The Nose Knows (9 page)

But stage one was harder to accomplish than we thought. Despite our efforts, our humans wouldn’t take us to the beach. Maybe smelly smelt season didn’t hold the same appeal for them. We gave up trying. The pond in the park would have to suffice. There was always someone fishing in the pond and eventually we’d get our fish.

In was another week before we saw a potential target. An old guy was fishing. For this particular caper, an old person was the best. Why? Well, for one thing, old people can’t run fast. Moreover, old folks usually don’t sweat the little stuff. They’re more apt to believe one can always catch more fish. Younger people tend to take life too seriously. When we spotted this guy, the timing was great. He’d just caught a medium-size fish and had removed the hook (a very important detail). When he plunked the fish into a bucket of water, we ran straight for him. To the casual observer we were just two dogs running in the park. But we had our target in sight.

On the first run, we ran right past the bucket. It had to look like an accident. After we passed the bucket, we continued for another twenty feet and then circled back. As planned, Quincy moved ahead of me into the lead position. I stayed close to his heels. Just before he reached the bucket, I snuck under his back legs and made him stumble. He fell against the bucket. I yelped. Neither of us was hurt. It only looked like I had caused Quincy to fall. In fact, he’d initiated the perfect stumble step at just the right time. The bucket fell over, the fish fell out, and water splashed everywhere. The man jumped back so he wouldn’t get wet. Quincy bounced up to the man, gave his hand a lick, snatched up the fish, and ran off with it. Of course, the man tried to grab Quincy. We were counting on the fact that it is virtually impossible to catch a fast-moving sleek, shorthaired Labrador.

The man missed Quincy and stumbled over his own feet. As he caught himself, he came up laughing. Things were going well. Just to make sure, I stayed behind and initiated “the limp.” Since Quincy was so much bigger than I was, the man naturally assumed big old Quincy had hurt little old me. I played my part flawlessly.

A noticeable limp on the right paw, a drooping tail, and two big, pitiful eyes fixed on his face. He reacted perfectly. “Oh, you poor little thing. Did that big dog step on you? Here let me have a look.”

As he gently rubbed my paw, I licked his hand several times. Slowly I raised my tail and initiated a wag. But I didn’t linger. Mom was rapidly approaching, looking very concerned. I gave the man one big lick, pulled my paw free, and ran off to meet Mom. I turned my head back and saw the man standing there with his hands on his hips, shaking his head. I think he knew he’d been hoodwinked, but he wasn’t quite sure how or why. Mom, of course, was so grateful I hadn’t been hurt that she forgot to yell at me for knocking over the man’s bucket. She apologized to him for our behavior (humans are good at apologizing for us) and she made sure he was okay.

He laughed and said, “That big black dog is a better fisherman than I am. Guess I’d better get busy and catch some more.” See, old guys are the best targets.

So stage one of Operation Fish was completed. Now I needed to go see how stage two was going.

Sure enough, Quincy was doing exactly what he was supposed to do with that fish. He was rolling on it. The more he rolled the more the fish’s guts popped out. That meant more available stink. As Jacob got close and tried to grab Quincy’s collar, Quincy scooped up the fish and took off running. Once he’d put some distance between them, he dropped the fish and started rolling again.

Of course, Quincy knew he only had a few such runs to get fully stunk up. After that, Jacob would be embarrassed and start getting angry. If Mom hadn’t been watching, Jacob might have sat down and enjoyed the show. You male humans understand that if you are going to have to take a bath anyway, you might as well have some fun first.

Being a male himself, Quincy knew the problems of having a female audience. Things get all hormonal and the male thinks he has to take control. Quincy was fine. He was on assignment, so he could impress me by sticking to the script. Jacob, however, might start acting like a fool. Quincy needed to respect Jacob’s male limitations, so when Jacob’s tone changed and he said firmly, “Quincy, drop that fish and come here now!” Quincy dropped the fish and headed back to Jacob with a big old grin, his tongue hanging out and his tail high and proud. Jacob now looked like the great lion tamer. Quincy had earned a few brownie points. He had about five seconds before he’d have to cash them in.

That’s how long he had before he got within Jacob’s smelling range.

“Oh, Quincy you stink! You stink awful. Ugh, stay away from me. No, don’t jump on me. Quincy, sit! Sit right where you are.”

Of course, Quincy immediately sat on command. He still wagged his tail and let his tongue hang out, but he sat. Jacob held his breath and attached Quincy’s leash. Mom came to a screeching halt several feet away—a breeze had told her all she needed to know.

“Jacob, do you have any lemons? That always helps when Spunky rolls in stinky stuff.”

“I’ll try it. Anything has to smell better than this. Well, I’d best head home right away. We have an appointment with the bathtub! There’ll be no living with this boy tonight until he has had at least two baths!”

Quincy barked his goodbye to me.

I barked mine back. “Good luck, Quincy!”

A
fter dinner, Fearless and I were enjoying a good lie-down on the sofa. “Humans can be so full of themselves, don’t you think, Fearless?”

“I’d say, in that department—
breath
—dogs and humans are about equal.”

“Okay, my friend. I don’t need a refresher course on your feline prejudices. I was referring to the arrogance of humans who think they can predict the future.”

“You mean fortune tellers?”

“Naw, I mean humdrum, everyday people. Think about it. How many times have we heard someone say, ‘I know exactly what so and so is going to do when I tell her what happened!’?”

“I agree—
breath—
it’s common human saying.”

“See, they think they can predict the future.”

“Spunky, so what? We both know—even a kitten should be able to predict—what a human will do. Humans are ridiculously—easy to predict.”

“True. I say that’s because of their very large brains.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?—Your head is bigger than mine—but you certainly—aren’t smarter!”

“Fearless, will you be quiet and listen? You’re getting all worked up and you’ll start wheezing. Now, just listen, will you?”

After a loud sigh, Fearless began preening his rear end. Guess that’s one way to answer without using your lungs.

“Okay, Fearless, I think humans are predictable because they have large brains. The larger the brain, the longer it takes thoughts to be transmitted. Look at the cockroach; it has a tiny brain and is one of the most adaptable creatures on earth. Humans, however, have large brains and are slow to adapt. This causes them to make the same mistakes over and over, which in turn makes them predictable. Now, what do you say to that?”

Fearless wasn’t saying anything. He’d curled up with his paw draped across his eyes.

Why did I even try to have an intellectual conversation with a cat? Frustrated, I just closed my eyes and took a rest.

“Hey, Spunky, will you quit daydreaming—
breath—
and get in here? I need help—
breath—
moving this box.”

Fearless’s voice had relocated to Mom’s study, so obviously his catnap was over. I hadn’t heard him leave. I guess I’d had my own catnap. Reluctantly, I hauled my butt up. When I got there, I saw him trying to push a new cardboard box.

“Okay, Fearless, I’m here. What do you want?” Obviously, he knew he needed my superior strength to move the box. Of course, for my own safety there was no need to mention this fact to Fearless.

“Fearless, why move the box?”

“Spunk, I swear each year you lose more and more—grey cells. Don’t you remember tonight is Mom’s—group therapy night? I need to move the box to just the—right spot so I’ll have a good seat.”

“Oh, yeah you’re right, I lost track of the day. Okay, so where do you want the box to go?”

“Over behind Mom’s chair would be great.”

I lowered my head and began pushing the box. Since I couldn’t see where I was going, it didn’t take long before I rammed it into the desk.

“Whoa! Watch out, Spunky—You almost knocked over—Mom’s flower vase!”

“Well, Mr. Smart Butt, I can’t see through the box. Why don’t you start giving me some help?”

Fearless cocked his head, gave it some thought, and then jumped inside the box.

“Hang on a minute, Spunky.—I have an idea.”

The box easily tipped onto its side. Fearless is a big cat. Eighteen pounds and all of that is muscle. When he pounces on something, it moves! Fearless jumped back out of the box and I turned it around with two more shoves. Now the flaps were pointed in the right direction.

“There you go, Spunky. Now, just grab hold—of one of those flaps and tug it over there.” Fearless might be close to my weight class, but he knows no one can out-pull a terrier.

Fearless can be exacting about some things, so it took several adjustments before he approved of the location. Finally, it was where he wanted it. Then he dug his claws into the flap and pulled the box over on top of himself. The box was upside down with him inside of it. He crawled out, jumped on top, and he now had the perfect ringside seat.

“Thanks, Spunk, this is great.”

“You are very welcome, my friend.” One thing about Fearless, he always remembers to say “thank you.”

“Hey, guys, it’s almost therapy time!”

Upon hearing Mom’s announcement, we all scurried to get ready.

Mom always announces the start of therapy about five minutes before she logs on. This gives the cats time to use their litter box and, if need be, I head out my dog door. Once the session starts, we aren’t supposed to move around. Movement distracts Mom and she has banned a critter or two from attending when they didn’t follow the rules.

Tonight, we all made it back inside with plenty of time to spare. I, of course, had a prime spot next to Mom’s chair. From there I could look up and see the screen or Mom’s face.

“Hey, Fearless where’s Bobby?”

Fearless stretched and yawned. “You know Bobby; he always has to make—a grand entrance.”

I had to agree on that one. Mom should’ve named him Mr. Trouble. However, he’s very proficient at knowing what will make Mom angry. Ninety-nine per cent of the time, he stops right before that happens. But he certainly can push the envelope.

True to form, fifteen seconds before the log-on, Bobby streaked across the room and in one graceful move leaped to the top of the five-foot bookcase. I must admit I do envy his ability to do that.

Mom’s eyes tracked his movement across the room. “Bobby, I swear one of these days I am going to lock you out!” However, her slight smile indicated that once again Bobby had judged the limit correctly. With everyone now in place, we all snuggled down and got comfortable. The show was about to begin.

D
onny was the first person to log on. He’s always first. Mom’s says he’s probably ready to go hours before the scheduled start time. In truth, Mom would consider it a breakthrough if Donny were the last one to sign on. See, Donny lives his life trying not to disappoint anyone. Truth of the matter, he works too hard at it.

“Good evening, Donny.”

“Good evening, Dr. Richards.”

“As usual, Donny, you’re the first to arrive, so I’ll let you know when we’re ready to begin.”

Donny smiled. “That’ll be fine, Dr. Richards.”

By human standards, Donny is a rather fine-looking thirty-year-old. He started seeing Mom several months ago to get help overcoming his shyness. He wanted to move ahead in his career as an accountant, but simply couldn’t bring himself to discuss a promotion with his boss. From what we heard, it sounded like he had the credentials and the skills to take on greater responsibility, but his extreme timidity combined with his exaggerated need for approval had become a significant handicap. Donny was afraid of too many things.