This is a tale about Harley, the Rottweiler. Harley is probably long gone by now, but he lives on in my memory.
In times past, we spent our summers at Port Ludlow. We lived on a long, dead-end road with houses on one side and foliage on the other. The lady next door to us bought a Rottweiler for protection. She named him Harley, after the motorcycle, because of the powerful, imposing presence he projected. Alas, Harley was a marshmallow – all licks and love.
He had the run of the road and was generally welcomed by all, even though he occasionally left some droppings here and there. Since he lived closest to us, we received the lion’s share.
When I took my little fluff ball of a dog for a walk, Harley was alerted and often came with us. The occasional raccoon or coyote took one look and headed in the other direction. Harley visited while I was weeding, and he made an appearance at more than one of our outdoor gatherings with friends. Our yard was large, so it usually was quite easy to keep my eye on the grass and avoid any unseemly substances. Occasionally, I made a misstep. One particular evening stands out in my mind so I guess one could say that what follows is a treatise on love versus poop:
DOGGEREL
Oh, woe is me,
It was dark by the tree
And what did I hit
But a pile of …. poo
That stuck to my shoe.
Then I walked in the house
To speak to my spouse
And I laid down a track
To the kitchen and back
Of a foul-smelling mess
That I had to address
With a bucket and brush
And some thoughts that would blush
The cheeks of a sailor,
A tinker or tailor.
So, I zipped my lips tight
With full knowledge it might
Create a huge strain
That could blow up my brain—
But, for better or worse,
This old lady won’t curse.
THE FLOW OF INFORMATION
When I take my dog for a walk,
She dithers and dawdles and sniffs:
She checks out the blogs
From the neighborhood dogs,
Then responds with her own fluid riffs.
HARLEY
Take the soul of a free-wheeling biker
And a heart that is made of pure gold,
The tiniest wagging tail,
Kind eyes and a nose that is cold.
Add the confidence of a rock star—
Handsome—on top of his game—
And you’ll find a big party crasher
With a most appropriate name.
This photo of Pat D’Amico, longtime contributor to Northwest Prime Time, was taken the day of her 70th high school reunion. “I kept my mom’s house in Bellingham and the renters are wonderful. My daughter snapped the picture while I was looking around with great pleasure,” says Pat.
