Chapter Six
Blythe
The morning after the stray dog appeared, I had no expectation that he would still be here two days later. It is now Saturday, October thirty-first, my favorite day of the entire year… it’s Halloween!
Trick or treating is starting to wind down and the little ghosts and goblins and wizards and mermaids are coming fewer and further between, but I refuse to leave my spot on the porch until eight-oh-one p.m. shows on my phone screen.
Only then will I go inside, turn off the porch light, and start the process of de-mummifying myself.
My costume for this year is seriously one for the books… literally.
As a librarian, and an obvious lover of the spooky holiday, I take advantage of the week and always dress up as something different every day.
I mostly try to wear costumes of characters from Halloween-esque books, but it isn’t always financially feasible to purchase or is too time-consuming to make, so I create my own with supplies I have at home or can piece together within a budget.
These years costumes included a crayon, Hermione Granger, Where’s Waldo, Cat in the Hat, and today’s mummy.
Using an old bed sheet, I dyed it a sandy dirt brown using tea bags, then ripped it into strips and wrapped the fabric around my body, knotting it off in strategic places to make myself look rough and like I had been in the ground for hundreds of years.
With lots of smudged makeup and teasing the heck out of my hair, I think I pulled it off pretty darn well.
The alarm on my phone starts clanging, so I swipe it to shut it off and begin the process of shutting down the fun until next year.
But one thing hasn’t changed no matter how many kids ran up the steps screaming “TRICK OR TREAT” and clopping back down on their mission to collect as much candy as six hours allowed…
my new furry friend has not left his post. He refused to eat the lamb and rice stew I made and tried to feed him.
He would not even leave the porch for a potty break.
He stayed within an arm’s reach of me the entire time we had visitors stopping by.
Never too close and scare off the kiddos who don’t like dogs, but close enough that he would let the ones who asked to pet him give scratches behind the ears.
Now that our time is up, it looks like the sky is finally going to give in to the iffy weather it’s been teasing us with all day. I smell it before I hear or see it… rain.
Big fat drops start falling, and soon I can hear the sharp plunks it makes as the drops hit the metal roof.
I make a couple trips into the house, taking the dining room chair back in, then also grabbing the almost empty candy bowl, and lastly holding the screen door open for the dog.
“Come on you furry goofball. I’ll let you in tonight ‘cause it’s gonna rain probably all night.”
He looks at between me, behind me to inside, and out into the yard, maybe trying to make up his mind if he believes me or not, and my heart drops when he jumps off the porch in one giant, flying leap.
I rush over to the porch railing, expecting to see him limping in pain, only to see him partially hiding behind the paper birch tree, finally going the bathroom. I’ve never seen a dog be worried about his modesty, but there is not much that this one does that surprises me anymore.
He is the cleanest eating dog I have ever seen.
Not one morsel of food leaves the bowl I serve it to him in.
Every drink of water he takes, not a single drop ends up on the floor.
I didn’t catch every time he wandered off to do his business, but when I did see him, he always makes sure he is hiding his parts.
Looking back, I probably could have let him in the house the first night, but I wasn’t attached to him then like I seem to be now.
I don’t know what it is about him, maybe it’s the cherry and pipe tobacco smell that I know now comes from him, or it could be that he is the sweetest and most gentle canine ever, but he’s growing on me.
My HOA doesn’t have any pet restrictions, that alone would have stopped me from buying my house, so I know bringing him home to live with me wouldn’t be an issue. I just don’t want to ever make him feel neglected when I’m at work or not home for one reason or another.
The call I got back from the humane society let me know that no one has reported a dog with his looks missing.
They said I could bring him in on Monday to have his scanned for a microchip, so I think I will do that just to be doubly careful before I fall too in love with him only to have to give him back to his real family.
That’s also what has stopped me from naming him.
If I were to find out his name is George, after I’ve been calling him something else, I would never forgive myself for confusing him.
Back up on the porch, my new four legged friend walks straight into the house like he is name is on the deed and he’s has lived here all his life.
“C’mere you goober.” I hold grab the ratty towel I had draped over the chair I was sitting on outside, and hold out my hand toward him.
“Let’s dry your paws off, then we can wander around Twyla’s clean house.
If she comes home from her trip and finds your dirty paw prints on her carpets, we’re both gonna be sent to the pound. ”
One at a time, he lets me clean his paws, then I leave him in the living room while I head for the guest room to shower and change into some comfy jammies.
If it’s going to rain like this all night, I’m going to snuggle up on the couch with a blanket, a bowl of popcorn, and the remote.
I don’t know what movie is going to tickle my fancy tonight, but I’m in the mood for something funny and spooky mixed together.
Should I go with Rocky Horror Picture Show or Clue?