Black Labs are working dogs. They need much exercise to live happily.
There are two routes in Mason Neck. Country: through the woods, up and down muddy paths, lots of trees, leaves changing color. City: paved and populated. This morning it was raining, and, feeling rather cosmopolitan, we were happy to travel along the asphalt and view familiar sights.
Marg, Walt and I like the other dogs we encounter along the city route. One of my favorites is a doggie fellah who lives around the corner. My friend Gail in Dallas would call him an "alter kaker," meaning "an old and complaining person; an old fart." I have nicknamed him "Kvetch." As we turn the corner, he totters on to a flat section of roof and barks, letting us know he's there, and what's up. He's the canine Jackie Mason of Mason Neck.
"Oy gevalt, whaddya doin' down there, up so early, you crazy nuts. It's cold, but not so cold, maybe a little chilly. And it's raining! You should be home in your beds. You're getting wet, ya nudniks. You'll catch cold. I was sick last week, but now I'm feeling better. You woke an old man. I was dreaming, not so great, but all right, ya meshugginas, ya. I'm not so old, but not so young. Noodges on the loose. Oy!"
He shakes a paw at us, then turns and retreats.
"Ah, you sons of Cain, I'm going back to bed. Shmegegges. Gonifs, the whole crew."
Further down the street live another pair of dogs. One is a beautiful yellow lug of a Lab who is a galumpher. That's the sound he makes as he galumphs along the wooden deck behind the house where he lives, cantering to alert his buddy, a shorter chocolate Lab-mixed-with-some-tough-guy-breed, that there are strangers approaching.
Of Mice and Labs. Steinbeck meets Laurel and Hardy with a pinch of Edgar G. Robinson.
Galumph: "Hey George, there are three things on the road we can bark at."
George (who is slumbering): "Oh yeah? OK. Lemme put my pants on. Where are my glasses? Ah, here they are. Let's go."
They charge towards the road, slipping and tripping and falling across the length of the wet wooden deck, stopping to help each other up as they make way to defend their territory. They slam to a halt about five feet from the street. Invisible fence.
George: "Hey, whaddya doin' there? I didn't bring you into this world, but I can sure take you out. C'mon. C'mon. Step over this line. I double dog dare ya."
Galumph: "Yup, just like George says."
George (cigar in mouth): "Where's your God now, eh? You picked the wrong road to walk down, the wrong road, see?"
Galumph: "Hey George, look. There's a squirrel."
George: "What? Hey, whaddya doin' there, ya greasy varmint? Hey, I'm talkin' to you."
And off they run to raise a ruckus with rodents.
And all these doggies? They bark and bark, but wag their tails the entire time.
Illustration "Margaret, Walt & the Kong" by Emma Mary Mankin, age 6. Used with permission.
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