Conquering Vertigo

Jingle Jangle Bryngle

Some sounds have universal meaning for domesticated canines. The soft vacuum-released"fooomp" of a refrigerator door opening; the krinkle of cellophane; the clang of fork on plate; the air brakes of the FedEx truck.

But surely none is more galvanizing than the jingle jangle of keys.

Keys!
Car-keys, house-keys,
fun-keys, mon-keys!

Bryn Tin Tin can be sound asleep outside on the patio yet hear a key sing even the smallest duet with another key from inside, upstairs, across the house. Zoom! Cheetah-dog leopard hound is right beside you, 2 seconds later. Where are we going? I'm ready!

But no dog was as key-oriented as Duke the German Shepherd. What a noble beast, my childhood friend, protecting me from everything except thunderstorms, which sent him fleeing into my closet.

The slightest key-like sound sent him racing from person to person, front door to kitchen door, waiting for the glorious crack of air that he could exploit for freedom. Milk bottles to overturn, fences to jump, clothes to pull from lines, willing females to meet. Push, push the door open and run!

Duke was Christmas present to the 6-year-old me. When I was scared, Duke guarded me. When I curled up in a cubbyhole, with blanket, flashlight and book, Duke curled up with me. Sometimes he was the pillow for my head, sometimes the wall at my back. As a young puppy, he explored the Hundred Acre Wood with Pooh and Christopher Robin. As he turned two and then three, we went to sea with Captain Hornblower, and walked the streets of London with Mr. Holmes.

He would lie stretched out on the shag carpet while I put little wooden "Fisher Price" people on him. (That's me on the right, the blond girl in the blue suit.) He was the mountain they lived on. They walked across his ribs, slept between his paws, looked out on the world from between the peaks of his ears. And I guess I did, too.

The jangle of keys meant so much to him. Finally, it was the way we said good-bye. We had moved to Texas and our back yard was too small for him, my parents said. They gave him to the Canine Corps of the Houston police department, lying about his age so they would take him. The Officer came to our door -- complicit in the deception -- and jangled a huge set of keys. Duke jumped into the back seat of the patrol car, sniffing out crime like a good Watson, and I never saw him again.

The Officer called twice. Once to tell us he was setting new records for the high jump and climbing courses (could have told him that), but that he didn't like gunfire (ditto - thunder!). A second time to say, he's doing well, we've bonded, he lives with me and my family, he's great with kids.

I could've told him that, too.

posted by Woman In Love @ 7:04 AM