Katana and His Prize
“Where is KT?” I asked Kirin, his Scottie brother. Only one Scottie in residence? He must be outside. I said hello to Kirin and Cia, our massive wolf-shepherd mix, then stumbled through the house to drop my bag and shed my office attire. I left my shoes at the door coming in, but retrieved them now, for closeting. If I’d known what was coming I’d have retrieved my wellies as well.
Today was brutal. Endless meetings and too many code reviews. My head was swimming. I spent the entire train ride with my eyes closed instead of reading or journaling as usual.
I dragged myself up the 45 steps from carport to front door, delighted that I had put a package of meat out on the counter this morning. Dinner would be easy and this was organic, sustainably ranched, better nutrition than anything I could have consumed by eating out. I had been tempted. A market offering already-prepared edibles lives between the train station and home. Mostly organic. Usually with something to ease the end of a tired day.
Exhausted, I warmed to the excited woofs and chitterings coming from the kitchen. The “You’re finally home” chorus makes anything better. “Where is KT?” I asked again, pulling on my sweats and tying my hair back for dinner-prep. The package will be thawed and ready to cook now. Excellent. I’m too tired to think about what else to… “Where is KT?”
The smallest of our trifecta of canines, Katana, KT for cute, is the unchallenged chow hound. He has no fear and will try anything once, especially if it resides in the ‘edible’ category.
I once arrived home to find him inside the extra-large-sized bag of kibble intended for Cia, the wolf. It had been (suspiciously) knocked onto the floor of the pantry and KT was inside the bag, with only the tip of his tail and the shaking of said container indicating his whereabouts. He was still chomping while I pulled him free. That night, after a hasty phone call to the vet, he was on ‘p-splosion watch’ (psplode being one of his words) with no food or water in reach, much to his disgust. He survived that, after pooping three times, each the size of Cia’s head.
Tonight he was nowhere to be found. I looked around the little kitchen, dismayed. Where could he be? Then I saw the counter. A small stool was pushed up next to it. Wet pawprints were much in evidence. And on the counter, which was now empty.
The other thing about KT is he can spring like a kangaroo. He gets a determined look on his face and pounces, straight up. As if his legs are giant turbo-boosters. Or made of springs. He took a running hop onto the stool and pounced onto the counter top. I stood there with my mouth open for a minute or so, unbelieving.
The woofs are generally quite well behaved (for Scotties) and Cia is beyond well trained. He would NEVER! Then I noticed some other strange things. Kirin had bolted to the back of his den and was glued to the back wall, curled into a ball. Cia had likewise curled up under the kitchen table. He’s too big for a den anywhere indoors. There was also a suspicious trail of pink wetness streaked across the floor. It stopped at KT’s den, then reversed toward the back door. Ok guys. What happened?!
“Where… is… KT?” Kirin began to whine. KT was always getting him into trouble. Cia ignored me completely. The wolf, you don’t manhandle, not even in play. He wrestles when he feels like it and I usually find out the hard way, from beneath him on the floor, all unsuspecting. I chose the safer suspect. As I pulled Kirin from his den, still not putting the whole equation together, he squirmed out of my grasp, heading for the back door.
I figured he would bolt out the back. But he waited there, still whining. Visibly upset. The swinging door that let the Scotties in and out of the yard was wedged open by something draped through it. Had something tried to get in? Never a good move with Cia in the house. I wondered if the stickiness was something that had violated his ‘no trespassing’ rule.
I opened the door to let Kirin out, looking for leverage to remove the disgusting obstacle. He did bolt then. So did Cia. In that silent wolf way of his, he was out the door in seconds, shouldering me out of the way in the process. Realization hit. It’s the meat wrapper!
I backtracked into the kitchen, secure in the knowledge that the dogs couldn’t get out of the back yard. The package of what would have been tonight’s dinner had been dragged into KT’s den. There were unmistakable signs. Yuck. Then one or all of them had tried to take it outside. When it stuck in the swinging door, he or they had munched all the meat, leaving a sticky paper-plastic, bloody, slobbery mess. Oh, man! But wait, this is too small. That was enough for several meals. I was going to re-package it when it thawed. Where is the rest of it?
A mess like this, though uncommon, is not such a big deal to clean up when one is used to three dogs. But where was the little rat anyway? Kirin bolted for the deck when I let him out. I would start there.
I turned on the back lights and climbed the stairs to the deck. I love this in the evenings. The whole of San Francisco is lit up across the bay. The bridges too. Beautiful. Past sunset, stars were beginning to light the sky.
Kirin and Cia lurked on the far corner of the deck, hiding in the darkness. Black dogs, dark night. Pretty much a given. I shone the torch into the corner and heard the little yip. KT?
Kirin answered immediately with a series of short barks, yips and concerned pacing. Scotties don’t yip, as a rule. They disdain ‘small dog’ versions of communication as the huge beings they truly are. Something was definitely out of order.
I continued to the corner of the deck, next to the stream and shone the torch through the planks. Movement. Ever so slight. KT’s instant howl of frustration and rage at my incompetence made me drop the torch. “You’re under there?!”
In that moment my day became intolerable. The day I’ve had… dinner is non-existent, these are my last clean sweats… and you’re under the deck?
“Come out of there! Now!” KT is small enough to hide under the back side of the deck when he disapproves of travel plans or is threatened with the vet. He also uses this little maneuver to escape ‘consequences’ when he has pushed the mischievous bit a little far. Tonight was different.
“KT I mean it! Come here!” Again the frustrated howl, followed by scratching and rustling noises. There is only dirt under there… what can he be up to?
I lay down on the side of the deck and shone the torch underneath. No KT. Just the dirt. Wait a minute. There is a new pile of loose dirt just… beyond… my reach… oh no you did not!!
I had to crawl under the deck and across the freshly dug earth. From what was now a large hole, maybe two feet in diameter and at least three feet deep, KT began to complain. I laughed until my sides ached, pillowing my face on my dirt-encrusted sleeve. You little… (words fit to print fail me).
He dug a hole to bury his prize and kept digging. The hole was now higher than his eartips, its proximity to the floor of the deck preventing him from pouncing out without falling back in. Claw scrabbling marks on the sides of the hole told the story. He was trapped.
There wasn’t enough space for Cia to dig him out either. The wolf had excavated many trenches in the garden. It wouldn’t have been a problem for him. Except that Cia was indoors, the swinging door not designed for his size. Better not to have him out terrifying the neighbors when I’m not home. Kirin hadn’t been able to help. KT hadn’t let him. He wanted the prize for himself. “Hoisted on your own agenda, you little beggar!!” I laughed. And laughed some more.
Inching further under the planks, I braced an arm across the hole and reached for KT’s belly. He wasn’t having it. I could almost always loop an elbow under his chest and pry him from just about anywhere. Not this time.
“Oh I am so going to kill you, you little…” I collapsed laughing again. This time I dropped my arm into the hole next to him. I shook helplessly, waiting for the fit to stop so I could grab him by the scuff and haul his little bum out of there.
Ouch! Front-paws-back-paws, pounce! So quickly and powerfully it almost ripped my sleeve, he launched himself up my arm and out. Mud to the eyes, he stared me down as only a companion can.
At least he’s out of there. Careful to keep my body between KT and the hole, I peered in, the torchlight assuring me that there was nothing edible left to be buried. I shoved loose dirt back in as insurance against future entrapments and visitations from neighborhood creatures. I added some large stones as well.
Completely mired, I crawled out from under. “Did we learn anything?” I grimaced at KT. “Is my dinner ready?”he countered streaking for the kitchen.
“Not till you’ve been bathed, pup”, I muttered, grabbing for one of the towels I kept stacked by the back door. “That goes for us both”, as I stripped the mud-sodden sweats and opened the door. Kirin had already retreated indoors. Cia was seated, waiting, in that dignified way of his. Nothing to do with this, really, but oh how entertaining it had been.
Muddy miniature paw prints trailed across the floor to KT’s den. He was braced at the entrance, his bum growing roots therein. No bath. “Not a possibility” I growled at him, shutting him into his crate and hefting the whole thing, dog, mud and all, to the shower.
I realized I would have to clean the kitchen first or take two showers so I left him in the bedroom to dry off, cool down, or whatever he needed to do. Mostly, I needed him out of the way so I could clean and shower myself.
When I let him out, all damp-curly and fluffy, he sashayed toward the kitchen. He had moves that one. A cuter bum never roamed this earth. I arrived in the kitchen three steps behind him. He sat, with an attitude of terminal cuteness, nosing his bowl. The others were still hiding, post “her-cleaning-and-ranting-moment”. “We’ll wait till it’s over.”
As I prepared their dinner, not yet wondering what to make for myself, KT piped up. “Well, I got myself out, didn’t I?” fiendish grin firmly fixed.
I sighed and closed the half-door not to disturb their evening meal.
Lying on the sofa in whatever I had found in the closet, I laughed again. “Seriously?!!!!”
I’ve said it many times. Some of my best teachers have had four legs.
Call to Action
This morning I noticed a short story contest sponsored by Becoming Writer. The theme is to be a story about someone who gets into a hole and somehow gets out. It made me remember this. Not exactly the theme, so not sure whether to submit, but it was fun to write. Click my heart if it was fun to read! Thank you!
