She doesn’t deserve the reputation she has.

The giggles and shrieks seep in the window. She sees. Wiggling with excitement, she runs – her eyes pleading, “Please can I go play? The others are.”

Knowing she would be crushed. Knowing she would be shunned, I pull out other toys to amuse her inside.

Grateful, but not deceived, she selects one and returns to plop down by the window, chin on the ledge. Sighs. Sad eyes.

It’s obvious: I am the meanest mommie on the block.

It is almost spring-like – with butterflies. The pale green rye grass keeps the backyard from being a mud hole. And she has been happy there until she realized the others are all out front: Youngsters wild as march hares chasing balls up and down the block even though it’s January. It’s not fair.

Perhaps a break for a walk to the mailbox would do?

Not Disneyland or the park.

With a sense of purpose and importance, we parade past. If she notices the others were all called across the street, she made no comment. Not a glance at their shushing and hushing. WE didn’t have to stay within calling range. WE were leaving the block.

She doesn’t deserve the reputation she has.

It’s not accurate.

It’s not fair.

It happened again yesterday. This time at the mailbox.

Quietly waiting while I wiggled the key in the stubborn lock, she stood appreciating the sun. Then a meteor of yipping fur flung itself out the door from across the street.

Somewhere in the flying fluff was a dog.

A new friend hurrying over!

The German’s tail started helicoptering. If she was a lesser dog, the enthusiastic tail would have easily rotated her aloft. With grace, the German performed her best yoga-dog Downward Dog pose – nosing forward, graciously, to see eye to eye with the height-challenged newcomer . Her thick tail thundering against the metal mail boxes.

But what is this? An ADHD pup?

Pivoting, the German twirled like a joyous ballerina still trying to greet the energetic powder puff who circled very much like a determined mosquito. Generously chuckling at the confident yaps, the German congenially sat. Not perturbed by a sudden lunge and nip at her front paw. Obviously, it’s just puppy playtime! Eager to join in, she springs up and bounces like a lamb forward. Once. Twice.

Oh, too much.

The silky mop skittered backward and squealed in terror: broadcasting a massacre commencing. The German, appalled, looked around to see who could be terrorizing her new pocket pooch friend. More panicked yelps echoed down the street. Out runs a woman. She scooped up the quivering manic creature. Flustered, she tried to apologize while the irritable little bully snarled, snapped, and  struggled to get free. The German, confused, huddled close while looking at me as if asking “Why is she hurting my new doggy friend?”

Deciding it’s time to move on, I started down the walk. Reluctantly, the German walked in tandem – but not without a backwards glance. Over the owner’s shoulder, the fluff-dog’s psychotic button eyes seemed to sneer, “I’ve fixed you, I have! Wait and see!”

Notice: not a trace of massacre!

We didn’t have to wait long.

We saw as we turned the corner.

They all stood together – just as elephant moms in a circle guarding their young.

All the neighbors’ dogs now on leashes: held tight and close.

Staring. Glaring.

Pointedly showing they had heard all the noise.

Lips tight. Eyes hard.

Snapping judgements.

Silent accusations. Harsh condemnations

“That German!”

Sigh.

No, you can’t play. Come inside.

No, it’s not fair.

You are a very good dog.

We know.

Fun, but no substitute for a friend.

Staying above the fray,

Phil, the Philosopher Mouse of the Hedge

Related posts in The German’s saga

(Click the “Animal” tag in the sidebar) 

The German: Homeless at heart

A German’s Ode to Joy

A German Waits for Christmas

Warning: Granny Bites

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