside, the remains of a bed I had made for a mama cat and her kittens a couple of years before. I swear the little dachshund looks disappointed. He reluctantly climbs down and once back on solid ground, returns to making his way under, over and around every obstacle. After several minutes, he seems to lose interest and I wonder if something has slipped away. It doesn't take much to persuade him to give up the pursuit and coax him back into the house.

This little drama plays out several times a day for several more days but after a week or so, whatever had taken up residence moves on. The little dachshund senses it and one day just abandons the garage without so much as a backward glance, proving once again that the nose always knows and that more often than we'd like to think, things work themselves out with no help or interference from the rest of us. You just have to learn to get out of your own way.