His Dogness

I like those scenes in samurai movies in which the good samurai is walking down the road minding his own business and the audience sees bad guys sneaking up behind him. It appears that the samurai is oblivious to their approach but, just as the bad guys pounce, the samurai swoops around and dispatches them with ease.

Alert to his surroundings, the good samurai knew they were there all along. No one sneaks up on a samurai master.

I aspire to that level of alertness only in my imagination. But I would have liked to think that some basic survival instincts would kick in should, say, people come into my house in the middle of the night.

I am sorry to say that I was tested and failed miserably.

One night a few months back, I woke up in the middle of the night to see lights moving around in the dining room. I don’t keep a baseball bat or golf club by my bed but it didn’t even cross my mind to wish that I did. I simply rolled out of bed, put on my glasses and staggered into the dining room.

There before me was Frank, the policeman who lives up the street. He was carrying a flashlight just like you see police officers wield them on TV, with his hand held high and the front end of the flashlight emerging from the backside of his hand.

Close behind him were Wayne, who lives across the street and Mr. Whitfield. By Mr. Whitfield’s leg stood His Dogness. His Dogness appeared to be wearing his “hey, it’s a party” expression.

“What’s going on?” I said.

The three men were already backing toward the front door, mumbling apologies and explanations.

It was only the next morning that I reconstructed the full story.

This was before I knew that His Dogness was suffering from kidney failure. All I knew then was that, for the past couple of weeks, he had been driving me nuts during the night. I would take him out, and, as soon as we came back inside, he would want to go outside again. I couldn’t ignore him because he would whimper and whimper.

I didn’t know if he was going crazy or what but I had become so sleep deprived that I was feeling as if I had an excellent idea of what the parents of some newborns go through.

On this particular night, I just couldn’t take it anymore. I had to get some sleep. I put His Dogness on the front porch even though I knew that wasn’t the best idea.

Enter Wayne, who works odd hours. He came home and saw His Dogness. He thought that perhaps I had fallen asleep watching television. In any case, knowing that it wasn’t a good idea to leave His Dogness out, he came over and knocked so that I could let His Dogness in.

Nothing. He knocked louder. Nothing. He knocked louder still. Nothing.

He started worrying that perhaps something bad had happened. So he went over and roused Mr. Whitfield who has a key to my house. About this time, Frank, who also works odd hours, came home.

To make it all a little more official, they enlisted his aid. The three came in. The next thing they know I’m standing there in my boxer shorts and T-shirt wondering what’s going on.

A strategic retreat seemed in order.

When I woke up that morning, I decided that, if things had gotten to the place where the police were coming to my house, it was time to take His Dogness to the vet. That’s when we found out that his kidneys were failing.

Why I didn’t go before, I cannot say.

As for the part where people came into the house in the middle of the night and I wondered out in my boxer shorts and T-shirt to ask what’s going on, all I can say is, “Sheesh.”