Inarcurlated Outlaw

I suppose it was bound to happen. Though I have held out hope, a superstitious confidence written on slips of tissue paper and tucked into the fissures in my heart. Now it’s caught up with me, and I see how futile my hope was.

Middle of the afternoon, and my phone buzzes. Unfamiliar number, so I silenced it and went on about my business. A few minutes later I glanced at the screen. Voicemail waiting. Found a private room and listened.

“This is Lacy? And um? Your dog is here at our house? Can you call me back?”

So I called her back, and I got the story.  Jinx had showed up at a neighbor’s house down near the highway. I apologized to the girl, who sounded very young.

“Oh, you’re fine. He’s no trouble. He’s a real sweet boy. We saw the number on his collar and thought we’d call and let someone know he’s here. We just didn’t want our dogs to fight him. They’re kinda jealous”

Thank you, my beloved wife, for buying that fancy collar with his name and my cell number on it.

I told Lacy I’d be there as soon as I could. “Oh, no hurry. We got him in the bedroom with us. He’s good.”

I tidied things up at work and headed farmward. When I pulled into the neighbor’s driveway, their two teenage granddaughters came outside to meet me, both wearing wide grins, suntans that didn’t come from an electric bed, and Daisy Dukes. The door behind them opened and out came JInx with his big clown grin, head down and looking up at me.

“Well, ain’t you something?” I said. The dog moved over to me and nuzzled my leg, tail whapping latitude to latitude, port to starboard. The two girls grinned at me and one of them reached down to stroke Jinx’s head. He sat at her feet and licked her knee. The door opened again and out came the grandmother, my neighbor. She has a good honest face and a smile as quick as her granddaughters’. I apologized for the trouble.

“Weren’t no trouble at all,” she said. “We had to take Lacy to her doctor’s appointment, and when we got home, he was sittin’ there in the driveway. Our dogs were all barkin’ at him to beat the band, but he was just sittin’ there lookin’. We opened the front door and he walked in just easy as pie. Went to the couch and climbed up on it.”

“Oh, look, I’m sorry —”

She waved me off. “Our dogs get on the furniture. We was just tickled because he made hisself at home so quick.” She looked over at Jinx, who was being loved up by the two girls. “He’s a good boy. Stayed in the bedroom with them while they watched tv and played on their phones”

The girls were loving on the dog, saying his name over and over. Jinxjinxjinxjinxjinx.…

I apologized again and she waved me off again. I snapped the leash onto his collar and JInx trotted with me to the door and hopped up inside, uncharacteristic for him.

“Y’all come see us,” said my neighbor as I started the engine.”

“Y’all come,” I said.”

When we got to the house, I put Jinx in the back yard and closed the gate. He looked at me with that querulous expression.

“Get used to it, pardner,” I said, and went to let Dixee outside so she could taunt him.

Later, I did what duty required. I lectured my dog. He was very attentive as I spoke, though he hardly seemed to be shaking in his spotted boots. I chastised him, then threatened him, then reasoned with him. My words seemed to be falling short of the mark, and so I did what so many men have done when faced with the challenge of walking that thin line between being authoritative and authoritarian. I cribbed lines from an old Andy Griffith Show episode.

“What you’ve done here, son, is gone and gotten yourself inarculated. And let me tell you, it is no fun when that steel door clangs shut behind you. No more carefree days. No more eating peanut butter sandwiches. Now, you just sit there and think about what you did.”

I don’t know what he’s been thinking about since our talk, but I have no idea that if he’s allowed to range free, he’ll be right back over at the neighbor’s house. They didn’t exactly extend a “Keep Out!” warning. The end of an era. The rogue, the spotted menace, will be leashed when we walk from now on.

I’m more than a little sad. I’ll try to ease it a bit with a song from the great Texas movie, Hell Or High Water. Appropriate, I guess.

~ S.K. Orr