Curious

My dog Murphy is captivated by my electric razor.  When I turn it on she comes running at the sound.  Through the house at top speed,  dragging her leash behind her.  When she sees me rubbing the razor around my face, she is astonished and sits down hard on the floor, as if she was just handed a telegram telling her she’d won a bag of dog treats.

I don’t think we’ve ever had a dog as interested in the larger world as Murphy.  Yesterday, for twenty minutes she chased a tiny  bird feather around the back yard while over and over a breeze picked it up and dropped it,    Murphy stalked it, barked at it, walked away, came back, barked again and with a look of annoyance on her face, resolutely stomped away a second time.  She may have been angry with  the breeze for kidnapping her toy, for playing with her feather.  But after a few moments the breeze tired of the game and Murphy came back to move  the tiny wisp of white around  with her nose.  Finally, she ate it.

“She reminds me of you,” said Herself.

“Do you mean,” I asked, “her unflagging enthusiasm for the unknown and her genius for dealing with danger?”

“No.  I meant both of you will eat anything.”

“Not true,” I replied.  “I never eat rocks. I’ve seen Murphy eat a rock.”

“Only after she has barked at it for ten minutes to make sure it’s not alive,” said my wife.

“I never bark at food,” I said, for no logical reason.

“It’s why I married you,” she said.  “Your excellent table manners.”

“I knew you’d find a reason among the many available,” I said.

“Eventually, yes.”

Later, with Herself gone off to a movie with girl friends, Murphy and I sat out on the back lawn and watched the stars begin to unfold their nightly revue.  Somewhere along the narrow pond that runs behind the houses on our street a splash sounded in the still night air.  Not much moves in the pond at night and there have been rumors of alligators in the area.

In the half light I saw Murphy’s eyes open with interest, but not concern. 

“Go find out what made the noise,” I said to her.  I was almost instantly sorry for the suggestion and wondered how the heck I’d ever explain to my wife I’d sent Murphy off to do battle with an alligator.  If indeed the dog lost the fight.

Murphy stood as if to obey my command.  Her head swung around to point in the direction of the splash.

“Belay that order,” I said.  “it may not be safe, and we don’t want to lose you without ever finding out if you would have some day become a good dog.”

Even in the quickly advancing darkness,  I sensed her disdain for my remark and I was certain I heard her snort.  She lay back down in the grass beside my chair.  Soon she was chewing on a small rock.  I wondered what a rock tastes like, but my good table manners prevented me from asking Murphy to share it.  Besides, my teeth cost too much to risk them.  And if a rock in a dog's back yard has any taste at all, I can imagine what it came from.

More Murphy Stories Here:  http://www.windsweptpress.com/murphy.htm

copyright 2015, David Griffin

The Windswept Press

Murrells Inlet, South Carolina

www.windsweptpress.com