Vibrant Village ™

Some dogs are downright neighborly.  They start conversations.

Mr. Regal

I love my dog.  He suits me. Most of the time I think I suit him, too.  He wishes I were more active, though.  He'd like to race about, free and unfettered, at least twice a day.  I can only manage his heart's desire about three times a week.  Other times, he gambols in the back yard or a leash binds us together as he takes me along for neighborhood walks.

He mostly ignores me as he checks his messages on every post, pole and tree.  After all, I'm only the Royal consort to this dog named Regal.  He grants me permission to trail along.  Bearing baggies, I attend to his personal needs. Handmaiden to his majesty.

You'd think he'd be grateful

Or gracious.  But no, he grumbles. Truly, this dog grouses and grumbles.  Mutters under his breath.  Spoiled.  I didn't make him that way.  That's the way he came.  Already spoiled.  It's in his nature. You see, he's half Whippet.  His other half?  Perhaps Jack Russell or Rat Terrier?  An odd combination.  The Whippet half prevails.

Whippets and other dogs from the sight hound group are the aristocrats of the dog world. While the working dogs and herding dogs were putting in the long hours in weather both foul and fair, sleety or torrid, the sight-hounds were used for brief coursing contests and prey pursuit. After their short stints, they were coddled, laying about on softest cushions and plush rugs.  To this day, these dogs regard good food—served on time, mind you—a soft bed, warmth and wide open spaces as their due.

Shabby service is unacceptable

So it is with Regal—or Mr. Regal, as he prefers being called. He complains when his creature comforts are shoddy or beneath his expectations. And the bar's high, believe me.

But I love him.  He's my buddy, my companion. We escape for walks in pretty places.  Places where I, too, can roam free and unfettered.  Far away from deadlines, bills, errands and chores.

Go ahead, ask me

In public, Mr. Regal starts conversations with strangers. An odd-looking fellow, people can't quite figure him out. They recognize certain parts, but not the combination.  With big black splotches on a snowy coat of white, long, long legs, and ears as big as a mule deer's, just about everyone whose path we cross inquires as to his make.

Just the other day, a woman commented that he looked like “a Jack Russell on stilts.”  That's about right.

When I'm feeling frisky, I enjoy making up fake breed names for him.  Sometimes I say he's a “Whippet-Holstein,” as his markings resemble a black and white cow's.  Some people nod and accept this breed as fact.  Mostly city folks. Country folks wink and laugh.

Other times, I call him a Peruvian Fly-Catcher Hound—the only dog in the world fast enough to catch flies in mid-air at high altitudes.

When I'm feeling really puckish, I go to greater lengths and invent entire tales—especially when kids are involved.  Watching their eyes grow big and round like shiny saucers drives me onward.  Then, I start channeling Mark Twain's story, The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County.  Soon enough, the child catches on.  We share a laugh.

Kids have a great sense of humor.  I like to provoke it.

The conversation goes something like this:

“This dog?  You want to know about this dog?  Well, funny you should ask.  This dog is kind of special.  See his legs?  You can tell he's born to run, right?  And run he does.  Let me tell you, this dog is fast.  Really fast.  How fast?  Well, he's retired now, but in his day, this dog was the fastest dog in California, Arizona and Nevada combined.  Beat almost every dog in Florida, too.  Won major races in Mexico. Cleaned up in Canada. Not another dog could catch him.  That's over the quarter-mile, you understand.  He's a sprinter, not designed for distance.”

“Once he ran so fast, he left paw-rubber on the track.  Practically ran his paws right off.  Got a lot of heart.  But he's retired now.  He's a formerly fast dog.  Just runs for fun now, not for bets.”

“His name?  You want to know his name?  My, aren't you the curious one.  Well, his full name is Big Ear Black Spot Sporty Speedster.  But his racing name was Speedster Spotty. Me?  I just call him Zippy.”

“Sure, you can pet him.  He won't bite.  Unless you've got a pork chop in your hand.  Then you'd better count your fingers.  Hey, want to race him?  I'll give you a head start.  Better not run like a rabbit. He just might forget he's retired.  Nip your rump when he catches you.  And he will catch you, guaranteed.  Oh, you don't want to race?  Can't say I blame you.  He's got some sharp little teeth.”

That's my dog, the conversation-starter

The dog that answers to Regal.  Or not.  Sometimes he can't be bothered. Especially when he's checking his messages.  But when I put on my hiking boots, he's very attentive. Then he's doggy-on-the-spot.  Couldn't be more helpful. Eager. Carries my car keys.   Starts the ignition.  Drives way too fast. Honks at cats.

I've got to go now.  Mr. Regal's making his grumble-sound.  And he's pacing.  That means his mailbox is full.  Time for him to go check his messages—and reply to a few. Hope his attachments aren't too messy.

If we get lucky, we'll meet some curious people.  Got a new dog breed to try out:  North Carolina Coastal Retrieving Chow Hound. Works for me. Truthful, too.

So the next time someone asks “what kind of dog is that?”-- we're ready.

Copyright 2009  Patricia Frank.  All rights reserved.