Issue link: https://imageup.uberflip.com/i/684675
6 OUR YUCAIPA | JUNE 2016 The Middle of the Road: By Randy Peters, a middle-aged, middle-income, middle-school teacher Delilah Makes a Formal Friend Request I love when the man is distracted. He won't notice that I've taken over his keyboard again. He doesn't think I know about the time when Patches took over and wrote his column. Now, it's my turn. Don't worry. This isn't going to be a 'feel-sorry-for-me' column. I'm doing great. In fact, I think I'm better than great. I'm not sure the man thinks so though. He keeps trying to take me for walks in the neighborhood. He says I'm aging quickly and need more exercise as I approach the later years of my life. Has he taken a good look in the mirror lately? His grey is filling in faster than dots on a Dalmatian. I don't understand these walks anyway. Whenever I'm in the front yard off my leash, he won't take his eyes off me and calls me back to 'home' whenever I start to wander. But yet, when he's ready for a walk, he takes me all over the place. I'm allowed to go down the driveway and explore the entire world. He's so good to me when we go for our walks. He lets me walk in the gutter so I can sniff all the good stuff that has passed by before us. Sometimes when he's not looking I'll try to step onto the curb to smell some grass. When he notices, he gets uptight and directs me back to the gutter. Doesn't he know I don't want to mark my scent in the gutter? It's so much better to leave a little something behind on the grass. Once we get back home, he pats my head and gives me a snack. I think it makes him feel good for me to show appreciation for this. So I wag my tail and take the treat to one of the bedrooms to rest and eat. I wonder if the calories in the snack are more than the calories I just burned off during the walk. These humans don't seem to be bothered by such things, but we dogs have to be careful. No one wants to wonder what our backsides look like if we start to wag our tails in public! Speaking of meeting in public, I believe my full name is Delilah Dawn Dog. But you can call me Delilah. Most people do. The man and woman in the house usually call me Baby D. I don't know why they still do. I'm not a puppy. I'm nine in human years after all. If the person I'm meeting is an older human, they usually start to sing some song from someone named Tom Jones. However, my name comes from another song called, "Hey There, Delilah." It was pretty popular about nine years ago. In fact, it was playing in the store when my human family picked me. Now that was an interesting day. I was just a puppy. I was brought to a big building called PetSmart. The nice people that brought me kept me in a pen with other puppies. All day people kept coming up and playing with me. Most people kept using the words 'adoption' and 'rescue.' Children said I was cute. The men and women kept commenting on how big my paws were. They said everyone knew what that meant. I didn't. My humans walked up to my pen. The man and woman had two children with them. The children weren't like the tiny ones who poked and pulled at me. They put me on a leash and walked me through the store. They laughed and made me feel loved. When we returned to the man and woman, I noticed they were having a conversation. She kept saying how the two dogs at home would love to have a puppy to keep them active. I was excited to think that I would have friends at their home already. Then he mentioned the size of my paws. I still didn't know what that meant, but I felt sad now. I knew I would be put back in the pen. The two children told the woman to keep working on it. They put me in a cart and started going through the aisles. By the time they filled the cart with treats, feeding bowls, and the softest bed I've ever known, we returned to the man and woman. The man was looking down, shaking his head and then said, "Fine. But I'm not going to take care of her." I was so happy. I heard from all my puppy friends that "But I'm not going to take care of her" translates in dog speak to "I will walk you, feed you, and can't wait for you to come home with us and spread your fur all over the house." Wrap it up. The two children don't live with us anymore. It's just as well. Now I have more places to sleep throughout the house. My two friends that lived here first went to a place called Doggie Heaven. My life is good. I've survived a rattlesnake bite. I can open any door in the house. I can jump straight up like a deer despite my 110 pounds. I enjoy watching down the hillside where we live. The woman says I look like someone named "Simba, the Lion King." I just like watching the fog roll in and hide everything. But I still prefer to be wherever the man and woman are. I follow them wherever they go. I'm waiting for them to rescue another friend for me. They keep saying I'm the last dog. I don't believe them. As soon as the woman watches another sad dog movie or spies a cute little Cocker Spaniel, I think it'll happen. Until then, I'll stay loyal and keep these people protected. As the man says, "Keep your eyes on the road."