My plans for that sunny fall Saturday were to plant some new azalea bushes along the back fence and then get up on the roof and patch the fireplace flashing at the roofline with some black goopy stuff.
But first, the azaleas. I remembered my last attempt at planting azaleas in the back yard-Rex had evidently decided that the azaleas were not the proper things to plant there: he excavated them all out as soon as I had finished. He had shredded them to the point they were only good for the compost pile. Where happy little azaleas had just been, lay flora-strewn open pits. That was a hundred bucks down the drain. Damned dog.
I had taken him with me down to the nursery to buy replacements this Friday before, and as I loaded the new azaleas into the back of my truck, he seemed to be okay with them. That Saturday morning I had arranged them along the line I intended to plant them. He seemed to be okay with that, as well. As soon as I had the proud little bushes in the ground, he bared his fangs and made a beeline for the new plants.
“REX! For crying out loud! Leave those new azaleas alone!”
He stopped in his tracks and dropped down to the ground and tried to crawl through the weeds as if I wouldn’t see him.
“What the hell are you doing?” He looked at me. “Do you think I’m stupid? And don’t answer that, young man!” He nonchalantly watched a butterfly flutter by him, as if he had been distracted. He hadn’t been: it was a ploy. He continued to shimmy through the tall grass in the back yard.
“That’s it! I’m going to tie you up. I’m not going to have you plow up the new bushes. And just why, young man, don’t you like azaleas? Do you . . .” Rex had been looking at me as I admonished him, and he gave a startled look as though something was going on behind me. I turned to look at what he had been looking at. There was nothing there. He had done it to me again! He had faked me out. I whipped around as he made a valiant dash to the bushes.
“REX!!! NO! Leave the bushes alone!” In a matter of moments, I had tied a long rope to his collar-long enough to roam the back yard, but not long enough to reach the azaleas.
“There! That will guarantee you won’t bother the azaleas.”
He glared at me from the end of a taut rope as I stood the ladder up against the house. With a bucket of roof patch and a spatula from the kitchen in hand, I ascended the ladder and scampered up on the roof. I stuck the spatula into the black roofing patch. The sight of the goop reminded me of my failed attempt to make Spam soup. (It got away from me as I took a nap.) Come to think of it, if I were to ever run out of roof-patching goop, I could always start some Spam soup and take a nap.
“Too bad you can’t reach the azaleas, Rex. Too bad you’re tied up. Too bad your brain’s the size of a walnut! Too bad . . .” Rex charged the ladder and ran a few circles around it, dragging the rope behind him. When he had several loops of rope around the base of the ladder, he took off toward the azaleas. The looped rope cinched up around the base of the ladder and BOOM, the ladder came crashing down into the back yard. I was stranded.
“Oh, fine, Rex. Look what you’ve done.” Rex wagged his tail.
Outsmarted by a small black dachshund, I thought. If I get mad, he’ll know he won. Maybe if I ignore the fact I’m stuck up on the roof . . . maybe if I make it seem like this is perfectly fine. Hmmmmm.
“Oh, rats, Rex. I came up here to sun myself, and I forgot my suntan lotion. Oh, well. Hmmm . . . I smell pizza. Say, nice views from up here, Rex. Too bad you can’t be up here. Oh, there’s Costco!” Rex was watching me. It looked as though he was calculating his next move to claim final victory in this little emotional power skirmish.
From behind me, out on the sidewalk, came a cheery pair of “hellos” from the little Hernandez twins.
“Oh, say, hi you two. Nice day, huh, girls? I can see Costco.”
“Whattcha doin’ on the roof, Tom?”
“Oh, me? Just admiring my new azalea plants in the back yard. Want to come and see them? Just let yourself in the side gate and oh, by the way, put the ladder back upright against the eves so I can come down and get you two some ice cream.” The prattling of their little pink flip flops up the driveway and the click of the gate latch ensured my delivery from this embarrassing predicament.
They grunted and groaned but finally got the ladder back up, and much to Rex’s displeasure, I got back down on terra firma and went into the kitchen to get the twins the ice creams.
I made them each a fancy bowl with chocolate syrup, whipped cream, cherries, and crushed peanuts. I was going to delight in giving them ice cream and ignoring Rex, knowing that next to cat turds, ice cream was his favorite food category. I went out on the back porch, balancing the huge bowls of ice cream.
In my absence, the twins had turned the tables: “Tom! Little Rexie looked like he wanted to go over to the azaleas, so we untied him. Maybe you should get him some ice cream too!”
Indeed, little Rexie had finally made it to the azaleas. His attack had been swift and thorough, like a Blitzkrieg. His razor-like teeth had served him well.
I gathered the minced remains of my new azaleas, ceremoniously dumped them in the compost bin and sat down on the back porch and cried as Rex begged some ice cream from one of the twins.
I blew my nose, dabbed my eyes, and looked searchingly up to the heavens. Had I been so bad in a previous life that Rex was my Karma in this one? Was there some benevolent Hindu God of Irritating Dachshunds I could pray to? Some Divine solution to come wafting from the Ethers?
The gods were with me. CACTUS!!!
Tom Burns can be reached at burns100@earthlink.net. Rex is accepting fan mail.