Rufus Gets His Revenge...

The dogs love our nigh walks as much as I do. Morning really, 4:15 AM this time.. The world is ours, no one else walking, only an occasional car rolling in the distance. Even two hours earlier makes a difference. At 2:15AM, you can still catch the sounds of Kawasaki crotch rockets screaming full-throttle, just blocks away, boys fueled on alcohol and testosterone feeling bulletproof. Good old boys roar their four-wheelers in response, maybe go off road onto the golf course to spin deep ruts and generate a few lines of outrage in our pathetic little paper, The Shores Observer. But by 4AM? Nada. Even the boys are in bed.

The humid night air is heavy with the smell of freshly cut pine and oak. Entire trees, sliced and diced, piled on the swales and crouching next to the path that dissects the park behind our house. They hunker down like sleeping mastodons, all a byproduct of a hurricane that no longer exists.

The Big Dipper and Orion’s belt surround themselves with their buddies overhead, pulsing, vibrating, especially bright tonight. Drawn to the park like tornados to mobile homes, they love the dark roll of open fields, avoiding streetlights like Kryptonite to Superman.

The dogs and I love it too. I’m in black pants and shirt, both dogs are black, so except for the occasional rattle of a collar at the leash, we are invisible.

At one of the darker spots, next to an old shuffleboard court where the kids have put up a makeshift basketball hoop, Rufus veered off the path. The last time we walked by there, on a hot afternoon three days ago, Rufus got hit with an overthrown basketball. He jumped like he had been shot and harbors bad feelings towards the boys in general. This time though, in the cool anonymous dark, he wandered off to the full length of his retractable leash, 15 feet. I know his habits well. He’s a private pooper, he looks for just the right spot, next to something else, so he’s not too isolated and exposed. His line became totally still, then active again as he kicked backwards to cover his scat and announce his manliness to the world. Stepping in his direction, I could just make out the shape of whatever it was he had backed up to. With the light of my iPhone, I saw that he had carefully placed a chocolate soft serve on top of their ball, a statement and a present for those boys at their next pick-up game.

Sorry guys, at least it is supposed to rain later this morning. 

(High-five Rufus! You the man!)