Fee and Fluffhead

Shelley and I trotted across Boylston Street to the dog park.  I saw many of the Saturday morning regulars, humans carrying coffee cups and phones, dogs straining at leashes.  I looked for Fee, one of my favorite playmates.  We met at Buzzard’s Bay animal shelter where he taught us how to show sad puppy dog eyes and wag tails when prospective humans came around.  He’s easygoing and smells better than most dogs.  Luckily, his human, Barry, brushes his fur but doesn’t make him go to the dog groomer.  Those perfumy smells make me sneeze.  Shelley learned that long ago, so she doesn’t make me go any more.  And Doug never did care.  She says he’s coming home soon from Afghanistan, but I have no idea what that means.  My concept of time doesn’t seem to match hers.  When she says we will be going for a walk “soon” it seems to take three years.

“Yo, Fluffhead!  What’s up?”  Fee trotted over and gave me a sniff.  I could see him back off a bit.  “What’d you eat last night?”  he asked.  I was busy sniffing him as well to see what he had been up to the last couple of days.  “I was afraid you’d notice,” I said.  “I couldn’t resist getting a ham sandwich out of the garbage and forgot she had just thrown away Clorox cleaning wipes.” 

“Dude, you better roll around in some dirt.  That shit is nasty.  Follow me.”  And we were off, me chasing him across the field.  He’s fast, so I had to concentrate and not get distracted by the dogs who were playing tag with some humans.  I’m not a ball chaser, which used to disappoint Shelley, but she’s gotten over it.  Doug would get upset about it and talk to me as if I was stupid.  Then I would just lie down and look sad.  He couldn’t resist that, and then I would get a treat.  Fee definitely taught me well.

 Of course, it’s different if Shelley throws rocks in the water.  I love going for a swim in the Charles.  Fee says it’s dumb to chase something you can’t ever get and plus the river is gross, but I’m less sensitive than he is.  He’s all Mr. Natural, just like Barry, only eating organic food and making fun of me for getting into the garbage.  Maybe that’s why he can run faster too, but I blame genetics.  Whenever anyone asks Shelley what I am, she says a peekapoo-poodle mix.  Fee is mostly poodle, but I swear he has some border collie in him with his long nose and bossy instincts. 

“Here, Fluffhead,” Fee said, directing me to a dirt patch underneath a tree.  “Shelley’s gonna be pissed,” I answered, as I dropped on my back in the dirt.  It felt so great!  I could also smell that cleaner on me, so I was glad Fee had this idea.  It’s just that the ham sandwich was so delicious, especially now that I’ve had to go on a special diet.  Less food, and the new “light” variety is virtually tasteless.  I was about to ask Fee if he knew how to open cabinets or refrigerators, when I saw that he was honed in on the group playing tag. 

“Did you see that guy?  He completely kicked that ball away from Queen B,” he huffed, showing his side teeth like he always did when he became irritated.  “Just because you have a crush on her doesn’t mean you need to get in the middle of this,” I cautioned him.  Fee was always trying to break up fights and make sure dogs played fairly.  He also had a thing for Queen B, who, I had to admit, was an elegant retriever mix who smelled like fresh grass with just a hint of meat.  I liked her too, but I knew she was out of my league.  “Fluff, I’m going in.  Stay here.” 

“You’re an idiot,” I said, trotting after him.  After all, I may be short, fat, and lazy, but I am a good friend.  Fee zoomed toward the guy with the ball who kicked it toward him.  Fee nosed it away and toward Queen B, who scooped it up and ran to the other side of the park, Fee chasing her. The human yelled, “Hey, that’s my ball!”  Fee just turned around, wagged his tail, and barked twice, both acknowledging the guy and ignoring him.  He was that kind of dog.