Greater Love by J.B. Jones (reading strategies book .txt) 📖

time, you gotta have a brisk scratch or two.  Take the time to vigorously drag your nails over your belly or even behind the ears and maybe under your chin, just for good measure. Really go after it; put some elbow grease into those. You'll be glad you did.  This is one time you don't want feline advice, though.  Lick your paw and wipe saliva all over your face?  Ewwww.  And it just occurred to me that if you can get someone else to scratch and run their hands all over you, it will make your day.

 

You know what to do now, right?  Yep.  Let's play!  If you chase me, I'll love it. (And you could do with a bit of exercise.  Why do so many two-leggers jiggle, anyhow?)  We could play catch, too.  You toss the ball and I'll go fetch it.  I may even bring it back to you, you know.  (But not always; I really like to be chased.)  We can run and we can jump.  If you tug on my tail, I'll spin in circles 'til I'm dizzy trying to play-bite you.  I don't even mind chasing you.  Go on, take off, I dare you.  I'll nip at your heels and tug on your pants legs until both of our tongues are hanging out.  Did you know we can both have fun if you teach me tricks?  (Especially if you have a pocket full of treats.  Bacon, maybe?  Dogs loooove bacon. Bacon, bacon, bacon. Sorry, got carried away.  Blame those TV commercials.)  

 

Geesh.  I'm pooped.  Want to go take a nap?

 

Sigh.  Ok, no nap, yet.  How about a drink?  Lots and lots of fresh, cool water.  Yummm.  That's another thing you uprights don't do enough of.  Don't you know how important water is? 

 

Hey, I've got something else I've been meaning to mention to you.  Watch.  (With my tail wagging a comforting  Hail-Fellow-Well-Met swish from side to side, I approach the cat.  I stop a respectful distance away and crane my neck forward in as unthreatening a fashion as I can manage.  She freezes for a second, a little bashful or even nervous, maybe.  I just wag that tail and grin.  Pretty soon she comes closer and we do Eskimo kisses, touching noses together, before she relaxes completely, sits and starts that goofy saliva-face-wiping business, again.)

 

Did you see?  Just because something looks different or we don't share the same interests, doesn't mean we shouldn't try to get acquainted or be friendly.  So what if she's got fur that isn't like mine?  What difference does it make if her behaviors or the things she likes aren't the same as what I like or do?  She eats fish; I like bacon.  Who cares?  She wipes her face with slobber paws and I lick my...ummm, never mind, bad example.  My point, I guess, is that we really can all get along if we're able to show some tolerance for all those things that make each of us unique. 

 

You know, even if we get angry with one another, it doesn't have to be forever.  It doesn't mean that if I'm mad at you I'm going to be mad at every two-legger.  I know that when you growl at me we're going to be able to get past it.  And no matter what, I'm always going to love you.  Love and friendship can not only bridge the species gap, it can heal almost anything. Love costs us nothing but faith in one another.  It's what makes me wag my tail so hard that the fleas threaten to relocate, when you come home.  I live for the kindness and care you show me. It is magic.  Do you know why dogs always smile?  It causes happiness.  Guess what?  Your smile works the same way. 

 

Gimme a scratch behind the ears?  I'm going to go lay down and dream about the rabbit chase of the century.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I Might Even Eat Today

 He shared his walk with Spring and a procession of energetic kids intently serious about getting to their next class. Mixed in with the studious were those embarked on rafts of beckoning adventure only possible now that parental scrutiny was a thing of the past. 

 

Spring, with bright scarlet collar adorning her caramel-colored coat and a smile that charmed everyone with whom she deigned to share it, strolled beside him.  Humming a melodic interpretation of George Harrison's 'While My Guitar Gently Weeps' that he'd discovered just this morning on YouTube, he ambled along in the mild sunshine of a Mid-October afternoon. 

 

Their path led them down a brick-paved walkway that fronted a variety of businesses.  She sat at his feet while he browsed the displays of a couple of bookstores which vied for attention with gaudy printed assurances that any textbook needed was available, new or used. He spent a bit longer in front of the one that featured displays of clothing and other items bearing familiar logos. A number of bars, from which music and the muted conversations of lunch-time patrons spilled, stood with doors propped open to admit the fresh air and pleasant weather. A bank with an outdoor ATM being used by a customer, a bustling Starbucks, a store-front operation that hawked tutoring and exam preparation courses in bold white lettering a foot high held places along the way.

 

And there were restaurants. 

 

The early Fall air was redolent with a cornucopia of enticing scents. His mouth watered as he took them in. The tang of herbs and spices wafted from pizza joints.  Any number of sandwich shops released the tantalizing aroma of frying onions and peppers, fragrant whiffs of broiling burgers and sauerkraut-dressed Reubens. Outlets which boasted vegetarian fare leaked the astringent smells of vinegar and citrus into the environment that he and Spring traveled.  As he followed the dog's meandering path he catalogued each smell that he recognized and tried to associate it with a country or region.  That exercise made the ordeal a little easier to swallow. 

 

She, of course,  was in Seventh Heaven.  Her tail wagged with unfailing vigor as she bent low and followed the boggling trails of scent.  She snuffled and sniffed with carefree abandon, lost in contented wonder and joyful discovery.  An occasional sneeze exploded from her as she encountered an irritant.  Spring would look up at him then, with her shining chocolate eyes, lolling tongue and exuberant smile, as if to say, "Whew!  Where'd that come from?"   Nose back to the grindstone, she tugged at the leash as she explored the clustered combinations of smells at doorways, paused to investigate the ground around trash receptacles. When her olfactory odyssey was interrupted by a two-legged distraction, she'd stop for a second to shine an enchanting grin at them, bend to sniff at pant cuff or shoe sole and continue on. 

 

He reined her in when she discovered the remains of someone's lunch discarded near a bench.  "No!"  He snapped his fingers and reinforced the command with one sharp tug on the leash. 

 

Spring abandoned her find, came to heel and licked his hand.  "That's my good girl."  He lavished praise and vigorously scratched her shoulder.  "What a clever dog!  Goood girl."  She closed her eyes and raised her muzzle, swished her tail and almost quivered with delight.  Not since she was quite young had the 'stick' part of obediance training been needed.  She was bright and loving and 'carrot' was very effective.

 

"Mush, Springy.  Let's scoot, mutt," he said as he placed her on his right, held the lead in his left hand and took up the slack with the other.  Spring associated this with training behavior and took her place at the heel position, her left shoulder almost brushing his right knee as they resumed their walk. 

 

She didn't pay any attention to the glance he gave the partial sandwich he'd distracted her from.  Her attention was caught by the rumbling growl of his stomach, though.  She looked up at him with confused brown eyes.  Spring knew the liquid-sounding gurgle spawned by hunger.  She knew the aching discomfort of an empty belly and the weakness it created when prolonged. She knew she would eat when they got home.  It was a routine that never varied or failed since she first denned with this companion.

 

The dog did not know that he was starving.

 

"It's ok, pretty girl.  C'mon."  Man and best friend veered toward home. 

 

*****

 

He scrolled through the headlines and story blurbs on Yahoo while lying in bed.  The dog slept on the Oriental patterned rug at the foot.  Occasional woofs and whimpers came from her while the sleeping hound's paws twitched as she chased a canine dream.  Fur the identical shade of peanut butter clashed with the ruby, black and gold of the rug.  He watched her as she dreamt and his smile didn't fade until his empty stomach balked.

 

Alright, alright, alright.  I get it. 

 

He perched on the side of the bed while he put shoes on.  Spring woke and came to him.  He laughed at her, the brisk wave of her tail seemed to power the dog the way a plane's propellers dragged it into the sky.  A brief vision of her flitting around the room, like that elephant in the books he'd read as a child, imprinted on his imagination.  He fended her off with a quick series of scratches that made her curl into a 'C' shape and chuff doggie laughter.  He threw on a shirt and grabbed the other things he needed, put the laptop to sleep and quietly led his dog through the house.  As soon as she realized they were headed toward 'out' she trotted ahead to take up station at the door that opened onto the fenced yard.

 

"Be back in a bit, puppy girl," he told her.  Then, in a sterner voice, he admonished her, "And keep your noisy yap shut.  The neighbors are trying to sleep.  Now, mush."  He scratched her ear then gave her a gentle boot on the backside.  She scampered into the darkness.

 

He left the house by the front door, careful not to make noise enough to wake his landlord and roommate.  Logan was a blessing bestowed by God or a whim of capricious Fate or maybe just a slightly tarnished jewel of humanity. 

 

He moved into Logan's house shortly after securing a job at the university. They got along well. When that job had suddenly vanished, his landlord hadn't batted an eyelash.  Neither did he make mention of any sort when some of his food went missing.

 

He stopped to look at the dog standing inside the fence. 

 

"You hush, hound.  Hear me?" 

 

She smiled and wagged her tail, stood with front paws on the chain link.  The goofy thing radiated love and affection that shone brighter than the security light under which she stood watching as he slipped away.

 

He set off on a path that led down darkened streets toward the area he and Spring had walked much earlier in the day.  Spring's distressed yips, barks, and piteous whining began before he got to the end of the block.  The only time she became anxious enough to do so was when he left home on these late night sorties.

 

*****

 

These nightly jaunts - he called them 'hunts' when he bothered to name them, at all - had become a