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There was no fooling Edith, a collar round that beast’s neck did not make it a dog. No ma’am!
By every indication it was a wild animal that belonged on the frozen Alaskan tundra, not in her favorite park on a lovely Friday afternoon.
Yet there it was traipsing alongside a tall boy talking away like the creature understood his every word, both of them happy as clams at high tide.
They wandered out to the middle of the widest green and once there the boy threw one of those plastic flying saucer things. His “dog” just sat there, not even looking where the saucer had landed.
At seventy-three years of age Edith Eloise Beauchamp was quite proud of her eagle-eye vision. She couldn’t hear what the boy said but she could see his mouth moving rapidly. His arms and hands made encouraging gestures at his “dog” in the direction his flying saucer had gone.
It looked like he might even be begging.
Finally his immense pet got to all fours and, taking its own sweet time, walked to where its “master”—ha ha—had gestured.
Returning with no haste whatsoever it dropped the saucer thing, mangled beyond recognition, at the boy’s feet.
“Derek!” Edith plainly heard the boy cry. “You’re buying me a new one!”
Wasn’t that the oddest thing!
Then the monster dog started nosing at the boy, poking its snout into his ribs, very effectively evading the boy’s efforts to fend off the thrusts. Though doubled over trying to protect his middle, the boy laughed like a drunkard.
His breaking into a run provoked the most enthusiasm Edith had seen from the “dog” since its arrival. The boy ran with some speed, dodging this way and that across the grass, and the huge black animal, like some natural-born predator, kept up easily. There was no doubt it could have brought down the boy like a caribou but instead looked like it enjoyed their game.
Not till the boy headed toward a tree at the green’s edge did his dog cut him off, tripping him to the ground. Half-pinned by the beast’s weight, now the boy endured an assault of licks and nose bumps, all to the face, provoking splutters and protests.
When the beast backed off the boy got to his feet, a large stick in hand. He let it fly—obviously he was strong regardless of his lanky frame because that stick went far—and the dog launched itself after it.
This time the dog retrieved very eagerly, only didn’t appear to be slowing one bit as it raced back toward the boy. The boy realized this too, turning to run from his swift pursuer, only to be run to the ground. Now there was much flailing of arms and hands, shrieking laughs cut off when it seemed the dog’s intent was to put the stick in the boy’s mouth!
Content to just lay the stick on the boy’s face, the dog trotted a few feet away, sat with its back to the scene of mayhem behind it, then looked over its shoulder, quite pleased with itself.
Upright, after vigorously wiping his face, the boy pounced on the dog. The wrestling match that followed made Edith laugh in spite of herself, the way the boy tried to stay curled tightly around the dog while the dog thrashed about, legs kicking air, tongue lolling out, tail wagging wildly.
It was a funny spectacle, funnier than television.—And to think some people were of the opinion Edith Beauchamp was a curmudgeon!
After they’d tired themselves out the grappling duo laid side by side, both on their backs, heads touching.
It was true, Edith thought, there really was no love like that between a boy and his dog.
When they’d had enough of their afternoon in the sun, both came back the way they’d arrived. Edith sat up straighter—she was most certainly not one of those seniors scared of “the young people”! She turned her attention to the magazine she’d brought with her that day—and had read so little of due to her uninterrupted watching. She happened to look up, catching the boy’s eye.
He politely nodded his head, bidding her “Good afternoon!” very pleasantly.
Just as she was ready to concede his animal companion was merely an unusually overgrown dog, Edith swore it nodded its head at her as well.
Maybe she’d had enough sun herself.
Letting the pair get some yards distant, Edith decided it was time to head home too. Still she couldn’t take her eyes off the boy and his beast as they reached a pale blue Jeep in the parking lot. The boy let his dog in the passenger side then made his way around to the other.
Edith had only just settled behind the wheel of her own pretty little Toyota when the Jeep cruised past her at the parking lot’s slow legal speed.
There was not a big black dog in its passenger seat.
No, there was a bare-chested man slipping a shirt over his head.
Edith’s mind struggled with acceptance of what her eyes had just seen as the Jeep left her field of view. She blinked a few times, looking into the middle distance. She raised her hand before her face and wiggled her fingers.
Yes, there was her hand, there were her wiggling fingers, but maybe, just maybe she should schedule an exam with an optometrist all the same.