Today started out odd. The old man was quick to start the day. Unfortunately, it didn’t begin with me. An old room got all the attention. Though I tried to help, I was informed that I wasn’t needed for the job. The scent of freshness, perhaps to clean the room, filled the air, and even the old beast was summoned from the closet to roar across the carpet. I hate that noisy thing, but it offers a fun game when the old man lets the beast’s snout grab a powerful scent of my fur. It pulls at my skin, and I bark my fearsome roar to let the beast know who the master is of this house.
Soon enough, the room is restored to a rather comfortable style. New pillows call to me, so I jump up on the bed to grab a few afternoon Z’s. Unfortunately, that seems to be a no-no, and the old man quickly rids the bed of me. I grunt disappointingly, but consider that the couch is probably more comfortable, anyway.
My snooze is interrupted by new voices and scents. Another human is in the house. I drop down to the floor and charge the invader. The old man quiets me with a bit of hushing, and introduces me to the newcomer- and his pup. The stranger carries a crate, and within it, two beady eyes stare back at me.
“Hey!” I call to the other pup, “Who are you?”
“There are those who call me…Tim.”
The visitor speaks a bit of nonsense as he sets the crate down and releases Tim into my domain. Still unsure of what to make of this situation, I follow the curious rascal as he wanders around my home. He goes through the motions innocently enough, but then my fears have come to light when he reaches my couch. Up goes the leg, marking my territory as his own. It’s on, now!
After a bit of wrestling (all a big misunderstanding, so says Tim), both visitors are secured in the freshly cleaned room. The old man is left to decontaminate the area, using some of his cleaners to get rid of Tim’s message. They said it was just because they had a long drive and the rascal hadn’t had time to pee, but I know better. There is a big difference between taking care of business and leaving your mark. Ask any dog, they’ll tell you.
I head outside to take care of my own business…properly. I notice Thieves moving around in Christy’s yard. It’s only been a week, but the rascal has grown on me- and is quite clever, hence the name. His little hands pull the critter up so that he can see what I’m doing.
I ask him how things are going in his world, to which he replies his favorite word: mama. I’ve been teaching him how to talk, and a few words stick, but that one seems to enter every conversation. He hugs himself and waves at me. I tell him to get on back to his mama, before he gets into anymore mischief. I should have guessed that Christy would make room in her home for Thieves, since she loves animals with sincere passion.
After Thieves disappears back over the fence, I get back inside to make sure that everything is secure. The visitors have returned to the kitchen, the old man sharing a meal with his friend. Tim sat at his companion’s feet, begging. I tell him that’s not polite, but he continues. The visitor doesn’t seem to mind, and in fact instigates it by giving the boorish rascal a few strips of meat. I too want a piece, but my manners hold me fast. I’m a good pup, and I’ve been taught better than that.
After dinner, the old man sits and chats with his friend as I tail Tim through the house. He won’t be so quick as to mark again. I can tell he’s nervous, but that’s the way it needs to stay when he’s in my house.
The next morning is terrible. Messages everywhere! I sniff around the markings, trying so hard not to do the same. The old man would have to clean up even more of a mess. Then Tim emerges, a smirk on his face as though he had done a good deed. I corner the rascal, holding the culprit until the law arrives. After a few moments, the old man is there with me, trying to calm me down.
After some discussion, the visitor feels that they have worn out their welcome. At least, Tim has worn it out. They pack up and move out without complaint. Even Tim does little more than whimper from his cage. I’m a nice pup, so I give him a few hints for future use. Don’t mark in the house!
“Well, that was a bit of a mess, wasn’t it?” the old man says to me. I agree, and bark a goodbye to the visitors, hoping they aren’t coming back anytime soon.
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.