LJ Idol 10: Fear Is The Heart Of Love
Pull in driveway, bang open side door. Fur explosion, licks, wagging, paws on my chest, swiping my thighs. Get changed, grab a bite, check email. Sitting pretty front and center. Look at me, look at the door, me, door. Eyes are saucers. Wag, wag...wag?
Andiamo!
Park means little kids rushing up to the playground fence, it's the wolfie dogs, can we pet them, can we say hi? Older neighbors nod at us, cars slow down, drivers grin. Oakley follows the sidewalk straight shot, ears pricked, scanning trees, side yards. Max pulls hither and tither, snuffling this, snuffling that...oh wait, missed something, gotta go back (No you don't!) Estuary means r-i-d-e in the c-a-r, spit of grassy ledge poking into salt marsh. Oakley scans for squirrels and chipmunks, Max stops short because there's a woman in his way.
Oh they're beautiful, she coos in a slight accent, how old are they, where did you get them, how much did you pay for them, are you going to breed them?
They're both old men, they're rescues, don't remember, they're both fixed.
That's too bad. I'd love to see them run. May I pet them? She leans in before I can answer. Oakley gives her his best I'm cute grin while Max tentatively sniffs her shoes. Do you ever let them off leash? Would you sell them? I'd love to have both of them. I can give you good money. Oh, aren't you handsome? Your fur is so soft! My dog would love both of you. He would. He really would.
What kind of dog do you have?
She stiffens. Are you sure you don't want to sell them?
Let's go, boys. Time to go home.
JJ's a former trainer who amuses the boys while I'm at work. She's tall and sinewy, with a penchant for crazy hats, crazier footwear, and an unflappably calm demeanor. JJ doesn't like it when I tell her we go to the estuary, or to the huge park three towns over, or even to the slip of beach where the interstate roars overhead. Her face goes pale when I tell her about the woman. She asks me what time were we there.
Two, three in the afternoon?
You can't go there, not at that time. In the morning it's OK but not after, say, eleven.
Why?
People size you up. People with kids are probably OK. It's people either in pairs or alone you have to be aware of. Even people with dogs. Don't look at me like that. I'm serious. Your dogs are valuable to certain people, and I don't mean people who simply like snow dogs.
What do you mean?
She explains dog fighters love huskies because of their stamina. They'll grab Oakley in a nanosecond. Max will be automatic bait because of his hips. They'll remove their microchips and destroy their collars so they can't be traced. They'll crate them while they wait their turn.
You've got to be shitting me.
It's a felony here.
Here, yes. But not in other states. Huskies are particularly vulnerable because they run if they get loose, and many times owners will give up on them. The less exposure they have outside of your neighborhood, the safer they'll be, especially if it's just you and them. People know the three of you around here. They look out for you.
But you take them places when I'm at work.
I take them in the early morning when people are less likely to be around. If I'm approached I have a protocol to follow to ensure both their and my own safety.
Which is...
I'm not at liberty to say other than I've been doing this a long time. I mean it. Don't go anywhere with them by yourself unless it's around here. You were lucky with that woman. Next time you might not be.
I don't like this. It's not the walking around the neighborhood or the park - the boys love it, of course, but then they always love going outside - but it's the glancing at people, neighbors, glancing without meaning to, wondering, playing the what-if tape in my head.
What if that dog across the way charges us?
What if that elderly gentleman, the one who's lived around the corner for decades, is really a front for somebody else?
What about H, who noticeably doesn't care for them to begin with? He looks like the type who'd have a gun somewhere. Then there's the guy up the street with the Rottweiler who could swallow Max's big fuzzy head in one gulp.
Why is the guy down the street suddenly paying so much attention to us when we walk past his house? And why does that woman with the pointy nose want to pet them every time she sees us?
And those kids! Why are they so interested? No, they can't be working for somebody unless...no, that's silly. On the other hand...
I make the boys skirt people. If we see another dog, we immediately either cross the street or change direction. Oakley whines. Max snuffles. They wouldn't know what hit them if a van drove up and some masked guy snatched them. I wouldn't know either. Just that thought makes my eyes water.
I miss the estuary. I miss the huge park, the beach.
If we stay home, I can breathe.
Andiamo!
Park means little kids rushing up to the playground fence, it's the wolfie dogs, can we pet them, can we say hi? Older neighbors nod at us, cars slow down, drivers grin. Oakley follows the sidewalk straight shot, ears pricked, scanning trees, side yards. Max pulls hither and tither, snuffling this, snuffling that...oh wait, missed something, gotta go back (No you don't!) Estuary means r-i-d-e in the c-a-r, spit of grassy ledge poking into salt marsh. Oakley scans for squirrels and chipmunks, Max stops short because there's a woman in his way.
Oh they're beautiful, she coos in a slight accent, how old are they, where did you get them, how much did you pay for them, are you going to breed them?
They're both old men, they're rescues, don't remember, they're both fixed.
That's too bad. I'd love to see them run. May I pet them? She leans in before I can answer. Oakley gives her his best I'm cute grin while Max tentatively sniffs her shoes. Do you ever let them off leash? Would you sell them? I'd love to have both of them. I can give you good money. Oh, aren't you handsome? Your fur is so soft! My dog would love both of you. He would. He really would.
What kind of dog do you have?
She stiffens. Are you sure you don't want to sell them?
Let's go, boys. Time to go home.
JJ's a former trainer who amuses the boys while I'm at work. She's tall and sinewy, with a penchant for crazy hats, crazier footwear, and an unflappably calm demeanor. JJ doesn't like it when I tell her we go to the estuary, or to the huge park three towns over, or even to the slip of beach where the interstate roars overhead. Her face goes pale when I tell her about the woman. She asks me what time were we there.
Two, three in the afternoon?
You can't go there, not at that time. In the morning it's OK but not after, say, eleven.
Why?
People size you up. People with kids are probably OK. It's people either in pairs or alone you have to be aware of. Even people with dogs. Don't look at me like that. I'm serious. Your dogs are valuable to certain people, and I don't mean people who simply like snow dogs.
What do you mean?
She explains dog fighters love huskies because of their stamina. They'll grab Oakley in a nanosecond. Max will be automatic bait because of his hips. They'll remove their microchips and destroy their collars so they can't be traced. They'll crate them while they wait their turn.
You've got to be shitting me.
It's a felony here.
Here, yes. But not in other states. Huskies are particularly vulnerable because they run if they get loose, and many times owners will give up on them. The less exposure they have outside of your neighborhood, the safer they'll be, especially if it's just you and them. People know the three of you around here. They look out for you.
But you take them places when I'm at work.
I take them in the early morning when people are less likely to be around. If I'm approached I have a protocol to follow to ensure both their and my own safety.
Which is...
I'm not at liberty to say other than I've been doing this a long time. I mean it. Don't go anywhere with them by yourself unless it's around here. You were lucky with that woman. Next time you might not be.
I don't like this. It's not the walking around the neighborhood or the park - the boys love it, of course, but then they always love going outside - but it's the glancing at people, neighbors, glancing without meaning to, wondering, playing the what-if tape in my head.
What if that dog across the way charges us?
What if that elderly gentleman, the one who's lived around the corner for decades, is really a front for somebody else?
What about H, who noticeably doesn't care for them to begin with? He looks like the type who'd have a gun somewhere. Then there's the guy up the street with the Rottweiler who could swallow Max's big fuzzy head in one gulp.
Why is the guy down the street suddenly paying so much attention to us when we walk past his house? And why does that woman with the pointy nose want to pet them every time she sees us?
And those kids! Why are they so interested? No, they can't be working for somebody unless...no, that's silly. On the other hand...
I make the boys skirt people. If we see another dog, we immediately either cross the street or change direction. Oakley whines. Max snuffles. They wouldn't know what hit them if a van drove up and some masked guy snatched them. I wouldn't know either. Just that thought makes my eyes water.
I miss the estuary. I miss the huge park, the beach.
If we stay home, I can breathe.