Tasha’s Tails

I’m a Pirate. I feel sorry for people who don’t have dogs; I hear they have to pick up food they drop on the floor. ~Author unknown When Elaine first adopted me, she noticed that I had a missing lower front tooth. She says I look like a pirate. I am a pirate. Adventures in my life testify to that. Whenever we have company, the schoolteacher comes out in Elaine, and she sets up house rules. “Don’t leave anything edible where Tash can get it. If you get up from the table, push in your chair. Always shut the door tight when you go outside.” Everyone agrees . . . then promptly forgets. The visit of Bill’s brother, Ben, and his sister-in-law, Karen, illustrates a recent example: After unpacking in the guest room, they ready themselves for dinner. I know people usually travel with “emergency goodies,” so while the visitors chat and nosh, I slip downstairs to inspect the suitcases. First pass reveals nothing but clothes and shoes. Then…What have we here? A purse. Always a treasure trove: Gum. Candy. Cookies. Crackers. Aspirin. Gummy Bears. Breath mints. I have to admit, unzipping that side pocket took patience and ingenuity, but I welcome a challenge. My reward? A granola bar. Cranberry and Pomegranate. A few shakes of my head, and it rips open. Chewy, sweet, a little tart. “Who left this wrapper on the floor?” asks Elaine. “I didn’t …well, I did have one in my purse. You don’t think he could. . .” “Tasha! Where are you? You little imp.” Time to make myself scarce. And the beat goes on…. Escapism I sometimes look into the face of my dog and see a wistful sadness and existential angst when he is actually slowly scanning the ceiling for flies. ~Merrill Markoe, author Sometimes I can even escape and return without her even knowing—except for snitches. Later that day Elaine leaves to cut some flowers. I note that she doesn’t follow her own rule, neglecting to close the door super tight. A certain amount of scratching and pushing, and I see daylight. I sneak right by her and make a dash up the Howe’s driveway. They’ve got fragrant plants to sniff and a whole wooded yard to explore. Even better, there’s Ruth, just waiting to greet me. “Tasha, what are you doing out? Does Elaine know you’re here?” Instead of giving me a treat, she picks me up and delivers me back home, depositing me back in the house. Worse yet, she tattles to Elaine. . . I hear the phone ring. “Hi, Ruth. I was outside and heard the phone ring. How are you?” “Tash? No, he’s not out; he’s right here. . . Well, I thought he was.” “He did! Why that little devil. “ Looks like it’s time for retreat under the bed. And the fun continues . . . Canine Brawl Genuine heroes—no batteries needed—bring an open-mind and at least a little courage. ~Jonathan Lockwood Huie, author Stealing, escaping, now absolute proof of my pirate qualifications– Taking our evening constitutional, I swear I was minding my own business. I didn’t ask for this. A shih tzu dog streaks down a driveway straight toward me. Always glad to meet a new friend, I signal my greeting. But then down bounces another shih tzu, then another, then another, the biggest and baddest. Elaine jerks the leash. The dog owners wave and shout. The shih tzus circle and bark. It’s a human/canine free-for-all. I love it. I spring into action. Though generally mild-mannered and congenial, I can be ruthless. Snarling and snapping, I launch into that circle of belligerent mutts. I may be outnumbered, but not outgunned. I take my philosophy from Ralph Waldo Emerson: “A hero is no braver than any others; he’s just brave five minutes longer.” My reputation is at stake. I leap. I whirl. I yelp. …and chase those little shihs right back up the driveway. Yep, stealing, escaping, brawling— A typical week in the life of a pirate. A-R-R-G-H