My Angel's name was Pauve

My angel’s name was Pauve, but I didn’t get to name him. Pauve used to keep the house safe at night, locking the doors, checking that the camera lenses were clean, setting the mouse traps and the solar launch snares, he used to clean up the blood spills and mimick the noise-dampening slurry of traffic. There were no reports to wake up to, no 3 am knocks, and the mosquitos from the great pond across the street obeyed Pauve and didn’t fly over without a direct summoning.

Then I brought home a dog. Just a limp cocker-spanial with hair so matted it looked like she hadn’t been to the parlour in years. Pauve waited in the corner like a gargoyle with his hand on his chin, obviously thinking, but wondering if “Daisy” was just a stray? Was Daisy going to be taken away by the Animal Control, gutted for dinner, walked to the pond, and left with the butterflies and algae?

He stayed silent as I made the computer jot up a description, took a picture of Daisy at the right angle, then the left. Offered a piece of lunch and went looking for black rubber gloves so that I might put her in the washtub. We started with Dawn and spent probably ten or twenty minutes just checking for bumps and bruises, how the sink took on so much hair that bunched together like they knew they were all hairs of Daisy; I had to put Saran Wrap for a DIY collector near the drain, she whimpered when I checked her nails so overgrown the defensive curling white turning reddish-brown and she had nay even a ribbon.

“Ok, Girl.”

I know now that it is best to have dog earmuffs and to blow off their body with short bursts of air. The training on the internet has a hundred ways to play music, fantastically rinse the pet with a nozzle stem, get under the pits, there are churtles for steam, the collar section takes on gnats and grime, one must evacuate the hind, massage the shoulders all the way down to the tail, paying careful attention for foxtails and burrs that can get in her nose. It is well to use a soft terry towel, to put the phone on vibration and keep the bright lights away for a time.

The printer rolled out twenty signs, which should be enough for a 20-block radius. I started with a question: Have you seen this Dog? I have. Please call 831.XXX-xxxx and then there was a picture in the middle. The idea is to start with a question that the reader might ask themselves, which I did, and then you give only the least amount of information (Like maybe the dog breed but not the name found on the collar). There are many people who only pick up pets to sell to laboratories in Foster City.

Also, try to make electronic announcements in a similar fashion on Craigslist in the “Found” section even though this might attract the pet pirates who sell dogs to Foster City. There are other laboratories in San Jose especially the Milipitas where much of the population is employed in the sciences. It is important to be cautious and not give your stray to the first pretty lady who knocks on the door. Dog experiment recruiters don’t all look like Howard Stern.

::Knock Knock

“Some” dog experiment recruiters might look like Jennifer Stern, who wears a pink pleated dress, comes into the home and bends down to show her bald knees, claps her hands, and says “Come here Daisy!”

(Be sure to hide the dog collar with the name until permanent identification can be revealed. Provenir must be assured.)

Daisy doesn’t come and barely acknowledges this woman, though she is very pretty. Ms. Stern smells like wildflowers though she at first admits that she doesn't have a ‘forever home’ and has been changing the location of her vehicle daily to avoid the angels which flatten the tires and throw out all of a person’s garbage to the street so that the cops get edgy.

I understand that women can have these feelings toward one another because I have many sisters with long memories who don’t even share the same t-shirts anymore. They hide their make-up when the other is around and never speak of their savings accounts.

“Perhaps you should drink some tea and let her settle down?”

Jennifer thinks it is a lovely idea so I make some tea by Yogi and put this in a little bowl and then add some ice cubes. Daisy watches me put this down on the kitchen floor and she slowly comes closer, sips the tea, and looks up like I should provide a scone or biscuit.

Do not spend this time asking the “owner” what the dog likes to eat because Daisy has feelings of abandonment and must be kindly stroked for hours with a three-inch brush as you listen to her troubles and watch Netflix.

I asked this Jennifer if she could return the next day when Daisy might feel better to receive her. Jennifer looks injured because a beach jockey has talked her into moving her car to Santa Cruz and she can start waitressing while he surfs all day. She will drop out of her studies of Oceanic Biology because government jobs can take seven years to get hired after a Master’s Degree. I nod and nod and close the door behind her. Obviously, she doesn’t love Daisy as much as she loves waitressing, or else she is taking her South in the direction of Foster City.

Daisy and I spend the evening watching Lady and the Tramp in cartoon but I cannot tell how much of the movie she understands because I prefer to play the movie in French. She nibbles at the goose patay and the lamb liver which are very odiferous and particuliar to a well-trained palette. I have hired the gardener’s wife to come over and luxuriously bathe the Daisy with the essence of jasmine and lilacs, to give her an oatmeal scrub, to listen to her whimpers and understand her psychology.

When Hildi is complete, Daisy springs from her arms, comes over, and jumps into my lap. I am battling the evil tax bureau because they are hiding my treasure in their coffers. Daisy and I will come up with a tax strategy because they want to take half of the paycheck until we can evolve into a family.

I look into Daisy’s eyes, “Would you like to be a movie star?” A child going to college gets no tax relief for transportation and many required expenses like boyfriends and Uber after drinking. But a princess-dog-child can be a wonderful tax shelter if she makes a little money as a business. One should pull a local license for the business (which means you agree to pay them some taxes) and then call your closest relative to start a photo shoot with Daisy. Maybe Daisy will reunite the love your sisters once had before they began to steal each other’s boyfriends. Maybe Daisy can be put into the lap of a childhood cancer patient. Daisy can be brought to Walmart with a guitar and help someone sing for their supper. Save receipts.

The door knocks wildly and Jennifer Stern returns with an Igloo container, a mobile dog crate she found at the dump. Jennifer is far from well-groomed and polished this time, she does not smell of wildflowers but has tape over her glasses where the hinge meets the horizontal holders.

Obviously, I should ask if she got into a large fight with the surfer. I do not ask these things because I have sisters.

I do not wait for Jennifer to kneel down and clap her hands for Daisy to admit her to court. The Magestry will not come to the peasant. “Tea?”

Jennifer is still upset that she was rejected the day before and cannot even decide if there should be tea. “Can I have some this time?”

I look over at Daisy and say, “What do you think?”

Daisy concurs that Jennifer Stern can have some tea, though the litter she brought is paltry, and Daisy remembers the ungodly living conditions of Jennifer’s car. Hildi has been counseling her over how she felt when she had to leap the window because Jennifer’s car has no Lady’s Room and Daisy had to ramble nearly a quarter of a mile in the dark. My understanding is that there wasn’t even a bowl or a fountain for the minimal cleansing required after doing the duty.

Instead, Jennifer should think that the fair Daisy must gather her wits and wade into Sherman’s Pond? We have no crocodiles but a lovely lady should never venture around the pond at night because there are unemployed trolls and witches with such rotten teeth from eating children. Daisy can smell the stink of men who drank more than two beers an hour at the bar and were required to walk home because they would pay no taxi. The cost to hire a friend to drive and stay sober is very expensive.

I put down the tea as a Lipton bag, splashed hot water in a coffee mug, and set this by Jennifer. The nice tea cups and the Yogi Tea are reserved for the precious gleam in my eye, she gets homemade biscotti dipped in chicken broth, set to toast in my toaster oven, set on low for nearly six hours.

Daisy has barely acknowledged her former roommate for two days and it must be said that Jennifer’s situation has not improved and that her prospects for the future are slim with this dog. She might as well go and adopt one of the lower life forms of animals like a pet spider or even a cat.

This welfare single mother says with some fear, “Daisy looks radiant and glowing. I have never seen her so beautiful.”

Yes.

She only has a few sips of her Lipton tea because it is painful to hear what we have learned in therapy, Doctor Schwat is very thorough. He thinks that after six months of weekly sessions and some seasoning Daisy will become “whole” again. This man is brilliant and can fly over from Vienna each week. Our country needs brave men like this, germanic people to help us master our feelings.

Jennifer finally takes the hint and leaves. This is very convenient because Daisy and I wish to watch “Dog Show” (the skits by Will Feral and not the movie) many times while eating popcorn with the oil of the white truffle. We do not use the services of Netflix and can get this in the public domain of YouTube, and then we watch several reels on poachers and Doom’s Day fishes which are being caught in our bay all the time now.

Daisy says she has never caught a fish. I curl up with this lady and stroke her fur and promise to get us fishing licenses in the morning. It is a good day to inform my staff that I have a necessary PTO event. (always get the “paid” version instead of the non-paid version if you can help it).

Now that night while we slept the dreams of champions, I do not think Pauve was doing his job, someone threw a gas grenade at my car and it got all scorched and the rubbers burned but it was extinguished so quickly that the firemen didn’t have to wake up. We all sleep soundly when the security angels track down the hooligans and give them a beating or send them to the dark place.

Sometimes the police and the news get wind of vandalism and they even had out-of-towers with plastic gloves on their guns to try to hold up our 99 Cent Store. The clerks told them to take ‘Whatever they want’ but the crooks couldn’t decide why they were trying to steal from a store that only cost 99 Cents. They got into a fight with one another over the value of a felony but were able to escape before there was any gunfire exchange because most of our police need a strong cup of coffee to shoot straight and take a life.

I think it might have been these 99 Cent hooligans who threw their litter out the window and fired my car because I live so close to the main road. These accidents with Fireball Whiskey happen on more than one occasion because if you are going to drive away from a bank robbery or a murder scene it is best not to have any booze in the car. Our DUI laws are very very serious.

In the morning, the lower parts of my door were being tapped. It sounded like a family of mice who wanted to discuss their potential renting of my garage now that word has gotten out that I don’t believe in cats. It was a very low knock.

I opened the door quickly, not with cheese or tea, or any mark of civility which would make a mouse family believe we are open for their kind of business. No, it was not the mice in their finest Sunday clothes. It was the wench, Jennifer, on her face tapping at the door with the last of her strength.

“Dos Mios, why can’t they do their drugs at someone else’s house?”

Daisy wouldn’t let me close the door but tried to pull Jennifer Stern into the house with her delicate body. It was almost much more than I could bear, to see Daisy’s fine coat receive a contact rub from Jennifer’s mashed and bleeding scraping. I sighed greatly and bent down because this is what _Daisy wanted_ and pulled this woman to safety.

We dragged her up to the second floor with the double shower, scabs, and blood all over the white carpet, My lord…

Daisy brought in some ice, an entire packet of ice she must have gotten out of the freezer’s lower door. (Isn’t she a darling?) I had to cut off Jennifer’s clothing even though it might be her only clothing and drop her into the double-person shower which was made for handicapped patients years ago before me. I bought the house used.

Daisy had the heart of Audry Hepburn and could not stand to see her old subject squirm and bleed and look so filthy and disgusting. I ran to the laundry suite and did not have any lice prevention powders but chose 50 mule Borax, industrial apple cider, ammonia, and vinegar which we would have to use one at a time because of the potential reactions.

It turns out that Miss Jennifer was not beaten sensitively by my angel, Pauve, who protects the house while I am sleeping. I was shocked and did not want to help this woman if it was not Pauve’s doing.

Instead, she told us that she had stayed up all night, her third night, and had slipped and fallen in the sidewalks between the pond and the housing development. That she could not walk very far without the love of Daisy, blah blah, etc. etc.. So Daisy and I decided that she could stay after we took her picture, made the accompanying flyer, and placed these for twenty blocks around the neighborhood.

There are currently no surfer boys looking for her.

*

“He told you what?”

This young boy handed Jennifer Stern-Goroundus the flyer with her 1992 picture which said “Have you lost anyone?” and said that if they were missing a loved one to please call with his phone number.

This horny little Boy Scout boy thought it was fascinating until he called the number and heard how the angel had left the house because of the dog and he was stuck with this woman for so many years.

She nodded sadly at this story because it was no one’s business that her brother, Angel, was in country prison, that the pond across the street had nearly been closed for twenty years because their daughter’s body was found in the deep.

But Daisy? She always loved the daisy flowers and could not enjoy them since the incident. How many times did they wilt and she

would not drive them over to the cemetery because sitting down in that place made it feel too real.