A Man and a Dog in Close Captivity

A Man and a Dog in Close Captivity

I feel like I have been kidnapped and kept in close captivity. I spend pretty much all day in one place, leaving only to walk the dog and buy a few necessities (there is a long lineup at the beer store).

 Part of it, of course is the covid-19 quarantine. But there is also the matter of in the month of March my being put under witness protection until a trial (I hope it is virtual) a month away. While walking my dog one dark evening, I stopped to pick up his poop on the sidewalk (he likes very public places), and then I heard a conversation in a nearby alley that I wish I hadn’t. A murder was being planned that took place the next day.

And even though I have been moved from home, when I line up for or are in a store, I wonder if there is someone there who will tell the people whom I am being protected from, just where I am. My hometown is not too far from this one. I wish I were farther away.

           Luckily, I have a lot to do. First there was getting used to my new home. For one thing, I had never operated a gas stove before, and it was a few days before I was comfortable using it., not fearing that I would start a fire or something worse.

And then there is my writing.  One of the few possessions I brought with me is my old laptop, upon which I am banging out the remaining parts of my doctoral dissertation. The trial for that, my defense, is three months away.

           Despite the lack of human company, I am not alone. I have my dog Ross with me. That is comforting, at least sometimes. When I go under the covers in my cold-sheeted bed, there is a big furry companion, with the soft black curls of his back up against my back. 

           But then there is the other side – the bad side. Writing a dissertation takes focus, a lot of concentration. But I am the only company for Ross too, and he can be quite demanding at times.

He is high energy and intelligent – a dangerous combination in dogs as in people.

           His main distraction game is scratching at the back door to go out. That only begins the game. If I let him out, he casts his sorrowful eyes my way. What he is really saying is, “I will start barking at absolutely nothing if you don’t come out and play with me.” So when I let him out the barking begins. I have to give in, as I don’t want the neighbours to pay attention to us, dislike us, or call the dog police on us. Distracting dog wins, would-be PhD loses yet again.

My Dog’s Games of Distraction

           Picture this situation. I am sitting at my computer. I am surrounded by books with pages marked by a variety of bookmarks: slips of paper, paper clips, a broken-by-dog-chewing red plastic spoon from last night’s blizzard at the nearby Dairy Queen, and part of a shoelace that Ross had torn apart a few days ago. I am on an intellectual run making a difficult argument, mostly pieced together, but not yet completed. More intense thinking is definitely required.

           This scene is disturbed by a dog chewing a large toy snake that makes a very loud squeaking sound. It is dropped at my feet, then picked up and chewed, then dropped, then chewed. Lots of intermittent squeaking. There is no way for coherent thought to enter my head. I know what he wants. So I stop working, and Ross, toy snake and I play a rather strange game of fetch in the long narrow backyard. I make the snake fly far, a few feet away from the apple tree at the other end. Ross returns it with some loud toy snake sounds along the way. Then, of course, he is reluctant to give it up. We have a short argument of “drop it” followed by growling. Eventually I am able to snatch it out of his mouth. At some point, after about 10 throws in, my mind digs deep for an idea related to what I had been working on at the computer. I have to stop the play and get to my computer. Ross follows me, nipping at the bottom of my right shoe, which more and more is separating from the rest of the shoe. I have another pair somewhere in some closet.  I am not just sure where.  Wondering bout where those shoes might be, running from the dog and swearing at him at the same time, I lose the train of thought that had caused me to stop the play. We enter the house. I give him a dog biscuit, although he really doesn’t deserve it, just thinks that he does. I can’t win this argument. I get back to work, hoping to retrieve the idea from my mind. But it stays in the jaws of forgetfulness.

The Day I Try to Finish My Dissertation and Something Else Happens

I have printed up all the chapters I have completed so far. I am glad the local Staples was open yesterday, even if a dangerous looking fellow at a printer at what seemed a safe distance kept looking at me as if six feet was nowhere near far enough for him.   He did not appear to have finished his job, and he walked away as if someone was following him. Good. I really didn’t like the way he was staring at me.

Now I can look at what I have written and include the conclusions of each chapter into the last chapter, and then dress them up a bit, tinker with the words, and submit the whole damn thing.

Today, I begin my writing shortly after our early morning walk. Then Ross starts scratching at the door, just as I need my focus to be completely on the screen in front of me. Trying to ignore him does not work. Okay, it is time for me to strategize. I will let him out, and go out with him. But I will take my printed copy of the thesis, bring a pad of paper and two pens with me. I will sit in the tree fort a previous occupant built in the middle of the old apple tree at the far end of the yard. I figure Ross won’t bark because we are both outside. He will just try to jump up to the height of the tree fort, and try to grab what is in my hands. But it is too high for even his Olympic labradoodle high jumps. It will be just like when he tries to catch squirrels in a tree. Lots of springy jumping, but no squirrels are harmed or even threatened, although they curse him. I know how they feel.

The situation begins pretty much as I thought it would. I should have thought of this before. It helps that I gave him a new bone to chew on.  Ross wonders what we are doing. He must be suspicious of my initiating something new and different. He keeps looking at the house, but soon returns to his bone. 

Sentences hit the paper with a purpose. But then, after about an hour of productivity, for some reason I cannot figure out (not an unusual thing), Ross starts barking. Usually the phantoms he barks at are what he thinks he sees in the dark of early morning. It is bright now. And I am outside with him. He shouldn’t be barking. I wish he weren’t a distraction right now. I toss him a biscuit. He accepts and momentarily stops barking. Then I hear a car driving away – momentary distraction for me. I don’t need a biscuit.

           Then it happens. A very big KABOOM and a burst of flames. The small house collapses onto itself, dust and small bits of house debris fly in all directions. We are far enough away not to be harmed seriously, even though I nearly fell out of the tree with the shock of sight and sound in the air.  Ross is silent and motionless.

           I know what must have happened. The gang I was being protected from must have found out where I was hidden. I think back to yesterday’s printing, and the guy who stared at me.

           Then I look at Ross. His distractions saved my life, and my thesis. He gets a big hug which lasts and lasts. We both seem to need it. Then, in the distance, I hear the siren of a police car or a fire engine. Ross hears it too, and begins to bark. I don’t mind at all.