The barking began half-past one after midnight. Xena was in her element. It wasn't a friendly "Hi, how do you do, neighborhood dogs. Let's have us a good ole dog-to-dog chat." Instead, it was a hostile bark, the kind which says "I don't like your face so scoot!"
I wouldn't have risen to analyse her bark but on this hot humid night, I could not sleep. I had taken a sip too many after-dinner tea and it was stimulating my mind to all sorts of thoughts triggered by recent events.
It wasn't nice of her to bark and it wasn't nice of anyone to prowl about causing her to bark at this unearthly hour so wishing to announce my presence, I walked towards my bedroom window and issued a firm "Xena!" This usually calmed her down considerably but not this night. She went on barking a notch louder, if my perception is anything to shout about (It isn't.). Rising from bed, I went downstairs to peer outside through the glass on my back door. It was pitch black outside so I switched on the porch light. She was at first startled by the light but kept on with the barking. Then I saw something a tad troubling.
If the object of her scorn is outside the house, she should be facing outside with her tail towards me. She wasn't. Her eyes were glaring in the direction of the granite stool and table we had by the wall outside the house a little distance from the back door which I was peering through.
Something, or someone is there.
In my mind, I see a young lad, probably a drug addict attempting to rob the daylights out of us. Well, it was past midnight, for a fact, so let's forget about the daylight bit. Still, I see him, probably standing on the granite stool or table, a weapon in his little thin hands trying to ward off the fearsome dog.
Oh de-de-dear-dear! Whatever should I do? Should I raise the alarm? Call up the boys? Call up the police, for crying out loud? In the darkness, I composed myself. I haven't seen anything to warrant this panic.
Noise. I'll make me some noise so the intruder will know that someone is awake and give up this insane idea of robbing us. I switched on the toilet lights. This triggered the ventilation fan which had been groaning loudly of late, exactly what I needed now. Noise. I flushed the toilet. Oh goodie! More noise. Having done the needful, I peered through the glass on my back door. Xena was still barking and looking in the same direction. I knocked on the door to alert her. She looked at me briefly, then returned her attention to the aforesaid direction.
This meant that the object of her scorn is still there, probably shivering with fright and reluctant to surrender the safety of its sanctuary.
Then I remembered Venus. She had a good track record of scaring away would be intruders. Why was she silent?
Dear God, she's not dead, is she? (Venus is 15 years old.) Maybe she's lying there near the table, gasping for air, juggling Life and Death with her dying breath, appealing for help.
Nah... Doesn't explain the hostility in Xena's bark. Both dogs were not the best of buddies but they have learnt to live with each other. I walked towards the glass blocks next to my front door. Peering through the blocks, I could see smudged images of Venus scratching herself outside the front door. Now if the object of Xena's scorn had been an intruder with malicious intent, Venus would be barking too.
It was right about then, that a stray thought hit me.
This is Tomb Sweeping season and it had been two years since TOM (The Old Man) died. TOM was my father-in-law who had lived with us for five years before his death. And that spot where Xena was barking at? That was his favorite spot. He sat there every morning to read the papers.
Now this was a scary thought too because you can't see where he is or what he looked like now that he's on "the other side".. My goose bumps (not that I'm a goose, you understand?) readied itself for some action. Not wishing to hear or see anything and not being able to sleep, now that unearthly ideas tormented me, I switched on the TV to listen to the same unwholesome CNN Trump stories
Meanwhile, Xena kept on her unyielding barks, her vocals a little strained by now. Should I wake the husband up and tell him that his dog is barking at his dear departed Dad outside in the garden? He will not find that amusing in the least. It was 2 am. I held my peace and stayed put.
Half an hour later, my husband, irritated by the irate Xena who wasn't responding to reason, rose from his bed, and stomped out the front door., the sleep hardly leaving his eyes. I followed meekly behind to see what all that drama was about.
No shivering drug addict on the granite table, armed to the teeth and ready to slash the ferocious dog. No dying dog, gasping for air, treading the line between Life and Death. No green shadows lurking in the darkness, eyes red, tongue dripping with blood. None of that theatrics, mind you. It's just a trapped cat.
No comments:
Post a Comment