Boredom and Bravado
The tell was in how slowly they got up.
A simple “come here” usually brings Captain and Morgan to their feet, even if they have no idea what I want. Today it got an ear flick from each of them and very little else. They lay around the house with the heavy resignation of dogs who had exhausted every available pleasure by noon.
I found Captain at the pool, engaged in the serious business of gnawing a pool noodle. He had it pinned between his paws and was working his way along it with no particular hurry. Behind one of the storage bins lay the remains of what appeared to be two others, though trying to perform a body count on torn sponge is an imprecise science. Captain watched me examine the evidence, then went back to work.
I took them for a walk.
Nothing much happened at first, which is true of most walks until the Boyz decide otherwise. The neighborhood is full of sounds I would never think to investigate. They hear one, stop, and suddenly I am watching a child make his way home from school or a neighbor tend to some small piece of his yard. We stood for a while observing people who, as far as I could tell, were doing nothing that required an audience. The Boyz disagreed.
By the time we reached my friend’s property, they had found their usual walking pace. Stella was out in the yard. She is an aging Boxer, half blind and very large, and the Boyz recognized another dog before we were close enough for introductions. They stopped and sniffed the air. Stella stood where she was. For a moment, everyone seemed content with the arrangement.
Then Stella barked.
Morgan answered with a barrage of what I can only assume were expletives. Stella responded in kind, and I found myself holding back eighty-five pounds of dog who had discovered, quite suddenly, that he had strong feelings about this particular Boxer.
He strained at the leash, barking as though he intended to settle the matter personally. It had the air of a man shouting, “Hold me back,” while making certain someone does.
Captain stood beside us and watched. He has spent enough time with Morgan to know that Morgan is going to be Morgan. If he had an opinion about the exchange, it seemed to be let me know when you’re done.
After a few more words, Stella gave one last bark. Morgan returned one, quieter than the rest. “You good?” “Yeah. You?” The tension went out of the leash, and Stella turned away. Whatever needed saying had apparently been said.
Morgan’s posture came down slowly, the fight going out of his shoulders one degree at a time, until he was just a dog on a leash again, walking home at a satisfied clip. Twice on the way back he glanced over his shoulder. Once to see if Stella had followed. Once to see if anyone else had. Captain stopped at the usual places to sniff. I kept hold of the leash, in case Morgan needed me to remember how the fight had ended.
