Musing: Monstrous Attack

Our morning began as every morning does. My ever patient partner in life and I took our four dogs for a three mile walk along the greenway that snakes through our neighborhood. We like to go early, before sunrise, before the heat of the day builds.

The first character I need to introduce is Landon, aka Boom Boom, the Boommeister, the boomster or as is most important for today’s story, the canine radar. He spends our entire walk scanning the horizon in front of us, the woods on either side of the trail and the trail behind us. He twists and he turns, looking and searching for any threat that might disrupt our peace. Bear, deer, squirrels, rabbits, twigs, rustling leaves, bubbling creeks, dancing shadows, spirits from the other worlds, or, most importantly, strange humans.

By strange, he means any human that is not the two of us.

The challenge of walking the canine radar is that when he stops and stares, we rarely can see what he sees. Like the boy who cried wolf, he’s the wolf who cried boy. We never know if something is actually near or if he is just hearing voices in his head.

As we approached the midpoint of our walk, the spot where we u-turn for our trek back to the house, Landon twisted and stared over his shoulder over and over.

Something was behind us on the trail. He knew it. He warned us.

We couldn’t see it. Until, of course, we turned to return home.

Coming around the bend toward us was a human with his canine. Landon triumphantly snorted, “I told you so.”

Which brings us to the second character of today’s tale, Roscoe. Roscoe P. Coltrane, named after the sheriff of TV lore.

He also shares a name with the lead character in my novel, Liars Table. The “P” in Roscoe P. Coltrane stands for “Purvis.” There’s a little trivia for you.

Roscoe believes his reason for existence is to greet every dog on the face of the planet. Enthusiastically.
We’ve worked hard with him to understand he needs to walk calmly as we pass another dog, not turn into a wiggling, pouncing, wooing maniac at the mere sight of a fellow canine.

When he succeeds, he receives a treat. He knows that, so he demands the reward the second we pass. If he doesn’t get paid, he pouts. Moving 55 pounds of disgruntled Siberian husky is difficult, so I always cough up the treat.

After all, he earned it.

So we turned, Landon snorted his gloat, and Roscoe moved into excited puppy mode. I shortened my grip on his leash, tapped the top of his head as I usually do with my fingers to remind him to behave, and we marched toward the approaching strangers.

I have Roscoe bouncing and twisting in my right hand and Typhoon in my left. The only importance to this is my hands were no longer free.

Now let me introduce the final character of today’s tale—A hideous growling beast.

Each of its long tentacles ended in enormous claws. Its numerous eyes locked vision with mine. Its sharp fangs dripped with saliva. It lunged at me, its massive body blocking out the sunlight.

I should mention a detail here.

My glasses are euphemistically referred to as “progressives.” That’s a nice way of saying I am blind and must wear trifocals, though the line between the various magnifications has been smoothed over. Through the top, I focus on long distances. The middle allows me to see at a normal range. The lower section magnifies for close reading.

What do my glasses have to do with the monster that was in front of me?

Since we stroll the trails so early every morning, we are blessed to clear the many webs created by spiders overnight, now left dangling from the branches. We can’t see them before we get there, and know they exist only once we walk into their midst. The sticky strands wrap around our bodies, and require a free hand to remove them.

A free hand I didn’t have, because Typhoon’s leash was in my left, and the ever-so-eager-to-dance Roscoe’s was in my right.

If it had just been a mesh of spiderweb wrapped around my head, I could have walked a few feet before freeing myself.

The problem was the bonus that came with it. That snapping, snarling, hideous beast of a spider that dangled in front of my face.

Or more accurately, in front of my glasses at the lower section, the part that magnifies the vision.

I had to keep walking because of the other approaching dog and not sweep away the spider now attached to my glasses. Only once we were beyond the other human and his canine. Could I focus—no pun intended—on removing my hitch-hiking, eight-legged friend, who was now busily walking across my lens, each hairy leg looking like the trunk of a tree, thanks to my glasses.

I loosened my grip on Roscoe and Typhoon’s leash and prepared to evict my visitor.

I had just one last problem.We had passed another dog. Roscoe expected his treat. Now. He suggested the spider could wait.

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Gratuitous Dog Photo: The Star of the Show

Roscoe P. takes great pride that today’s Monday Musing wouldn’t have happened without his help. All part of being a working breed.

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Until Next Monday

Avoid the hidden spiders! Trust me on this one.

If you have questions or thoughts, drop them in the comments below.

See you next Monday.