Larry Gibbons
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Dirty Little Secret

5/9/2017

1 Comment

 
Picture
Old Log
I had a dirty little secret, but I don’t have it anymore.

You see, a few weeks ago, on a muggy summer afternoon, I was watching Sue and Buster approach the trailer. The two of them were returning from depositing a letter in our mailbox.

Buster, as usual, walked ahead. He always makes sure it’s safe for Sue to proceed. 

Buster also spends a lot of time keeping an eye on Sue inside the trailer and when she says, for example, “I’m going to the bathroom,” well, Buster is off like an all-star grey hound. His purpose being, to get to and inside the washroom before Sue shuts the door.

Sue likes to think he’s being protective and not a pervert. I’m not sure, but I do know that Buster is very defensive of his own privacy when he uses his many personal privies.

Anyway, as Sue approached, I could see that her face was filled with surprise, irritation and embarrassment and that her eyes were dancing circles and bunny hops and were really, really huge.

Of course I had to ask her what was wrong. Because you see, when I catch this look on Sue’s face I know there is usually something wrong and the something wrong might have something to do with a wrong something that I did to or with something or another.
Picture
Our Mailbox
Well, it so happens that I usually deposit the mail in the mailbox so I was the one who was aware of our dirty little mailbox secret.  What happened is, Sue opened the mailbox to deposit her letter, and LOOK OUT! She was confronted with an eye-full.  What she saw was a mailbox full of wood slugs and those fat, snail-looking insects which stick to the sides of things like mailboxes. And boy, can those bugs poop. It was gross for sure and I don’t know why I was able to be so blasé towards such an atrocity.

Of course I offered to rectify the situation and I did it right pronto.   What I did was clean it out with soap and water and then later on I sprayed the inside of the mailbox with bug spray.

Not too long afterwards I got to talk to the mail person, who is a man and would have been a mailman in another life. I mentioned I’d cleaned the mailbox out and sprayed it and that Sue had been mortified by the inside of our mail depository.

“Your mailbox was nothing,” he said. “The worst ones are the wooden mailboxes. They’re gross. The bugs love them and sometimes when I open them the bugs run across my arm and land on my lap.”

Now that is gross and I’m glad it hadn’t happened to Sue. I might have been sleeping at the back of the bed with Buster and he likes his spread-out space.
Picture
Old Man River
***
One warm, sunny and then cloudy and then sunny and then cloudy day with some wind which blew on and off, I was sitting on the front porch of an empty house. I cut the grass for the owners and have the right to sit on their tiny porch and watch the road and get a different view of the mountains and the fields.

I was sitting there when whom do I spy with my little eye and with the other one too, but a cat? A black and white cat. He was walking down the road and was oblivious to my presence. Why would he not be? The porch is usually uninhabited.
Picture
The Porch
So I shouted, using my deep, Gregory Peck, sexy voice, “Hey.”

The cat spun his head around, obviously in full surprise mode.

Now I want to let you know that these cats do, from time to time, hunt around our bird feeders. Because of this, I have built a cat wall. It blocks the cats from being able to pounce out of the thick bushes and snag a bird. I’ve seen them do it. One caught an Evening Grosbeak. The Evening Grosbeaks have been added to the Nova Scotia endangered list.
Picture
Cat Scram Ammo
So Buster and I are always on full alert for these cats and let me tell you, Buster takes his security work very, very seriously. Because, when I shout, “Kitty Cat!” he’s at attention, teeth ready, staring outside and at me, almost at the same time, as he waits for further instructions.

So, after I shouted, "Hey!",  the cat stopped and then stood and looked at me.

I shouted, “Stay away from our birds. I don’t want you bothering them.”

The cat just stood and glared at me and didn’t move any muscle, I was aware of. Of course I was about one hundred feet away, so do the math.

“Got it?” I shouted.

The cat glared. Still never showed any visible muscle movement.

“I’m everywhere!” I shouted.

I thought that might put some anxiety into the cat’s feline emotional system. Maybe make him lose some sleep, but the cat just glared. Never scrammed or even cantered off at a genteel, self-possessed speed. No sir. He was a cat and I better damn well know it.


Then I tried a different tack. I shouted, “Buster is everywhere!” and you should have seen that cat streak for home. See Puff run. Run Puff run. It was like he had mail-box bugs scurrying up his behind.

That reaction got me to thinking. This dog we call Buster, who lives with us, must have one heck of a reputation. A reputation which must have spread far and wide through-out the whole local animal kingdom land and maybe even beyond.

What a dog!
Picture
Buster on Watch
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