by Hammond, T.
“Welcome to our life,” I replied, with a grin. “I’ll warn you now, don’t swear or say things in front of the dog that you want kept private. He repeats everything.”
“It’s like being in a room with a friggin’ parrot,” Bas complained, with a decidedly affectionate tone to his voice. “I’ll get the front door. Show ‘em what you’ve got, Red.”
There was a plastic-on-wood scratching-clacking noise as Red plucked out the keys he wanted. I heard his nails click briskly across the foyer and out the door. We were a little more sedate following. I imagined it would take him a moment to maneuver the keys so that he could open the car doors. It’s not like dogs have thumbs, right? Wrong. Red and David must have been practicing for a while, because it was less than a minute when I heard the first, then second click of the door locks lifting.
David starting laughing, “Go on Dex, he’s waiting for you. He can’t do door handles.” For my benefit, David explained, “Red picked the right keys, of course, and is now waiting by Bas’ passenger door.”
“Could this guy be any slower?” Red complained. “Tell him to hurry up, I want to make the beeping noises.”
To Dex, who still hadn’t budged from our side, I said, “Red has requested that you get a move on; he wants to play with the locks again.”
There was a shuffling walk as Dexter slowly approached, then opened the car door. “Red just hopped up on the seat. He’s waiting, we forgot he can’t open the little door on the glove box.”
“Sucks to have paws,” I laughed.
“Just reach in and open the glove compartment if you would, Dex. He can’t work the latch.”
“His head just disappeared, so he’s probably looking for the laser,” David continued his commentary.
“It’s not in here,” Red told me.
“Red says it’s not in the glove box, could you have left it somewhere else, Bas?”
“It’s in the vehicle. Maybe I tossed it in the cargo area.” In a louder voice, Bas said, “Check in the back or under the seats, Red.”
“Okee dokee,” My dog said. Fifteen seconds or so into his search, “Found it. It slipped down beside the passenger seat and the middle-thingy that Bas puts his music into. I can’t reach it.”
“Dex, my dog says the laser fell between the seat and the console. He can’t reach, are you able to reach it for him?”
“He found the laser. He says I’m the damnedest thing he’s ever seen. He wants me to put the laser on the table with the rest of the keys, but I want to lock the car,” the dog whined.
“Just do as he says, Red. Then you can come back and we’ll let you lock the vehicle.” To the people surrounding me, I said, “We need to get out of the doorway so Red can get through.”
I felt the dog brush against my legs as he rushed by me, into the house. There was a clunking noise as he dropped the laser on the low table. Clicking nails let me know he was heading past us again. “Woo hoo! I get to make the car beep!”
I shook my head at his antics. “Simple minds, have simple pleasures,” I mocked, as I listened to the sound of locks plunging down, and the bark of the car alarm.
“Okay, I feel like I have been dropped into the middle of a Twilight Zone episode,” Fritz sighed. “That dog is freakin’ surreal.”
Dexter joined us at the front porch, “Surreal? No, that dog is impossible. I’ve owned dogs all my life, they don’t have the mental capacity to reason things out like that one just did. The car locks could have been a trick, a real intricate trick. But Red understood exactly what item you were looking for, and he followed my directions to place it where I wanted. There were no hand signals or anything to give him direction. He’s amazing.”
“Don’t forget, Team Red is not just a dog that does cool tricks. Teresa is a huge component. We have incorporated hand signals so she can communicate with him silently, for example when she doesn’t want to interrupt people who are talking,” Bas clarified.
“It will help our mission, incredibly, that their range has expanded,” David added. “Hey Red, go grab the laser for me and we will check out the distance right now.”
Red brushed by us once more. “Teresa, do you want to check the sight link also?”
“Yes, please, Red.” I had gotten used to the light watching Red do his demonstration, so was less concerned about my irritable stomach revolting.
“Okay, lights on,” he warned. A moment later, my mind was flooded with brightness and I was focused on David, Bas, Dex, and Fritz, standing beside me.
Bas lifted an arm to point beyond Red, “Head over to the end of the driveway; that’s about two hundred feet and we can work our way in from there.”
Red turned and I watched his surroundings as he approached the main road, the pale blues and yellows of his world so closely matched to the muted shades of a faded photograph. He arrived at the mailbox and I was surprised that we still had a strong link. “We still have a connection,” I said, aloud. “Let’s send him out farther, maybe toward the western property line?” Rather than yell, I assumed Red knew we were still linked, and pointed my hand toward the west. Red looked in the direction I pointed and slowly trotted up the pavement. Eventually the link went black; before I could say something the link reconnected.
“Well, that answers my question as to if Red knows when you are no longer receiving feedback,” David said. I grinned, as I had wondered the same thing myself. “You barely got your arm up and he had already stopped and returned to the spot where the connection dropped.” I heard a few beeps as David, presumably, adjusted the laser settings. “And, once again, we have proof that dogs have no sense of distance- he is a little over one hundred eighteen YARDS away. This is a huge jump in your range!”
“Teresa, lights out. I’m going to see if it’s the same distance with just the mind speak.” My world was dark, once again. “I’ll go slowly, a few steps at a time.”
Assuming that Bas or David were watching me, as was the norm when we were running tests of some type, I signed that Red and I were switching to mind-speak only.
“Fuck me,” Bas muttered under his breath. I grinned, guessing he was impressed that we had just marked the mind vision point, not the mind speak range. None of us imagined we would have this much distance with it.
“What?” Fritz asked.
“They are going to try and amp it up to get a little more distance,” Bas was quick to lie.
“Can you hear me now?” Red joked, and I repeated his words to the group surrounding me.
“We have connection, has he moved farther along?” I asked, a few seconds later.
“He’s at about one hundred forty three yards, and still moving. Wait, he just stopped, and backed up. He’s at one hundred fifty-seven yards.”
“I felt the connection drop so I came backwards a little bit. Can you still hear me from here?” I put a hand up and waved it above my head. He would be too far away to clearly read sign language. “Okay, I’m coming back then.”
“Wow, this is significant, Teresa. It makes the seating arrangements, and access to the balcony, at the BAWHG a lot simpler,” David said.
“Bog?” Dex asked. Poor guys. Being around Team Red must be like walking in to Act Three of a play you’ve never seen before.
“B-A-W-H-G, it’s the acronym we are using for the Black and White ball,” Bas explained. “We had been planning everything around last week’s thirty feet maximum range for Red and Teresa.”
“This extra distance gives us a lot more flexibility, and decreases the chance of Teresa getting caught in an area that would raise questions,” David added. “We were worried about getting her close enough to Red to act as a receiver, yet far enough away that Morales would be willing to talk openly.”
“Food’s on!” Ken yelled from the kitchen.
We all filed through the doorway, with Red bringing up the rear. “I am so exhausted,” he sighed dramatically. “I may need bacon to help me get my strength back”
“No bacon, Red. You
know better than to ask,” I scolded. “And no trying to wheedle scraps from the new guys. The ‘no begging at the table’ rule is still in full effect. But, knowing Ken, he’s probably dropped some scrambled eggs in your bowl.”
Obviously hearing me from his place at the stove, Ken added, “Not only do you have eggs in your bowl, but I added a spoonful of bacon drippings to them. That’s as loosely as I could interpret the rules for you buddy.”
I grinned at Red’s excited bark, followed by the scramble of paws as he ran to his bowl.
We were finished with breakfast and chatting like old friends when Red placed his head on my thigh. “The cat invaded the deck while I was at the hospital. She got all the way to my dog door. I need to step up my plans to trap her tonight. She doesn’t seem to understand boundaries,” He complained.
I shared Red’s feelings with my dining companions.
“Red may be a mighty hunter, but the cat is probably just as stealthy at night, so Red will have his work cut out for him,” Bas taunted.
“Oh, ye of little faith,” Red said, with a hint of pity in his tone. “I am sadly underestimated here. I bet I have a cat trapped by morning.”
Mmm, obviously my dog had been putting some thought into his plan if he was feeling so confident. I relayed Red’s bet to Bastian.
“Really?” Bas drew out the word. “Feelin’ mighty bold, are you Furface?” There was a pause while he deliberated the dog’s cocky challenge. I should have known, if anyone would consider the bet, it was Bas. “Just what are we betting here?”
“Fetch at the dog park every day for a week,” Red said instantly. I grinned; I smelled a set up, but there was really no way that Red could know if his untested trap would work. Could he?
“Two Saturdays at the dog park,” Bas countered, after I relayed the opening bid in this afternoon’s parleys. “As soon as possible, but work comes first, Red. If you lose you will have to wear pink dog booties when we work our next crime scene.
“Really, Teresa? I hate the dog booties because they feel weird on my feet. Does he really think I care what color they are? Tell the Jolly Blond Giant, it’s a deal!”
“How will we know if Red really traps the cat? I want a picture,” Bas declared. “It’s not that I think Red would out-right lie, but he has been known to take liberties with interpretation of contracts. Even after we set up the Rules of Engagement, he took out two of the security drones.”
That statement earned Bas mirrored looks of surprise from both Dex and Fritz. He noticed their stares and defended, “Hey, you should hear how he interpreted the demilitarized zone when we fly drones. He was leaping off the deck to catch them, even ones we had agreed were in the Red Zone. We have video,” he added.
Chapter Nineteen
Much to everyone’s surprise, Bas lost the bet. The next morning, we woke up to find that Red had dragged a long narrow box out of the garage (Yeah, I think he had help too. My money’s on Ken). The cardboard box was left lying on the deck overnight, with the open end facing the house. Sure enough, the mysterious lure of the basic cardboard box was too much for her.
As soon as the cat crawled into the box, Red had sprung up from his hiding spot under the picnic table, and nosed the box towards the slider door, effectively trapping the cat within. Red laid on the box all night, to prevent the cat from getting away before we had proof of his success. David immediately snapped a picture to email to Bastian, who had stayed at his own place. We ran a copy of the photo off the printer and taped it low by Red’s dog bowls so he could gloat. The picture, taken from inside the house, showed the open end of the box shoved against the glass, the cat scratching pitifully at the window pane as she tried to get out. The full distribution of one hundred pounds of German shepherd, draped over the box, prevented the cat from pushing her temporary prison away from the glass. In the photo, Red, atop his cat trap, looked so happy with his doggie smile, while the poor cat looked bedraggled. It was a great picture. And, of course, we immediately insisted that the dog let her go.
Red was ecstatic when Bas showed up an hour later with a new tennis ball. They both decided to play fetch on the adjoining property rather than head to the park; a better plan, really, as we didn’t bother with a leash out here where the two closest neighbors are miles away.
Over the next ten days, we settled into a routine that included Dex and-or Fritz being somewhere within shouting distance of me wherever I went. Instead of trailing behind me in ninja stealth mode, Red and I included the guys in our daily walks.
Red and I practiced every day with the mind speak and the mind vision. We are finally to a point that we can go up to two hours before Red starts to feel any headaches forming. One of the biggest adjustments has been for me to learn how to function with the distraction of Red’s constant feed into my mind. When I was explaining the difficulty to David, I likened the mind vision with trying to write a letter when a song with catchy lyrics was playing next to you on a radio, and someone was streaking naked by the window. I had to learn to talk while not reacting to the things I was viewing through Red. And, not only talking, I had to learn to walk and talk also.
Yeah, laugh it up. Smartass Bas, made a point to share a pack of gum with everyone in the car the other day, and skipped me because he didn’t want me overwhelmed. Implying, of course, I couldn’t walk and chew gum. Bass-hole.
It was easier when Red was beside me, leading me somewhere, as then I was seeing where we were going and what we were doing. But consider how hard it would be to concentrate on counting stairs, while talking to David, while Red was in the backyard feeding me visuals of taking a poop (Yeah, we had a talk about that afterwards), or chasing birds through the brush. I still find it hard to compartmentalize the feedback, but I hope, if I remain seated while Red is on the balcony, I should be able to concentrate on business.
Our Wild Horses were heading to San Diego tonight to pick up their female partners-slash-dates and their BAWHG formal wear. The Team, along with Ken, Janey, and Jason, would be heading to San Francisco tomorrow afternoon.
My bruising was all gone, and the incident was fading almost as quickly. I surprised myself by having nervous bouts the first few times I found myself alone in the house - I know, such a tough girl! I thought logic would override fear. Silly me.
My first morning home, I had wandered downstairs to grab coffee and an apple for breakfast. I froze for a few minutes outside the pantry door, trying to convince myself to walk through the doorway to the shelf that held the apple bag. Dex is the one who found me, standing in the kitchen, frozen in my first-ever anxiety attack. He was pretty cool about it, guessing right away what my problem was. He approached me like I was a dangerous animal (maybe he was impressed by the pictures of Devon?), talking softly to let me know he was approaching and wanted to help. His touch on my shoulder seemed to release the tension in my body and I swayed a little as I realized what was going on. I got a nice, warm hug, as Dex folded me against his chest and stroked my hair while we waited for David to respond to the text he’d sent. David came up from the basement and eased me into his arms as shudders racked me, and I took a few huge gulps of air. Did I mention I was practically holding my breath the whole time I stood there? Apparently, everyone else had been prepared for this eventuality - well except me, of course.
That night, David placed a blown up cell phone picture of Devon’s bloody face on a cork board near the fitness area. He handed me a couple of darts and taught me how to throw them. With Red’s visual aid, I was getting really good at targeting that area right between his eyes. Dex and Fritz think I am a damned lucky darts player, because we still haven’t told them about our mind vision capabilities.
It got easier each time I forced myself into the pantry, and after a week or so. I only felt a twinge of unease, rather than full-blown panic. I was very disappointed in myself for being such a ninny about the pantry, but I decided not to beat myself up over it.
David, of course, was Mr. Wonderful. While I was still in
the hospital, he and Bastian had some in-depth sessions with a psychiatrist friend of theirs at the VA Hospital, to learn about possible emotional side effects from my attack. Dr. Allen sure nailed the whole anxiety thing with a sledgehammer. Thanks to their forethought, and understanding, they helped me work through the worst of the panic until I felt more in control.
I finished brushing my teeth, feeling fresh from a nice hot shower. This morning, I had gone to my beautician, Cyndi, to get waxed; my legs (and yeah, a few other things) were nice and smooth, and my nails were polished, at my request, in a bright crimson shellac polish. I was feeling sexy as I draped my damp towel over the shower door, flipped off the bathroom light, purely by habit, since there was no reason to have a light on in the first place. I padded, nude, to the window seat knowing David would be there, waiting. Relaxing each night on the long, pillow laden bench had become a ritual for us. Sometimes we talked, and other evenings we simply enjoyed the ease of being with each other, yet alone with our thoughts. David guided my bottom around until I was cuddled into the support of his lounging body, held protectively in the cradle of his arms and legs. He was still wearing jeans, and the denim was a sensual abrasion along the outside of my hips and thighs.
