Phantoms

by Jack Cady

  when having your temperature taken stare into the distance and ruminate on how Gloria Vanderbilt’s dog might handle the situation. If the situation is extreme, substitute Gloria Vanderbilt.

  when leaving it is not necessary to thank the Vet. However, if the visit has been conducted in a professional manner, the gratuity of a very small tail wag is not inappropriate.

  The Reward

  when returning home, display mild brooding. This will help your human work though guilt, because your human will search out a tennis ball. This is known as compensatory play behavior.

  accept all treats with subdued pleasure. Refusing them, or snapping them up eagerly, will shorten the supply.

  The Faux Paw, Or

  So You’ve Attacked the Mailman and Other Peccadilloes

  It is almost inevitable that even the best-bred dog will some day confront an awkward situation. I recall, for example, a Labrador Retriever (fortunately, no relation to my own family) who resided in a duplex. Since no other dogs lived there, and since he was more than a little possessive, the gentleman assumed that the entire duplex and surrounding greenery constituted his territory. Much to his chagrin, he woke one morning to the scent of another male who had just moved in next door; and, even more interesting, the scent of a female.

  A tense situation developed. It seemed that the other male was never outside at the same time as the Lab, and the Lab began to brood. The more he brooded the more he forgot that the cultured dog is always discreet.

  And so it was, that on a day much like any other day, beneath a warm sun and with fierce joy in his heart, he encountered on emerging from the house another dog who had tarried too long outside; a Border Collie, she was, but the Lab did not take time to discover that truth. All he knew was that this invader of his territory would not slip from his grasp.

  The chase was short; the climax disgraceful. The slightly portly Lab overtook the smaller Collie, brought it to ground, and flipped it over with a snarl . . . and discovered it was not the hated male, but a female.

  There are, as we all know, Chocolate Labs and Black Labs and Yellow Labs, but our gentleman of misplaced passion was probably the only Red Lab in history. His embarrassment was so great that he slunk home with his belly bruising the grass. It was of no help, whatever, that the Border Collie, once freed of fear, proved herself ready for a game of chase.

  The Lab went to his room and spent the next three days taking mighty vows, vows large of vengeance on the invisible male who had sent a girl outside in his place, vows so heartrending and filled with fury, so powerful with truth from a being felled by a wrong, that it is a wonder the entire house did not fall to flinders.

  To no avail. In less than a week the strangers next door moved on, and a cat of the garbage can variety took up permanent residence.

  This story, while sad to relate, at least happened between dogs, and can thus be kept secret within the canine family. Our actions, however, become the stuff of legend when error reaches its fumbling paw into the realm of human endeavor. It is not exactly cozy to find that one is the butt of anecdotes told at cocktail parties. One may never completely salvage an embarrassing situation, but correct behavior can, at least, mitigate some of the damage done your reputation. Improvisation is usually required, and the following examples will provide a guide toward that kind of creative work:

  having attacked the mailman: Plead temporary insanity. Wait until the mailman next appears, then run in circles while barking madly and feigning unrestrained joy. Continue running until you become dazed, then fall on your side and roll over a dozen times. Retreat to the furthest corner of your yard and cover your eyes with your paws. This will allow the poor fellow a feeling of security, and, if you are lucky, will make him wonder if he should not also be feeling a bit of guilt. If he does feel guilty, he may bring a dog biscuit next time.

  missing slipper: You recall that you buried it in the garden, but have forgotten the exact location. While your people scurry about in search of the slipper, assume your most noble stance. Face the doorway as if guarding the house against slipper stealers.

  bruised petunias: You have gone mole hunting in a flowerbed and the only dignified apology is to give something of value in return. I suggest that you pre-empt the kitty’s dish and place it in the hole. Your people will still hold you responsible, but at least they will treasure your attempt at good will.[9]

  brown bag problems: You knew that the ham and cheese sandwich was not really made for you, and you knew you were going to leave telltale crumbs. The only way out of this is to convince your people that, by absconding with their lunch, you have saved them from the horrible trauma of food poisoning. Stagger to your bed and pretend to a seizure.

  nudgey nose syndrome: Your human sat watching the television, and you nudged his elbow upward just as he raised his glass of soft drink. Dash immediately to the bedroom and fetch his robe and slippers. He will wipe away moisture while believing that there has been an error in communication, and that the error is his.

  And, of course, the best corrective behavior is to learn and practice manners, and thus avoid such sticky wickets as the examples above.

  A Dream of Fair Beaches

  There is naught so lovely as a day at the beach, and there is probably no beach in the world that will not interest the average dog. We welcome the opportunity to stretch our legs, press our noses to their limits, and, if we are water dogs, engage in a virtuosity of splashing unequaled in all the lakes, puddles, and children’s rubber pools on earth. A dog on the beach experiences the high tide of existence. All else, while not dross, pales.

  Hazards to correct behavior exist at nearly every turn, so it is well to think of potential problems before-paw. This is especially true for those who are lady dogs. After all, the proper lady only gets her name in the newspaper three times during her life. One must always avoid the least breath of scandal.

  That hazards exist, and that enthusiasm can get your name in the paper, is best illustrated by the really untoward and bizarre story reported by Gwendolyn K. P. Perkins-Monmouth. Perkins-Monmouth is a Great Pyrenees who fell under the thrall of the wind.

  She tells me that all was well with her pack. Her male Heathrow, her female Bluebell, and their children whom she had named Piddle and Poppins, accompanied her on a visit to the sea in southwest Washington State. It was a breezy day with gusts coming out of the west. She picked up scents from Japan, Russia, and the Aleutian Islands.

  "A really normal sort of ocean day," she reported, "with just a hint of Canadian scent to leaven the mixture. Winds do swirl and try to trick one along those western shores."

  "The nose of the Pyrenees is legendary." I said this through sympathy for her tale. Perkins-Monmouth is a proud and aristocratic dog who displays a touch of Castilian accent. To her credit she took full responsibility for her actions. She did not blame the wind, although to my mind she would find some justification for doing so.

  "The tide changed in mid afternoon," she reports, "and the wind went swinging along with the tide. Before I even realized what was happening, scents of a kind I’d never known began to assail my nose. The wind had shifted and was coming exactly from the south."

  The scents were rare beyond belief. The smell of grease paint mixed with the sweaty smells of humans galloping on horses, or trekking across forty years of wilderness, or holding shootouts in saloons, or having light romances. The smells told of talking mice who wore pants, and of Ferris wheels and gorgeous castles. There was gaiety in those smells—the arc of skyrockets above magic kingdoms, the pop of ten million popcorns, the promise of illimitable reams of hamburgers—compelling smells, they were.

  "It was a strong and steady wind," she remembered. "A freak of nature, one supposes. At any rate it blew and continued to blow, its promise irresistible to a weak vessel such as myself. A Chow Chow, being of a somewhat cynical nature, might have resisted."

  In sum, she ran into the wind. The ground-covering ability of her breed may be assumed,
and miles passed as if she sped on a magic carpet of scent. She does not recall breathing heavily, only recalls that she floated along the sand, paws barely touching, while wind ran over her fur and spoke to her nose. She recalls that the sun went westering, then disappeared, and she recalls running by moonlight. She recalls sunrise over tawny mountains, and the gradual appearance of humans arriving from seaward, riding surfboards. She now knows that she was crazed, but does not recall hunger or thirst. She ran and ran and ran and ran until—and we may be grateful that her fate was no worse—she collapsed in a faint; and when she awoke a sign before her eyes read:

  HOWDY STRANGER

  WELCOME TO PISMO BEACH

  She had heard of the place, true; but thought it a myth. It was only then that she understood the seductive power of California.

  Hers was a long trudge home, and a trudge not unmixed with danger. A scant trot above Monterey brought a covey of windsurfers who she had to avoid on pain of becoming a mascot. Hunger took her to the edge of desperation in Mill Valley where she sat outside a hot dog stand wearing her most mournful look. The ploy worked, but a little snip of a Cockapoo caught onto her act and became quite snooty. To be cut in this manner seemed to her a reflection on the Cockapoo, but such knowledge did little toward salving the hurt of the snub.

  In Oregon she became so fatigued that she rested for two days and nights in a barn, becoming fast friends with a Guernsey named Maude. It was the only rewarding part of the trip. By the time she arrived home she had lost ten pounds and gained a considerable weight of wisdom. She confided to me that the whole business was a great adventure, but she would not wish to try it again, no matter how seductive the wind.

  moral: Seduction has its downside.

  A Main Principle

  Perkins-Monmouth might have avoided a good deal of unpleasantness if, when arriving at the beach, she had searched out a point of reference for her nose—a clump of tangy seaweed, or a deceased fish. Reality, after all, is a stern companion that can overwhelm most illusions. Let us now discuss general approaches to the beach.

  Definitions and Protocols

  sticks: are to the beach what balls are to a park. In the surf they become open game. Do not begrudge sharing your stick with other dogs. You are under no obligation, however, to share with fur seals or sea lions.

  frisbees: do not catch another dog’s frisbee. It confuses the humans.

  surf: is the sea wagging its tail. You will probably encounter mermaids as you dash about in the foam (for they are much smaller than is generally believed). Treat them with courtesy and respect.

  sea gulls: are feathered squirrels. The girls are named Flotsam and the boys are named Jetsam; or perhaps vice versa.

  sandpipers: you might as well chase smoke, so only chase if you can accept the knowledge that your efforts will be greeted with wry smiles.

  umbrellas: avoid kicking sand in the neighborhood of umbrellas because they usually shelter a human, one who is often caustic.

  picnics: are certain disaster for the dog who forgets his manners. Think of how a raccoon would handle matters, then do the opposite.

  tide pools: are a delight, and one should hit with as large a splash as possible. Some dogs, however, are jaded. I once met (on a beach with some of the world’s finest tide pools) an Airedale named Abner Ptjer Wyczknowski, a Chicagoan, who claimed the tide pools rather shabby compared to Chicago’s potholes. He could not get it through his head that no contract would be let for paving.

  other animals: all beaches have been constructed with a dog in mind, but sometimes one meets a walrus. Inquire politely about the weather in Anchorage and Nome, but be on your guard. Walrus have many adventures and have been known to expand on the truth. Gullible dogs, after listening to tales told by a walrus, have been known to run off and join the circus.

  dunes: always dance on top of dunes, thus avoiding dune buggies and undertow.

  kites: kite flyers are gentle folk who will weep copiously if you foul their strings. They may also do other things. If you find yourself being zoomed by a stunt kite, you are entitled to nip at its tail.

  Travels—With Particular Emphasis On Camping

  There is no such thing as the standard camping trip, because surroundings dictate infinite possibilities. A trip to the mountains, for example, alerts one to the presence of bears; a trip to a fine motel yields room service. If one travels to a river or lake, the possibility of otter and beaver is present, and a trip through high desert yields roadrunners and weasels. The fauna will call to your senses, and some of that fauna can send a dog into dangerous ecstasy. The scent of a skunk (which one would think most noxious) is as attractive to some dogs as catnip to a Manx.

  All trips, however, hold some requirements in common. It is well to review these in a general way:

  Preparations

  You will need to chew while on the road, so bring something substantial, a shoe or tennis ball. Otherwise you will be tempted by the tastes of sleeping bags, tent pegs, and flashlights.

  If you own an animal carrier, see that it is included in the load. If you do not own one it will be necessary to improvise a bed. Some dogs enjoy snuggling beside a human, while others complain that a tent is too confining. "Suppose," they argue in a voice of sweet reasonableness, "suppose an elephant stumbles through the camp, and there you are trying to untangle yourself from a tent." No, these dogs explain, it is a far, far better thing to camp rough and tough—so be sure to bring a pillow or two. These may be wedged into the mouths of caves, or in hollows beneath the roots of trees. It is raw comfort, but allows easy access to the wild.

  On Site

  If this is your first camping experience be prepared to sleep a bit extra during the day you arrive, for it is nigh certain you will be up all that night. The new camper finds herself awash in sounds and smells, with the sight of moving shadows, and the feel of breezes in her fur. She may see a raised snout silhouetted against the moon, and hear a drawn out howl. In canine lore this is known as The Call of The Wild. My recommendation in such cases: If The Wild calls, do not answer.

  Such experiences are novelties to the dog accustomed to plush carpets and tended lawns. I have heard (but can scarcely credit) tales of dogs so overwhelmed by wilderness that they could not catch a wink until they climbed into the back seat of the automobile.[10]

  If you camp with humans, as most of us do, choose a level campsite; humans tend to roll around and skid. It will be just lovely to have a nearby source of water, a crystal lake or rushing stream, but do not scorn a faucet. As humans argue with their tent in growly tones, and as the tent answers with a rustle while falling flat, you should mark your territory. Check all scents, making certain no animals of a pushy variety, such as cougars, visit the area. If cougars do visit the area, arrange to sleep in the car.

  Suppose, however, that you have decided on a hiking trip and the car is not allowed to come along. The cougar problem becomes serious, and you should think long and carefully about any possible encounter. I suggest a review of everything you know about cats. Think of their hopes and fears for their children, their aspirations, their aversions. Armed with useful observations and questions you will then, if a cougar appears, be prepared to start a discussion group.

  In some forests the problem revolves not around cougars but around bears. According to some experts, the bear has an atavistic fear of dogs. These experts believe that in the far, far distant past a race of giant wolves existed on this continent. The bear’s instinct of avoidance was formed at that time. In theory (according to these experts) a bear can be treed by a sturdy Fox Terrier, and—since there is no Fox Terrier tale of this type extant—I would be most pleased to hear from any Fox Terriers who survived. Their stories will be contained in future editions.

  At this writing, however, I must express doubts. Unless you are a dog bred to understand bears, the courteous gesture is to pass by with only the simplest salutation. If the bear is inclined to offer sass, as some are, remember that you can twis
t and turn faster than the bear. This is one of the few occasions in canine behavior when a bit of impudence is permissible. Say to the bear that he is shamefully overweight, and that his nose should be ticketed for incompetence. Explain from a distance that bears are not really very bright, and that you have known squirrels who were less easily distracted. This will make the bear grumpy.

  The grumpy bear will want to play tag. Lead him to a cliff, get him to charge, step aside.

  Other Animals

  avoidance: is a good rule when encountering any wild animals. Skunks are humorless, and there is very little difference between a badger and a hand grenade. Remember, these are wild animals unaccustomed to the gentle graces of civilized and domesticated behavior. They have no manners, desire no manners, and actually enjoy being crude.

  Getting Lost

  Your humans, having at first taken a short cut that landed them in a rather tacky shopping center, had a hard time finding the forest in the first place. You may be sure they will get lost. Whilst they wander the trails and mutter phrases that would offend a chipmunk, it is your opportunity to take the lead in a jolly game of ‘Let’s find the car.’

  Your nose tells you exactly how to return, but the human’s noses do not. If your humans suffer from intellectual pride (as most of them do) you may be sure they will ignore you while talking about blasted trees, rotted stumps, ‘crinkly places in the rocks’, and other such landmarks. They will rapidly discover that one rotted stump looks very much like another, and that most of the rocks in the region have crinkles. At some time during their inventory of blasted trees, they will turn to you as a last resort.

  At this point you’ll discover that you have a dreadful tendency to ‘show off.’[11] Pretend you are a Basset Hound. Place your nose no higher than a leaf’s thickness above the trail; sniff with authority. If your people do not follow, you have options. Some dogs bark. Others tug at pant legs. Persistence pays, because sooner or later they will understand your message. Keep your nose nearly flat against the trail. You do not need it for your own information, but it makes your humans feel secure. Once you have led these urban children out of the wilderness you may anticipate a great deal in the way of a reward. I once met a Corgi, Clandestine S. Dangerfield, who secured for herself a full month’s supply of steak bones for what amounted to no more than a routine rescue.