Can’t….quite…Oh, I got it. That’s better now. Things have been a little itchy since I got back from the vet. Nothing major, it’s just in an odd spot that’s hard to scratch. Everything’s cool though. Things are almost back to the way they used to be. The old man is still a little cautious about letting me go out by myself. But, it seems like he’s a little more comfortable with letting me have access to the good old outdoors again.
Really, I don’t feel the need to go out just for fun, anymore. The days are definitely colder. My luscious days of sunbathing are now spent in front of the bay window, where the cold stays outside and the sun can comfort me. But, for the moment, I’ve got to take care of business. I hop up and go tell the old man that I’m going outside. I find him in the kitchen, probably getting himself some snackies. I do want, so I give him my best puppy dog eyes I can manage (I’m great at this and it’s never failed me). He drops a few crumbs as he crunches on a tasty morsel. I help him by quickly picking them up. He spots me and “accidentally” drops a piece. I thank him and gobble it up. Just some toast, but it’s still delicious.
Then I tell him about my business elsewhere and head for the door. I look back to see if he wants to go, too. But he doesn’t follow. I pop out into the cool air and search the yard for intruders. To tell you the truth, I’m still a little cautious myself. When the coast is clear, I proceed to look for a nice spot to go. I circle and sniff, and when the time is right I take care of business.
That’s when I smelled it. Another pup? I scan the fence line. Thieves is on his usual perch, but he isn’t looking at me. I look for what he sees and discover an intruder. I rush over to the fence to investigate. My small head easily squeezes through the boards so that I can get a better look at the fellow. He’s a well-groomed pup, his coat cut and brushed with great care. He is even attached to his also very well-groomed companion by a fancy leash. I realize they’re just out for a walkies, but I warn them that this is my yard, just so there’s no misunderstanding.
“Hey, watch it, mutt.” the well-groomed dog calmly replies. He plays it cool, but I can tell this fella was doing nothing more than insulting me.
“A mutt? Did you call me a mutt?”
“Yes sir. I call them like I see them.”
“What do you mean?”
“Calling me a dirty word like that. I’m not a mutt.”
“Yes you are. You’re not purebred like me, so you’re a mutt. There’s nothing wrong with it. In fact, sometimes you guys have it easy. Me, I have to get dressed up all the time so I can look good when we go out.” He motions to his companion and rolls his eyes.
“Ya, but I’m not a mutt. That’s rude to say.”
“It’s not rude. It just designates that you’re a special type of dog. There’s Collies, Scotties, and Poodles like me, but when you’re a mixture, you’re a mutt. You’re unique. There’s not another combination in the world that makes another pup just like you. Oh well, time for us to go. We have to get home in time for dinner. Take it easy, mutt.”
I watch the pup and his companion continue further down the walk and around the corner. I’m still a little confused. I always thought mutt was a bad word. If I’m a mutt, I guess it can’t be that bad. After all, the old man did pick me. I guess being a mutt makes me special…at least to him, and that’s all that matters.
Jason Duron is a short story writer and author of several fiction stories. Curious and lovable as dogs can be, the Adventures of Rocky give you a chance to see daily life from a “dog’s eye view” and share in their thoughts. Please enjoy, and we hope that you’ll feel free to comment and give us insight into your dog’s very own Rocky Adventures.