Dahli S'Nots-a-Llama

by
RD Larson

You all know how much I love dogs. If you have read any of my stories you know that there is usually a dog. Maybe a cat. Sometimes a cow. Other animals. But mostly dogs.

So when the phone rang last week, and it was my long-time friend and cranky old veterinarian, Hank, I knew there was news.

"I got a dog for you guys, wanna come take a look at Dolly?" He hrummphfted into the phone. Always has allergies. Probably allergic to animals.

So I said, "Tell me more."

"Mrs. So-and-So isn't able to take care of Dolly; she's going off to Arizona to live near her son," Doc Hank says to me.

"I thought she was living in that cabin at the edge of her daughter's property," I knew Mrs. So-and-So. Nice gal. Spun around in a silver car with the front seat of a couch. You know the kind? With gold letters followed by numbers. Silver and gold, I swear.

"Guess not. Want to meet Dolly?" Hank said.

My fool hubby gets a whole-face big-kid grin. He likes dogs, too. I laughed and said, "Surest thing, you know, Doc. Be right up."

You know my dog Max died a year ago Christmas. He was thirteen. That's 91 in human years, I think, if you use seven.

You could say we missed him. Since I am an e-author, I made up a web site for him and wrote a poem. One of the kids said, "You know, I feel bad 'cause Max didn't get to play with his Christmas toy."

It's taken this long for me to try to think about another dog. Even though I love dogs and always had dogs. Candy was my dog as a kid, if you remember and he was the most bacon-stealing dog I ever met. And then there were the terriers who took over my universe when I was also a kid. Those guys could make Mama cry with all their antics. So I have had as many as three dogs staying with me at one time.

So we get ready and drive up to town. Round the hills and over the ridge and up the drive by the gravel pit to the vet hospital.

I have to stop and tell you this. On TV I saw a woman, a dog-owner, see her dog for the first time in over a week after he was rescued from a flood where he'd been trapped on the roof of their house. Dang, I was mad. She didn't even bend over and pet him. I bet you she didn't know his name either. She stood there aloof and arrogant. The poor dog danced the rumba all around her.

Well, I don't do that. So I squat on the floor to welcome this dog, a miniature Snauser. Blam! She jerked the Tech Girl right through the door. Wham! She hits me and I fall over, and die laughing while she licks my chin. Of course, she finds the dog cookie.

Then she looks at him. Big blue eyes meet the snappy black ones. Ah, love is the state that's entered. No dancing, no licking--pure snuggling.

Well, we take her home. Pretty fun. Dahli, as I rename her, races all around the house. Up down. Over the bed. All that dog stuff. She hides the hubby's sock and takes it back to him as a love gift.

We have dinner. She has one of Max's left-over cans of I'm-SO-SLIM dog food. And dog cookies. Fresh water. So we are finishing dinner. She's watching us--looking from one to the other. She really likes me; she really loves him.

The phone rings. It's Mrs. So-and-So's daughter. Her mother has decided that Dolly, now know as Dahli S'Not-a-Llama, should go to the Church Lady she knows. I sigh.

We lay on the floor with Dahli. Smoocher up some. Next morning back to Dr. Hank she goes. The daughter of Mrs. So-and-so calls up again that night.

"I don't think it's going to work out for Dolly to go to the Church Lady's house." the daughter tells me. "I think she thinks it's an obligation."

We miss Dahli S'Not-a-Llama. We talk about her. We listen for the phone the rest of that evening.

Early the next morning, the phone rings.

"She went on a road trip with the Church Lady and she loves to ride," The daughter tells him.

He tells me. I decide I will write for a while.

I think of Dahli riding high in the front seat of a fancy car stopping at Hardee's all across this fine country. And I send her doggy kisses