"Let Me introduce You..."

I'd like you to have the pleasure of meeting the canines in my neighborhood. Most are good friends that I spend time with everyday while I am on my run. They are always there for me. The dogs of my hood.

First one is Buck, owner and protector of the Jakes. A Rottweiler mix, Buck is strong and loyal. But he will not even notice me as I pad by, unless I have a boy accompanying me. Bucky's yard and home is beautiful and well kept, by his single mom. But sadly there often is no food for Buck. Bucky always travels with the Jakes when they visit. Hubby wonders why we go through so much dog food.

Around the corner and behind the white gated fence is my pal I have named, Ollie the Collie. The stables that Ollie tend are prettier and better kept than most homes in the area. Hyper Ollie charges at me barking every day as if to scold me for not being at work and being more productive. He only allows me only brief acknowledgement before turning back to his job of checking the horses, herding the farm cats, or driving off a squirrel. He is all about business that Ollie.

Down the road a ways is my divine Hail Dog. Hail Dog never comes close to me, remaining somewhat aloof, but I witness his black form out in the front yard next to Bathtub Mary. I know his owners are religious if they have a statue of Mother Mary protected by an old bathtub set on end. I wonder if they genuflect when I elate a rejoyful "Hail Dog", as I pass.

If their people aren't home, Itchy and Scratchy on the bend, come out to start something. They never bother me, as they as gutless wonders. They are more chicken than dog and only brave enough to bark smack, as they follow me with the sole purpose of antagonizing other dogs while they cower behind my legs. Itchy and Scratchy only fight between themselves and once I reach the Wild Tree Mutts, they turn tail and run.

I have never seen The Wild Tree Mutts. I do not even know how many there are. Might be two, could be a dozen. Their bark is loud and as they thunder towards my direction they sound like the hounds of hell. I cannot see them behind the thick evergreens that stand in front of their containment. They are all bark because as soon as I acknowledge them with a loud "GO", the race is one. They always beat me to their corner, where they wait for be to catch up emanating their challenging taunts at me for being so slow.

As I struggle to my halfway mark up the killer hill, two and a half miles from home, I sometimes hear, sometimes see, Eli's dog, Tobby. Tobby never really knows if he is afoot or adrift. Toby has a very short attention span and doesn't always remember if he likes me or not. He has a habit of forgetting that I stopped and petted him on my way up the hill, on my return a few minutes later when he alerts everyone with startled yip or a growl. That reminds me I gotta return the sweatshirt Eli left last night at my house. And the one the night before that.

I know Decoy the black lab's name because his owner yells it when he sees his animal run out to greet me. His yard has numerous fishing boats and hunting parafenallia decorating it. Decoy doesn't bark so at the sound of his name, I instictly pull my hands up into my sleeves to avoid the run by puppy kisses that dog always gives my uncovered hand. Nothing says lovin like some doggy slobber. Decoy, ever the gentleman only kisses my hand.

The Violater is Decoy's neighbor and evil twin. The Violater has no manners. That dog takes liberties that I'd call the authorities and press charges for, if it wouldn't sound ridiculous. I should carry pepper spray for that animal. My patented for a canine groin guard will be named after him.

Sun Dog is a big yellow dog who lays on his warm steps in the sun to lazy to get up and visit with me. Best he can do is roll over with a lackadaisical "woof", if he has the energy. The only thing that changes in his domain is the number of automobiles in various stages of repair in Sun Doggy's yard.

Big Bad Menace is a huge German Shepard with some anger issuses. I would be too if I were to be kept on such a short chain. I know it is his road but hey, he probley smells all the other dogs on me and feels left out. I'd act to if so left out of the clique. The happy little peace flag at the end of his driveway fools noone.

Chester is my love puppy. He is a big harmless mix breed dog so ugly he is funny. Chester is in constant state of molt with perhalps a little mange. His body an eclectic arrangement of heritage. He is the ultimate in flirt. Chester knows he's got it going on. "Chester, (his real name) baby, please come out and let me run my fingers through that hair", I beg him as he struts his macho strut and he swags his tail halfway down his drive way. Chester will not share his mojo with me. He stops and turns his back on me and looks back over his shoulder teasingly before returning to his bright neon blue house.

I rarely get to see Inookook, but she is my favorite. It was along time before I had even seen this husky. She is still, silent as she sits on the edge of the driveway hidden in the birch trees. Her grey and white coat camouflage her well. The only thing on her that moves are her bright blue eyes as they follow me. She is a dignified dog. Quiet and reserved. I at first was self conscious under her scrutiny. She sees through me with the eaons of wisdom behind those amazing eyes. Inookook has my respect.

The busybody of the neighbor hood, Eddy's little bell that he wears on his collar annocesses his short visit. Being a social butterfly, it is up to this little Jack Russell terrier to know the who, what and why of the area. I must not be of great enough interested to Eddy, he flits off in search of better excitement.

The Coup is not a dog. But a bunch of funky chickens. Exotic breed birds they roam were ever they want on this dead end road. They always run squawking off as I approach. Occasionally I will find an egg in the gravel along the side the road. I actually followed them across the road one day. I had to chase them back to their own yard after becoming lost in the cattails. (Why did the chicken cross..) Entertaining, but I can't hold a conversation with them.

Listen, and sometimes when the widows are open, so he can catch a whiff of me, I am able to hear BB. Hound. His mournful blusey, "Owwwww,woow owww", echoes his lament of being kept inside. I have seen him only once on the front step, his sad face puddling around his short little legs. Sing it like it is, BB, sing it like it is.

Now we have come to the dead end of the road and to my nemesis, Mimi's territory. Mimi, is a little white bow wearing yap dog. As I cautiously scale the embankment leading into the one wooded quarter mile path of solitude, Mimi follows. "Yip, yip, yappity, yap, yap, " she badgers at my heels. If I stop, she stops, When I continue, so does she. I have tried numerous times to befriend that little bag of hot air. As soon as I turn around and bend down to her own level, she skurries away a few feet, to continue harassing my at a safe distance, interrupting my peaceful one with nature time. I have resorted to playing her bluff after futile attempts of peace making, by charging at the nasty little critter, hoping to scare her home. She stays farther back, but does not stop. Someday, that mutt will go death after I do catch her and lock her in the metal mailbox at the end of her drive, from the ringing in her ears from her own barks.

Harley, I am not quite certain which son he belongs too, is most often out with Grampa Doug. Grampa Doug is a father of four sons who, after they grew up, all built their own house within a stones throw from Doug's house. They are all married with lovely wives and kids of their own. Every generation of that family is into motorcycles and motosport racing. Three of the four sons have followed Dougs calling and became ministers. The youngest son, drums in a famous Christian rock band. Unfortunately Doug was in an accident causing brain trauma and can no longer preach, due to the memory loss and uncontrollable foul language that pours out of him while he is stressed. Both Harley and Doug spend a lot of time out in the yard, Doug working on his ever growing wood pile, and Harley now his limited congregation. I often sit on a stump to catch my breath and gain insight.

Last is Fluff Puppies home. Their abode is sorely neglected and in need of repair. Their mom, an aging woman has never married and lives there with her elderly father. Her show dog are the love of her life and she affords them by working as a dog groomer. Fluff Puppies are four top of the gene line type of exotic poodle's. One of them costs more than my car. Late at night I can here her calling them in after she has had too many greyhounds to drink. "Babies.... Babies? BABIES! YOU GET YOUR DAMN ASSES IN HERE RIGHT NOW!.... There's mamma's gurrlss."

Yeah, now I am home. As I sprint energize from my exertion up my porch steps I see Clyde, our big, calm, copper colored Chesapeake Bay retriever clumsily strain to get his age worn legs up off our door matt. He wags his tail just once looking at me threw his penny hued eyes as he waits for my brief unthinking pat on his head. I bought Clyde for my Hubbies Christmas present nine years ago. I tied a red velvet bow around the fat little puppy that resembled a bear cub. Hubby was delighted. Clyde was banned to sleep in our bathroom the first night, being that it was the only uncarpeted room in the house. Next morning I opened the bathroom door to find my Hubby asleep on the floor like a little boy, one arm around his new best friend so he would not be scared or alone.

They say owners resemble their pets. That Clyde is one fine dog.