“Ho ho, and let’s go,” I say as Roo Roo, the wild child dog and I set out for our usual 6:30 a.m. jounce and bounce, rock and roll promenade around the country club. Lawdy mercy, I guess my canine companions and I have made this mawnin’ journey together going on to a little over twenty years now. I had also done this trek with my other dog, June Cleaver, who’s now in doggie heaven.
Leaving the house this morning, for some reason the music swelling on the March breeze was an out of tune song in my ears. “It’s an ill wind that blows no good,” I said. You need to go back home, pour another cup of java and sit down, something told me. Lately, The Roo and I’d been tantalized by gossipy sounding geese; we didn’t exactly jive to their music. As I often did, I hoped that any of the big wings that teased the pooch might have started their flights to other climes and worlds.
As we turned off Old Canton and began our journey down St. Andrew’s, the guard steps out of the guardhouse to greet us as he always does. “Good morning, Roo Roo,” he says. “And, how y’all doing?”
We give him a hello nod, then a goodbye wave and pick up our speed a tad. Strutting and striding, all quiet in the sky and on the home front, I decided I’d been off beam about my feelings when I left the house.
As we continue our hike there are certain spots on this morning journey that I’ve nailed in my brain as to how far we’ve come, and how far we still have to go. “We’re a fourth of the way from home now,” I say a short while later as we pass a fire hydrant.
A few places have special memories for me. In my mind’s eye, going back to the not-so-long-ago past, many mornings we’d often stop for a few seconds at the driveway where we used to see my dear childhood friend, Martha Marley holding her Shih Tzu, Mattie. Roo clamped to my side, we’d have a quick visit. Although Martha’s no longer with us, “Good morning, good morning,” I often whisper as we pass on by her house.
Ambling on down the gently curving road, warmhearted, familiar folks driving past wave at us as Roo and I continue our stroll, she sniffing and occasionally squatting, me then scooping.
A short while later I hear loud honking sounds, and look up at a gaggle of overhead, long-necked geese. “They’ll be gone soon, Roo Roo. Heading on to other, faraway lands. And if so, it’ll be a long time passing before you get to try and catch them again.” There was a slight reprimand in my voice when I spoke to the dog, as if she could understand what I was saying and she oughta just leave them be.
It’s not long before we make a sharp turn, stepping off of St. Andrews onto the golf course cart path.
The both of us are enjoying the early spring, sunshiny day. Peaceful, puffy clouds drift overhead. Thick sprouts are appearing on the trees, scurrying squirrels command the branches, patches of bold wildflowers that would become timid with the heat make their appearance through thick grass, stretching out like shaggy green carpet.
Three fourths of our walk’s over and done. Almost home Roo, Roo,” I said when we drew up next to a familiar clump of bushes where I could see the roof top houses of our street, Gleneagles.
I had hardly spoken those words, when breaking the gift of peaceful silence I heard guttural honking notes. Off to the left, strutting to their own ear-splitting, quackery orchestra music, I saw a covey of sassy, grass chewing, bug chasing geese.
Roo licked her lips as if something tasted good. There was a sudden sideways flicker to her tail; a tightening of the line to her collar.
My dog leapt, snatching me with her. Teeter-tottering, stumbling, I held on as the wild child ran out the length of her leash. She stopped. I tried to get my balance. Another lunge, then a full-bodied leap.
I spread-eagled on the sidewalk.
Breath crushed out of my body, feeling like I was going to pass out, long, whirly-headed minutes passed. I heard a lullaby, “Close your eyes, and goodnight.”
“No. Stand up! Now!” Swaying and dipping, holding tight to the Roo, I made it to my feet. Slumped over in what could have been shame Roo nailed her tail between her legs. My ears ringing, heart hammering and legs buckling, she and I wobbled down the sidewalk.
At home, when I slid out of my clothes, I couldn’t believe what I saw; skin hanging and dangling, blood dripping from my left arm had saturated my jacket sleeve. I fell into a chair and called my Dr. Brother, Alvin. He picked me up in just a few minutes.
We went to a very well-run, quick care clinic; they sewed up my arm, (I’ve forgotten how many stitches) then took X-Rays. My left arm broken, we were sent to an ER.
The rest of the day hadn’t exactly been an all day and dinner on the grounds experience. Now up front I must say that everyone in the ER couldn’t have been any nicer, but it was around mid-morning when we got there and almost eight that night before little brother brought me home.
Worn to a nub, I crashed into bed. Body drenched in sweat, my ears and head caught up in a cadence of heavy flapping wings, I fell into a troubled sleep.
When I woke the next morning, the rhythmic words and cadence to an almost forgotten song was ringing in my ears.
“The old gray goose, she ain’t what she used to be.
Ain’t what she used to be, many long years ago.
She kicked on the whiffletree, many long years ago.”
Oops! That’s not the right critter in that old song, I realized.
But whatever words I sang, my doggie and I are walking to a different tune now.
And, that was a ways back from today.
