Dandy Do-Little

by Leslie Allen

  "I know," Goldie growled. "I don't like snow."

  Quickly Buster hopped off the ottoman and ran over to the sofa. He hopped up next to me, turned around once and lay down. He said quietly, "Goldie doesn't like snow." I moved my left hind leg a little so Buster could snuggle against my stomach. "We'll have to teach him," I said.

  "Dandy Do-Little, where did you come from?"

  I looked at Buster in surprise. "Why," I said without thinking, "I came from a pound. A shelter."

  "A pound? What's that?"

  "It's a place where dogs and cats who don't have homes are taken."

  "Is it nice there?"

  "Not really. I mean—it's okay. It's better than the street. It's warm. There's food. There are other dogs. But … living in a cage is not for me."

  "A cage?" Buster looked surprised.

  "Yes."

  I hadn't thought about the shelter in a long time. It hadn't been so bad compared to what came before. It's funny how things stick with you. Sometimes I see a person who reminds me and I just can't help myself. People with hair on their face. People in hats. A deep voice—Special alert! The smell of sauerkraut—Watch out! I no longer run every time I see a broom, but I remember.

  I sighed and turned my gaze out the window. The snow was thickening, the flakes now large and lazy and gracefully falling, covering the yard, each blade of grass, every twig, every seed on every dry flower head, bringing out the details, defining the details, each snowflake a puzzle piece, maybe, floating down to its spot, spiraling, magically, to the very spot where it seemed to fit.

  "Why didn't I go to the pound? Or Goldie?"

  "I don't know, Buster." I thought for a minute. "But I'm glad you didn't."

  Using my nose and chin I tucked Buster in. He gave me a kiss, and soon we were soon fast asleep.

  WINTER GAMES

  "Iiiiin this corner, wearing brown shorts and weighing 15 pounds, Buuuuuster Brooooownie Boy. In the other corner, wearing gold trunks and weighing 13 pounds, Goooooldilocks Dreeeeeaaaaamsicle. All right, fellas, you know the rules. At my bark, come out …"

  Buster shoots across the room and jumps on top of Goldie. Goldie lies flat and shoots out between Buster's skinny legs, somersaults, comes to a stop in the middle of the room. He plops down on his back and makes four paws ready to scratch the sky. His ears lay back along his head and his eyes gleam. His tail twitches. He lets out a low growl.

  Buster spins and lunges. Goldie rocks forward and swipes at Buster with his right front paw. Buster ducks. He lowers his front end to the floor, sticking his tail high in the air. He growls and snaps. He grabs Goldie's tail! Goldie rocks forward and hits Buster with a right-left combination. Buster barks, backs up, comes forward, sneaks in, nips Goldie's legs! Goldie yowls! Buster nips his tail! Buster pulls his tail! With a roar Goldie rights himself and faces Buster head on. They pause, nose to nose. Goldie advances with a left side hook! Then a right! Then a somersault and up again! Buster goes low and growls, swinging his head back and forth then tearing off and running in the opposite direction! He circles the coffee table and heads straight for Goldie! Goldie drops, rolls, sticks four feet in the air and grabs at Buster as he races by! Tufts of hair fly! Buster circles around and heads straight for Goldie again, leaping over him at the last minute, swerving to avoid the menacing claws! Goldie's hissing and yowling and Buster's sailing around the coffee table—here he comes! Goldie leaps into a full airborne body check and Buster goes down! He's up! It's nose to nose with Goldie's tail lashing furiously and Buster's straight up.

  Suddenly, Goldie sits. He flops over onto his side. He begins to wash his chest.

  "We done, Goldie?"

  "For now."

  Goldie's Bongo Blues

  I'm going to meditate in the drawer.

  The kitchen drawer.

  The kitchen drawer under the sink.

  The kitchen drawer under the sink with the towels in it.

  I'm going to meditate in the drawer.

  THE END

  Author's Note

  "Dandy Do-Little" was originally written and published in a limited quantity in 1996, one year after my dog Dandy's death. He was 9 years old and died from accidental poisoning. I don't know for sure how he came to be poisoned, but a week before he died, on a mild and windy spring day, a neighbor had insisted, against my wishes, on spraying weed killer on the dandelions on my parkway. Buster and Goldie live on, and you can read more about them, their friend Queenie, and me at an upper peninsula journal. (https://u-p-journal.blogspot.com)

  Thanks for reading.