Chapter 4: Due next week

I apologize that Chapter 4 will not be posted until next week. I was at a writing conference all weekend and didn't have a chance to write. Have an enjoyable week, everyone!
LeeBeth

Chapter 3: Jewels of Denial

After a blissfully uneventful walk, I laid an old quilt out on the side porch for the Basenjis to lie on. While they were busy snoozing in the sun, I went into the living room, sat at my office desk and began working on the graphic layout of a flyer for a brand new unicycle club forming in the Indiana County area.

The purpose of Unicyclers of Northern Indiana County’s (or UNIC’s, as they abbreviated it) flyer was to increase membership. UNICs and increasing numbers didn’t really seem to go together though. Once I pointed this out to the club president, he had to go back to the Board for an emergency vote to change the club’s name. Thankfully, it ended up being Unicycle Riders of Northern Indiana County as I’d suggested. “URNICs” was something I could work with. I designed the theme of the flyer around the motto, “We aRe NICs! R U?” The logo became a man wearing old-fashioned knickers riding an antique, large-wheeled unicycle with the stylized letters of “NICs” forming a road underneath.

The ringing of the phone interrupted me just as I was finishing. My best friend Belinda cheerfully greeted me, "Bree, I'm going to be back from New York tomorrow. I want to try out that new barbecue place in town. Want to meet me there for lunch? I can tell you all about my trip. I had such a great time! The hotel had a wonderful fitness room, and I was able to work out every day so I kept to our fitness plan. Aren't you proud of me? I'm sure you did great, too!"

"Yes," I mumbled. She took that as an answer to her question about meeting up for lunch. To be fair she had only drawn one breath in the entire conversation, so even I wasn't sure which question I was answering. "See you at 12:30 then at Pork and Boings! Gotta go!" "'Beans,' Pork and Beans" I said to the dial tone. Then I spent rest of the day and most of the night working on the flyer.

After a night of designing, I was ready to enjoy lunch with my friend Belinda. She was a vivacious five foot, six inch redhead who I'd known since 5th grade. She owned her own specialty jewelry boutique and often went to NYC to search out the perfect stones for her creations. She was ruthless when it came to bargaining for the lowest possible price for her purchases, and her stories about haggling in Midtown always made me laugh. Maybe I could get her talking about her latest triumph, and she'd forget to ask me about our fitness plan.

The dogs hadn't had much of a walk this morning. Since it was a lovely day and Pork and Beans has a sidewalk dining area, I decided to get downtown early, wear the dogs out with a long walk and then let them sleep under the table as Belinda and I ate. I convinced myself the walk could count as my work-out for the day.

At 12:30 my oldest friend and I were seated at one of the last sidewalk tables available during the lunch hour. In spite of coffee so bad antacids were an actual item on the menu, Pork and Beans had already built up a fairly long list of regulars. "It must be the barbecue," I thought. The ribs on the plates of the couple next to us looked delicious. No, I wouldn't think about ribs. I was going to lose that last 20 pounds. A nice salad it would be for me.

"Mixed salad with dressing on the side, and non-sweetened tea with a slice of lemon,” I determinedly told the perky waitress. "You can put the lemon on the side, too," I joked. The waitress who looked like a borzoi (only existing in two dimensions) did not get my feeble attempt at humor and just shook her head. Belinda, who never seemed to weigh over 135 pounds, blithely ordered the "Pork-Out Ribs," half a rack of North Carolina low country BBQ ribs with coleslaw and a diet cola.

Harper and Poppi were stretched out under the table. Poppi's donut-shaped tail happily wagging as Belinda reached down and stroked his head. Poppi had loved Belinda from the moment he'd met her. Harper was a little more reserved, but got up and walked over to Belinda's side of the table for a quick ear scratch, too, before plopping back down under my feet.

"How was your trip? Did you find any bargains?" I asked Belinda. "Oh yes! Just look at these beauties," she exclaimed as she pulled a small green velvet bag out of her pocket and emptied its dazzling blue contents on the table. "Oh my," I burst out. "They're gorgeous! Are they sapphires?"

"They sure are and they'll be even more gorgeous once they're mounted on the brooch I'm designing for them." She joyfully explained, "I want it in the store for Mother's Day. Did you know sapphires are supposed to be either male or female? The dark blue ones are the female ones while the light blue ones are believed to be the males. I'm going to mount these dark ones in a silver heart design. Don't you think that would make a lovely gift for some lucky woman on Mother's Day?" When she stopped to draw a breath, I agreed that it would. I hoped I'd get to see the finished design before she sold it.

"Should you really be carrying them around though?" I whispered. "Oh, I'm going to put them in the vault back at the store as soon as we're finished with lunch. I couldn't resist showing them to you first though. You'll never believe how much I was able to knock off the selling price!" Belinda answered.

Our food arrived as Belinda animatedly launched into her story of searching all through the Gem District looking for the perfect stones. The couple in front of us paid their bill, pushed back their chairs, knocking into our table, and left the restaurant as Belinda was describing the short, bearded Jewish man who had started off asking 1/3 more than she'd eventually paid for the sapphires.

A bus boy came by to refill our glasses. Harper grabbed a napkin out of his pocket and I squeaked, "No. Drop it!"in embarrassment The embarrassment didn't get any better when a good-looking middle-aged man, who the waitress was escorting past our table, laughed and reached over to pet Harper on the head. "Poor little thing! Did you get in trouble? My Chow likes to lie under my feet with her pink tongue hanging out when I eat, too," he chuckled in a faintly British accent.

I should have been paying more attention to Poppi because the more unobtrusive basenjis become, the more they are plotting some future mischief. However, I was too busy watching the man through the bottom of my water glass. The convex bottom made a perfect telescope until I poured the ice down my blouse.

As soon as he was seated at the table recently vacated by the couple, he put his napkin in his lap and ordered a small specialty coffee. What gracious manners I thought picking ice out of my bra. That’s when Poppi struck.  His paw appeared from below our table and swiped across Belinda's plate, snagging a rib, before disappearing under the table again. Frightened Poppi would choke, I jumped up and rushed toward him screaming, "NO! NO! Drop it!" The other diners all turned to see what the commotion was. I dived under the table on my hands and knees trying to get Poppi to drop the sauce-covered rib. Harper, who never missed an opportunity to aid and abet Poppi, got in my way as she reached for the rib herself. Poppi clenched his teeth tighter and growled at Harper.

A small group leaving the restaurant, not wishing to become part of the fray, backed cautiously away from our table as they passed in the narrow aisle. "Hand me something tasty!" I begged Belinda. She passed me one of her rolls dipped in BBQ sauce, and I waved it under the dogs' noses. "Sit!" I said. They both miraculously sat. I gave Harper a piece of the roll. "Trade!" I said firmly to Poppi. He eyed me warily as I gave Harper another piece of roll and said, "Good sit, Harper!" Jealousy finally won out, and he dropped the rib. I scooped it up and rewarded him with two big bites of the roll and a "Good Trade, Poppi!"

I was covered in sidewalk dirt and my shirt was smeared with BBQ sauce when I crept out from under the table. Several dinners, including the deliciously accented British Guy were chuckling, but my friend Belinda knew my temper well enough to be calling the waitress over for the bill. When she set down the tab, I heard Belinda gasp in horror, "My jewels! They're gone! Someone must have grabbed them during the commotion."

The waitress called the police on her cell. The manager came out and politely asked no one to leave, but Belinda was convinced the culprit had already fled. "It was probably that couple who knocked into our table or the group that passed by as you were wrestling with the dogs! Why did I take my eyes off of them?" she wailed as I put my arms around her and tried to comfort her. I caught the blue of a police uniform out of the corner of my eye and looked up to see Jason Krepsky! He had the nerve to be smiling.

"What are you doing here?" I sputtered. "Someone reported a theft and from the look on Belinda's face, I'd say it was her. She had that same look when I "borrowed" her markers in 7th grade," he calmly replied. "Jason!" she exclaimed. "Someone stole my sapphires." In minute detail she described everything that had happened since we’d arrived at the restaurant. It was then that it hit me. I knew exactly who had the gems. "Jason, I know who has them!" I whispered. "It's the guy in the dark suit! I know it!"

"How do you know it?" he whispered back. "I can't just arrest someone without proof." "Just ask him to stand up," I said. "It's too hard to explain right now.”

As Jason started toward his table, the man in the suit jumped up and tried to run away. As he did the sapphires fell from under the napkin in his lap. Jason grabbed him and asked Belinda to identify the gems. "How did you know?" the man asked me in English no longer British-accented. "Chow's don't have pink tongues! They have black tongues! You made up that story about a Chow sitting under your feet as an excuse to get near our table and to pet Harper. As you leaned over, you must have grabbed the sapphires.” I turned to Belinda, “Anyway, everyone was looking over here while I was under the table so no one would have risked stealing them then."

"You were under the table? That explains a lot," said Jason still smiling as he looked at my BBQ smeared shirt and dirty pants. I made a noise in my throat that sounded a lot like the one Poppi had made when Harper had tried to grab the rib out of his mouth.

"We were lucky that your Basenjis' curly tails reminded him of a Chow! Imagine if you owned a Pekinese!" Belinda jumped in. "At least the walks would be shorter!" I grumbled irritated that Jason hadn't left yet. "Walks! Oh, that reminds me. I worked out every day while I was gone. How is your half of the exercise pact coming along?"

"Ohhh, great!" I replied. She looked at me funny. "I'm not sure I believe you." Like I would lie to a friend. Please. Jason turning to leave with his prisoner, said, "Oh, she's been working out! I can vouch for that. Just yesterday I was helping her do push-ups."

"You were doing push-ups with Bree? Hey, why didn’t you tell me?” she turned to me with a wink. I glared back. “Well, that's great! I'm so glad you have a partner to exercise with when I'm not available, Bree," Belinda refused to acknowledge my glower. "I'll be busy working on the brooch tomorrow and it makes me feel better to know you have someone to work out with. Exercising alone is so boring, isn't it?"

"It sure is!" Jason snickered. "I'll see you tomorrow then, Bree!" he shouted as he loaded his prisoner into the cruiser parked at the curb.

Chapter Two: Fit to Be Tied

Two days into the logo design for Cryer and Chase Marriage Counselors (Slogan: We Listen), and I was ready for counseling.  Ms Amanda Cryer and Mr. Seymour Chase were some of the most difficult clients I'd ever had. Ms Cryer vehemently disliked the first design as soon as Mr. Chase declared his love for it.  He had an instant aversion to the second design after she declared it perfect.  By midnight, I was seriously considering drawing two large ears with a man yelling in one and a woman in the other when commonsense and a desire to have grocery money for this week kicked in and I went to bed instead. 

When I woke up, I immediately looked at the note pad I keep by the bed in case I get creative inspiration during the night. Unfortunately, the pad was empty which meant I hadn't woken up, jotted down a brilliant idea for Cryer and Chase and slipped back to sleep without remembering last night. Just as well as the pen had bite marks on it causing the ink to have dried out. One of the basenjis had obviously been snacking during the night.

And yet now they wanted their kibble and a walk. I drug myself out of bed and shooed them out into the fenced-in backyard while I grabbed their bowls and filled them with premium kibble.  They came charging back in from the yard and jumped in their crates for breakfast as I grabbed my first cup of coffee.  Once they were finished eating, I opened the dogs' crates and loosened the hounds.

Then I remembered that in yet another attempt to lose 20 pounds, I had agreed to work out everyday in addition to walking the dogs if my friend Belinda would, too.  I had somehow forgotten all about that promise while Belinda was away the last 5 days, but she was due back tomorrow, so I'd have to do better now.  I'd exercise today and tomorrow before I saw her, so could look her in the eye when I lied about having worked out everyday while she was gone.

Determined to get going right away, I threw on some cotton shorts, a tee shirt and my old sneakers.  First deep breaths, followed by side twists and basenji boy Poppi gnawing on my shoe laces and then toe touches with basenji girl Harper darting in and out trying to grab my hands each time I reached down.  I was getting more of a work-out than I'd had in mind. 

Still I soldiered on telling myself I'd lose those 20 pounds this time and be happier, healthier, wittier and quite possibly even the wife of Hugh Jackman if I did.  I got down on the floor and started to do push-ups with my knees bent. Harper's velvety red paw started batting my head. On the tenth push-up, I heard an ear-piercing cry. I was surprised because I hadn't thought I'd done that out loud. Then I realized it wasn't me; it was Harper.  Basenjis are bark less, but they are not mute, and Harper seemed adamant about proving that point this morning.  I turned my head to see what the problem was and realized that her paw was stuck in my wildly curly black hair.  While I had inherited my mother's corkscrew curls, I had also inherited my fathers raven black hair.  The combination sounds nice until you realize the curls have a mind of their own, and in the morning the mind usually decided they should look like a prop from a 1940's horror movie. 

One of the nails on Harper's front right paw was ensnared in one of curls that ravelled down to a few inches below my shoulders.  I twisted as far as I could to the left in an effort to reach her stuck paw.  Harper pulled back at my movement and nearly knocked the breath out of me as she yanked tighter on my hair.  Poppi started jumping back and forth over Harper in an attempt to join the "game!"  The screaming continued.  Her paw was so deeply entangled in my curls now that I had no idea how I'd rescue her or my hair although I finally was able to maneuver over and get myself onto my back where I hoped I'd be able to reach her better.  Poppi took the opportunity to jump onto my chest and begin licking my face.  Knowing it was a nervous reaction to Harper's screaming, I still tried to bat him away. 

I couldn't get him to budge so I was shocked when he seemed to levitate off my chest not two seconds later.  I thought I heard a chuckle, but I couldn't see anything because of all the hair in my face. Anyway hearing anything above Harper's caterwauling seemed unlikely, so I continued blindly trying to reach her paw with my hand. I curled into a ball in an effort to shorten the distance between her and my right hand. 

"Need some help?" a male voice gasped out between guffaws.  Now Harper and I made a duet of screams.  Someone was in my house, and my dogs were too busy jumping on me and getting their damn paws stuck in my hair to defend me! 

"Whoa, whoa, don't scream!  It's okay.  It's me--Jason.  You left your door unlocked and when the neighbor, Mr. Gato,  called saying someone was being attacked at your address, I came in to check it out."

"Jason? Attacked?" I stammered as I pushed my hair as far out of my face as I could.  "Yeah, Jason Krepsky from school," he answered.  I could now see the police issue boots and uniformed legs of my old friend who'd become a police officer many years ago and had moved back to the area last year after his marriage had dissolved.  He bent down to offer me a hand. "Don't touch Harper!" I yelled." She might bite when she is this upset."

"How am I supposed to untangle her if I don't touch her?" he asked. He had a point because there was no way I was getting her paw out without his help.  "I have leather gloves we use when we cage feral cats. They're in the squad car," he said before he disappeared from sight. I fought to get into a dignified position before he got back, but that was a little difficult with a 23 pound screaming basenji hanging from my hair. 

Soon he was back, laying the gloves down on the floor and squatting down beside me.  "Just be careful," I said.  "It's okay, Harper. It's okay, girl," I reassured her. "Wow! She's really anchored in there,"  Jason said as he reached over to put the gloves on.  Then he started laughing again.  He was having much more fun than I thought the situation allowed.  I was trying to remember if he'd had a sadistic sense of humor in high school, too.  "I think I may have to arrest your dog," he said.  "He stole one of my gloves." 

Oh, no! Poppi! I'd forgotten about Poppi.  "Poppi! Drop it!" I demanded.  "Trade him something for it if he won't give it to you," I told Jason.  Soon Jason was back on the floor, gently lifting Harper up so he could disentangle her paw.  It took almost ten minutes, and I was reminded in that time that Jason had had a very creative way with swear words back in the day.  Apparently, he'd lost none of his creativity over the years.  Finally though Harper was free and she'd only tried to bite Jason twice. She must like him. 

I stood up  and tried to smooth down my hair before I thanked him.  "I think I that's a lost cause," he laughed as he watched me. He had tears coming out of his eyes from laughing so hard! 

 "Thank you, Officer Krepsky," I stiffly replied.  "I appreciate your help.  Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to get cleaned up from my exercises." 

 "Oh, exercises?  That's what you were doing?  Exercising?" he chuckled some more.

 "Good day, Officer," I retorted as I turned my back on him and walked into the bathroom, slamming the door and leaving him no choice but to see himself out. 

Glancing into the mirror above the sink, I almost shrieked, but I didn't want Jason to rush in to rescue me again. As a matter of fact, I didn't want him to ever see me like this again! I had dog saliva all over my face, my tee shirt was covered with paw marks, and my hair--my hair was clumped up in some spots and sticking straight out like curly spokes in others!  I hopped in the shower before I had to look at myself a moment longer.

I've heard that taking a shower is a good way to stimulate creativity.  It must be true because I came out of the shower with a great idea for the Cryer and Chase account.  I sat down at my computer and designed a logo based on the outlines of two stylized ears coming together to form a heart.  In the middle of the heart was the silhouette of a couple talking and underneath the heart were the words, "Cryer and Chase--We Listen." 

It was perfect for the marriage counselors, and I knew they wouldn't be able to resist it, so I attached my invoice and hit the send button. Then I pulled my hair back with a headband and took the dogs for their walk.  Well, I took them for their walk after I retrieved my sneakers from Poppi. Maybe Jason should have arrested him. 

That Was Slick!

Chapter 1
When I entered the house after our walk, there was an email for me from Cryer and Chase Marriage Counselors, slogan "We Listen." They had been referred by the owner of Pork and Beans and were looking for a logo design for their business. I would need to put that on the back burner now though as it was time to take Pop Tart to school.  Poppi was a therapy dog in training for K9 Kares Readers--a group of dogs who went into classrooms to help students with special learning or emotional needs.  At the request of Miss Traylor, one of the Reading teachers at Lernsom Valley Middle School, Poppi and I visited her classroom to work with Will, one of my former students who was autistic.

Miss Traylor, straight out of college, was a good friend of mine despite her die hard enthusiasm in the face of 7 straight periods of classes overflowing with 30 plus twelve and thirteen year olds. If Miss Traylor was undaunted by the prospect of grading 214 Reading journals--most of which started with, "I like this novel because the author writes good,"--she certainly wasn't going to be discouraged by Will's unwillingness to read his assigned novels. Soon she'd struck on the idea of inviting K9 Kares Readers into her class to work with Will and several other students who were struggling, and although still in the early stages of training, Poppi did seem to be helping Will. 
When we arrived at school, I made sure to "exercise" Poppi before entering the building. The only patch of grass near the parking lot had a huge "No skateboards, No Smoking, No Dogs" sign in the middle. Poppi loved to lift his legs on it, and I felt any sign that put dogs in the same category as smoking deserved whatever Fate dealt it.  I looked up to see a  student sitting next to a window with a prohibited cell phone snap our photo just as Poppi was finishing.  I had a feeling we'd be on YouTube before lunchtime and I'd be wishing we, too, had followed Cryer and Chase's motto, "We Listen!" 
Oh well, there was nothing to be done about it now, so we headed for the Reading classroom. 
I positioned Poppi on the Reading Corner Rug as noisy 7th graders began pouring into the classroom. Slim, gangly and taller than me, Will was the last to enter.  Walking carefully so as not to touch any of the other students who were jostling toward their chairs, he spotted Poppi and--in a remarkable transformation--smiled and rushed to pet him. Poppi immediately jumped up and began trying to lick his face. A stern "Sit" command, didn't have any affect on Poppi, but Will instantly hit the rug. Sometimes you have to take what you can get, so I told Will thank you and gave Poppi another, "Sit!"

He grudgingly complied, and Will took a novel out of his backpack and started reading it to him. I moved out of the way, smiling at my little curly-tailed pup's power to put Will at ease. Miss Traylor was beaming from her chair in the small reading circle. I was beginning to suspect medication.

As I walked around the room, stopping to help or encourage students as needed, I realized that they were overly excited even for 7th graders.  Ever curious, I started to listen for the source of the excitement. "It was like magic!" Rebecca chattered to Brittany.  I didn't think she meant A Separate Peace which was the novel they were supposed to be reading together. Brittany giggled and replied, "The way he made that Pyrex cylinder disappear like that was, yeah, magic!" She ended her statement on a bit of a sigh, and I realized she was talking about Mr. Stein.

A former front singer for a punk rock band called Chomp It!, Mr. Stein now taught 7th grade science, but hadn't lost his charisma as far as most of the female students were concerned.  Even so, none of them believed the now bald Mr. Stein could possibly have been the wild-haired member of a band whose claim to fame back in the late 80's was making it to the Top 10 in West Germany with the tract, "Jelly Donuts in Berlin" from their Chomp-N-Donuts album.  Mr. Stein liked to call it their strawberry jelly and dough album as it had helped finance his first year in college.

One of his favorite lessons was teaching the students about the refraction index.  It was a great science lesson  that every teacher who taught the period after his classes wished he'd stop using.  I shushed the hyped-up students and earned an evil look (which I decided to ignore) from Brittany.

As long as she went back to focusing on her work and Poppi stayed on the Reading Area carpet, even if he was now eating a tissue from Will's backpack, I'd feel the day was a success.  When the bell rang, Poppi jumped up and tried to jump on several of the students, but I was still going to call it a success. He is a basenji, after all!

I chatted with Miss Traylor for a few minutes before venturing out into the hallway. The students had gone to their next classes, but I ran into my dear friend Senora Damalta as I stepped into the hall.  Tall with honey-colored blond hair, Senora's  blue eyes were usually glittering with intelligence.  However, now they were apparently on the verge of tears as my favorite Spanish teacher dragged me into the faculty room. She grabbed her insulated lunch bag out of one of the oldest operating refrigerators in Eastern, PA, offering me half her salad which I declined, as she blurted out the reason for the impending tears.  Today four students were demonstrating in halting Spanish how to make tacos at a table set up next to her desk. 

After the students had cleaned up and left the room to go to lunch, Senora discovered that the blown glass beads she'd brought back from her recent trip to Europe had vanished from her desk.  I asked her if any of the other students had approached her desk during class, and she replied that no they had all been too busy watching the demonstration and then eating tacos while the Carlos, Roberto, Jose and Marco cleaned up afterward. Roberto had spilled some of the vegetable oil he'd brought to fry the hamburger and had made quite a mess apparently.  I had no idea who Carlos, Roberto, Jose and Marco were because Senora called all her students by their "Spanish names." Sometimes I wondered if even she knew their real names! 

Senora insisted that the beads were on her desk when class had begun and that none of the four boys had left the room with anything other than what they had brought for their cooking demonstration.  I was as baffled as she was and was ready to admit so when Poppi decided he'd been ignored long enough! He grabbed my friend's napkin and pulled it off the table.  Unfortunately, Senora's bottle of ice tea was resting on the napkin at the time.  It shattered on the hard linoleum floor.  I was simultaneously apologizing to Senora and trying to push Poppi away from the bits of glass which seemed to be everywhere when she laughed and exclaimed, "Oh that Pop Tart! He makes me laugh even on a bad day like today."

Luckily, Senora is a dog person.  She offered to hold the Popster as I got down on my hands and knees and used half a roll of paper towels to sop up the tea and gather the glass.  Thankfully, it was a sunny day and the little bits of glass glittered on the rather dirty floor.  "Refraction again!" I thought just before I cut my thumb on a particularly sharp piece.  I let out a shout and poor Senora, who is deathly afraid of blood, almost passed out. I wasn't worried about the cut though. I was too excited about solving the "Case of the Disappearing Beads." I mindlessly tore another piece of paper towel off the roll and wrapped it around my thumb as I excitedly asked Senora what kind of oil Roberto had brought in to brown the taco meat. 

Thinking I was the one who was now light-headed, she suggested I sit down.  "No, this is important!" I fairly shouted.  "What kind of oil was it?"
"Uh, vegetable oil, Wesson, I think. Why?" she asked. 
"I know who has your beads!  He may be sneaky but at least we know he listened in science today!" I exclaimed.  "Blown glass is mostly made of Pyrex," I started to explain. 

"Mr. Stein was teaching refraction again, wasn't he? I knew those kids were too wound up today!" she interrupted catching on quickly.  "Wesson oil and Pyrex have the same refraction index. When he puts a Pyrex cylinder in a beaker full of Wesson oil, the cylinder seems to disappear in his demonstration," she moaned.

"Because the light rays refract off the oil and the Pyrex at the same angle, " I finished for her. "And the same thing would happen with your blown glass beads! Roberto dropped them in the bottle of oil and walked out of the room with them right under every one's nose, I'll bet."

After thanking me, Senora rushed out of the faculty room to go have a talk with the principal about the slick Roberto, and Poppi and I headed toward the parking lot.  Poppi lifted his leg on the sign again even after I'd lectured him the entire way out of the building about the obvious benefits of listening. 

As we pulled into the driveway at home, I saw my neighbor Mr. Gato, mowing his front yard.  He was a fanatic about his yard and was constantly spreading chemicals in his war on weeds.  Oh, well, at least today he was just mowing and the sound drowned out the harsh barking of Benito, his German Shepherd. Of course, as soon as I stepped out of the car, he slowed down and started to shout at me about the sorry state of my lawn and the evils of the dandelions growing in it. I took Poppi out of his crate, put his leash on and walked him into the house without even turning around.  Poppi's wrinkly basenji face quizzically looked up at me with such insistence, I shamefacedly admitted, "Okay. We don't always have to listen!" He wiggled his curly tail as if in agreement and tried to chew his leash before I could remove it.

Hell in the Hallways Has Moved

My blog Hell in the Hallways has become a fiction blog, now called Days of Whines and Cold Noses. Watch for the first installment of Bree and her dogs' adventures by the end of the day Saturday April 20th. Thank you for your patience.

Dog Tired: Prologue

Harper's persistent pawing at my face and nuzzling of my ear woke me up.  "'Harper' my middle-aged butt," I thought.  "'Harpy' was more like it!" I'd been up until 3:00 working on a graphic for a new BBQ joint getting ready to open in town. Specializing in pulled pork and specialty coffees, Pork and Beans, wanted me to design a logo around a dancing, gas-passing pig.  It had taken most of my contracted time to convince them that a pig juggling bags of coffee beans might attract more customers.   Being a freelance graphic designer is not as glamorous as it sounds.

Which is why at 8:01 AM, I wanted nothing more than to pull the covers up over my head, but Harper didn't care.  Harper, kennel name CH Sunstroke's Tequila Mockingbird, JC, is a 5 year old brindle and white Basenji with a stubborn streak as wide as her kennel name is long. Her normal breakfast time is 8:00, and apparently she felt she had "starved" long enough. I remove her paw from my nose and reluctantly got up--cursing her and her entire breed under my breath.

This wasn't at all fair to the only male in our household, Pop Tart, aka "Poppi," who truth be told, was always willing to sleep as long as possible. Talk about my kind of dog! However, he jumped out from under the covers immediately when he heard the kibble going into bowls and charged into his crate for breakfast.  A crated Basenji is a Basenji who will not try to chew his other Basenji friend's face off while eating.

Both their trim dog bellies now full, they were ready to come out of their crates. Poppi began playing his favorite game--try to put the leash on me while I run excited circles around the room! My peace lily took a header off the end table as he bounced off one of its legs.  At least during the time it took to clean up the mess, the coffee finished brewing. Pork and Beans had given me a sample bag of their "Jump out of Bed and Squeal!" ("JOBAS!") breakfast blend, so I could better understand the concept they were tryng to sell.  All the coffee in the world will never make me a morning person. After tasting a sip of  "JOBAS!" I felt all the real coffee in the world may never make me feel like a person again.

In need of caffeine nonetheless, I grabbed the coffee added low-fat creamer and managed to corral Poppi by luring him with a blueberry treat into a corner near the pantry.  Harper had been impatiently waiting at the door to the pantry as she knew where Poppi's juvenile antics would lead. At only one and half years old, once he wakes up he has more energy than a Pork and Beans large espresso. 

The sun gleamed on the basenjis' coats as I stepped out the door with my hot coffee in hand. Harper's light stripes became more visible and Poppi's black, tan and white coat (called "tri" for short by Basenji enthusiasts) shimmered like glass. Looking at the dogs frolicking ahead of me as we approached the sidewalk, I thought maybe I actually could face the morning.

That's when all hell broke loose. A German Sheppard came flying out my neighbor's front door closely followed by his owner, Mr. Gato yelling, "Aqui', Benito, Come!" Benito obviously did not speak Spanish or English, as he took off at a run and headed straight for Harper and Poppi--mostly straight for Harper since he adored her. Like an 8th grade cheerleader being forced to endure the attentions of the captain of the chess team, Harper glared and snarled.

I tried to place myself in between Benito and Harper, but Poppi picked that moment to come to Lady Harper's defense. Poppi's leash wrapped around my right ankle tipping me off balance. Benito jumped back at Poppi's unexpected challenge, and Harper sensing weakness lunged after Benito.

My left shoulder headed in one direction and my right ankle turned in another, I learned why yoga will never be my exercise of choice. My coffee flew up in the air and completed a beautiful arc before crash landing on my back, sprawled with the rest of my body on the ground. 

Mr. Gato finally had his hand on Benito's collar and was dragging him away.  "You have such mean dogs!  Benito just wanted to play! You should get nicer dogs," he proclaimed as he dragged his paragon of virtue out of my yard.

 By now my "vicious" beasts were standing on me licking the coffee off my soaked tee shirt.  "Caffeine, just what they need," I thought as I lectured my neighbor in my head on our suburb's leash laws.  I struggled to get up and was forced by the impatient Basenjis to continue their walk in spite of the fact that all the caffeine was now in their tummies and on my shirt. 

Five blocks later and the sounds emanating from my Basenjis made me wish I hadn't convinced the owners of Pork and Beans to rethink their logo. A flatulent pig would have been the perfect symbol for the eatery if my dogs were any indication.  By the time I got back to my yard, I had a whole new understanding of what the "Squeal" in the breakfast blend was, also.  I was almost ready to thank Benito for my only getting two sips of coffee until I saw the other mess he'd caused on my grass.

Follow along for the rest of Bree's day in upcoming posts.