Bowser



  Bowser

  by Robert C. Waggoner

  Copyright 2006 Robert C. Waggoner

  Bowser

  2006

  Robert C. Waggoner

  With my head under the fence peering through a bush, saliva running off my tongue, I watched the man, dig out of a can pure meat smelling food, and put it into a dog dish marked Fido. I waited for my opportunity when the man went back into the house. I dug my back feet into the loose soil I had freshly dug. Once a week I had to dig a new hole as the mean lady with the shovel filled in my hole under the fence.

  She was on to him and it was only on Fridays’ that the man fed the dog. How does a dog know it is Friday? Because the man and woman are always both home the next day working in the yard. The screen door slammed shut and the back door closed as I made my move against the little yapper wolfing down the canned meat in the bowl. I streaked across the yard and banged Fido’s head away taking a big mouth full, swallowing it whole and digging for more when the door opened and the man came out with a broom in his hands. He took a swipe at me, but all I heard was the familiar sound of ‘crack’ as the broom handle broke as it hit the ground. I was long gone headed for the hole under the fence and safety.

  Once through the hole, I made a circle and hiked it up on the fence to mark my territory giving it an extra squirt. Then trotting down the alley I was walking tall having scammed breakfast. The man last night at my dumpster home ruined my dinner of left over fish when he caught me digging through the garbage sacks before they were thrown in the dumpster. There is nothing worse than trying so sleep on an empty stomach; and the pickings lately had been slim to none. Maybe it was time to move to another neighborhood. I hated the thought of leaving my nice smelling dumpster, but even when I scored some good leftovers, the cats bothered me to no end.

  In my younger days I could give them a run for their money, but now age was seeping through the old bones and these dogs of mine were always tired. I headed for my favorite napping place under the porch of a purple haired old lady’s house a few blocks from here. How did I know she had purple hair, well, contrary to popular belief, us canines are not color blind! How it is a guide dog standing on the corner waiting for the light to change knows when to go. He sees the color green and walks and stops on red.

  Anyway, coming up on the house behind a fence as old as its owner, it was no problem finding my way through the broken down fence. I was thirsty. An old bird bath stood leaning like the tower of Pizza, [I heard about it from my guys in the park] dripping water into a moss covered fish pond. The fish disappeared long ago into the neighbor’s cats and I greedily filled up the tank before my much deserved nap. Before taking my cat nap, I went back to the alley to do a big job. I didn’t want to push my luck leaving a log in the old lady’s yard.

  I woke up refreshed and crawled out of my nest. The summer sun was beating down and as I walked to the alley, the heat fired up the fleas. My flea collar was worn out. I made a note to stop by the pet store and hang around the door scratching and looking forlorn. It always worked as some nice lady with her kids would take pity on me and buy a new collar for yours truly. But first I must head for the park and make like I’m part of the crowd. It’s never a problem to find a couple old timers sitting near the lake feeding the squirrels and ducks. I learned a long time ago to catch what is thrown in the air. Impresses the givers and in my youth I could clear the ground of all feet and make a half twist to the delighted of the givers. Now days I catch and roll over sticking my paw out for a handshake. Works for me and most days if it doesn’t rain, I go out stuffed full of popcorn, bread and peanuts.

  Today was no different. The hot sun found many park goers sitting around in the shade of the large trees and strolling around the lake hand in hand. I spotted two old timers sitting together under a tree on a park bench. With sacks in their hands I put on a decent show and after awhile I lay down and took a rest. Lying at their feet, with one eye open I spotted my old girlfriend a Standard Poodle dressed to the nines. A gold chain leash around her neck and her ears topped with pink ribbons. Around her ankles, four beaded bracelets usually seen on old ladies, set off her trimmed nails.

  She was a knock out and I raised my head up and tried to perk my floppy ears to look good. It was to no avail as she glanced over at me and turned back with her nose in the air. Well so much for that as my ears picked up the sound of the coming ice cream guy. I’d made friends with him a few months ago right here in the park. At first I was just curious as to what he had in the cart. So when he stopped at the lake I moseyed over and took a look. I sat back a ways and watched as the mothers, after their kids hollered and cried gave them an ice cream cone. The pimple face guy with a canoe hat on glanced my way and gave me a wink. I thought, maybe this guy has the same problem I do with a twitchy eye. I moved a little closer as he made a double scooper for a particularly fat kid. The kid took one bite or lick, I’m not sure which, and the top scoop hit the ground with a splat. I was on it like stink on you know what lapping up the nice strawberry ice cream.

  Most days my friend came to the park. I got up and stretched again and shook out my matted coat. I moved on over and took up my usual spot next to the ice cream cart. Once more he gave me the wink and I couldn’t help but wink back. A cute little girl dressed in her Sunday best, smiling, took the top heavy cone and proceeded to drop the top scoop off at my feet. I didn’t even have to move as she cried to her mother while I feasted on the cold ice cream. Three scoops later I had to take a rest.

  Once more I found some old people sitting on a bench in the shade. It was two old ladies this time. I tried my best to look regal, but there was no hiding my true self. Most of the time I get a lot of pity and this was one of those times. I hung my head and limped a little when I knew they saw me coming. I crawled under the bench and lay my head next to their feet pretending I liked them. The truth was they were smelly and it made me sneeze. The old ladies thought I was sick so on top of the ice cream, they shared a half sandwich of chicken salad with me. No dinner tonight I thought to myself.

  After the old ladies moved on I fell asleep. I have to be careful as the park is a leash place. God help me if I’m busted. Horror stories around the streets of important dogs like me disappear never to be heard barking again are all too real. While I napped I kept one eye open for the truck with a cage full of fellow homeless guys like me.

  I used to have a home and family. That was before one night they took me for a ride a long ways from home and my master took me for a walk. What I didn’t know was walking along the sidewalk their car followed us. Then when I pulled up a tree to give it a squirt, my master jumped into the car and sped away leaving me with a raised leg next to a tree homeless. Fortunately for me I was packing a little extra weight and by the following week was trim fit and ready to go. I made a few mistakes those first days like standing outside a restaurant back door barking for something to eat. Big mistake as the door flew open and a burly guy with a size thirteen sent me flying into the garbage cans.

  Don’t think for a minute I’m not a quick learner, I never made that mistake again. What I did was make the rounds and find a nice spot under the back lights of a restaurant and sit looking sad, which I was, and hungry. Sometimes it worked and sometimes I sat there till closing time. The worse part was when it rained. Soaked to the skin and shivering sometimes I got a hand out. Never enough mind you, but it staved off the pangs a little bit.

  Paws sore from walking and dodging the dog catcher I met up with a friend. He was street wise and knew all the tricks of the trade. I learned from him how to limp; how to beg; and most of all; how to survive. His name was Red. I told him my name was Bowser and he laughed. I hung my head and he told me we needed to change my name. He suggested Blackie which was what
my coat used to be before it became more brown than black. I liked the name and he and I would pal around together mostly looking for girls and something to eat.

  One afternoon we were patrolling the boardwalk where many food stands offered their delicacies. My favorite was hotdogs. More dumb kids lost their dogs out the end of their hotdog buns than anything else. I had my territory staked out until a pit bull came by one day and uprooted me. He didn’t last long as the dog catcher came by one day and looped his neck with a wire and stick and that was the last we seen of him. Some days were better than others. If it was a little cloudy with rain the food booths would have left over things and if we looked sad enough, they would toss us a dog or two while they closed up. Red told me in the past the garbage cans were a veritable treasure of food. But soon the garbage guys chained them to a post or tree so dogs couldn’t tip them over. Red showed me how to climb into them after dark. He made it look easy and he told me to try the next one which emulated the smell of cooked hamburger.

  I leaped up to the rim and held on while I dug my back paws and made my way head first into