By Judy Phelon
In this little town, there are little stories known to few. This is one.
Buoy is a handsome golden retriever rarely separated from his human parents, Mike and Helen, Warren. He is a “leaner” in dog-owner parlance. His love translates into pressing the middle of his warm, soft, hairy, golden back against your outer thigh. The touch is decidedly firm enough to be noticed but soft enough that with work you can remain standing. One can only respond by petting him with reassurance and sometimes walking while attached. He loves you!
Either his dog-whisperer mom should have a well-attended podcast on dog training or, he somehow knows just how to please her. Of course, that’s his job. The love is mutual. To dig deeper, Buoy has his routines. He chases squirrels, rolls in things you don’t want to touch but also lies contentedly at your feet, preferably touching.
He jumps willingly into the way-back of any station wagon to the command, “kennel-up” and he supervises every interaction between Helen and other humans and dogs during the ride. Buoy is not all that crazy about playing with other dogs but resists by avoidance, not confrontation.
Whatta good boy!
Daily walks allow him to roam the woods freely but when called, he comes immediately. He knows he is not permitted to leave the property unaccompanied and never crosses the road without permission.
But, then… there’s Brenda Garilli. Brenda is a lovely woman with an exercise regimen I have admired for at least 25 years. When I’d head down West Hill on the way to work, Brenda was often beginning or ending her walk. Like clockwork in all the kinds of weather (mail carriers take note) she’d do 5 miles, 10 miles… I don’t know. She goes through Warren Village and up Lincoln Gap then back home, I assume. In uncertain weather, she wears what looks like a shiny raincoat with a hood that makes her a little mysterious to the casual passerby. But, not to me: We wave; I admire.
Buoy and Brenda have a relationship! Brenda’s schedule is so precise that Buoy becomes agitated at 8:45 a.m. or so. He signals, “I think Brenda is coming! Let me out!” then paces the yard until he sees her head pop up over the hill.
He hurries to get to the top of the drive where she can’t miss him as she walks by. Lost in the urgency, he thinks orgasmic dog things. Swoons over her hidden countenance. Anticipates her smells. Quivers with excitement. It’s Brenda! It’s Brenda!
Brenda has biscuits, biscuits, biscuits! On her hand signal, and with butt-shaking enthusiasm, Buoy steps into the road for a sit, pat and biscuit. Nirvana!
“I love her, I love her” his tail says. Exhausted by his own enthusiasm, he then reluctantly calms himself and steps back onto the driveway to wait patiently for her return trip and a gently tossed “goodbye biscuit.”
Life is so simple.
Phelon lives in Warren.
