"No doggie does it like you, the way that you do, Hoover, no doggie does it like you." I sing to Hoover, a 13 year old Basset Hound, as I tug him up the hill. He is well named, as he looks exactly like that trusty vacuum, and no doggie does anything quite like Hoover. Those mournful eyes look at me sadly as we plod along, his floppy ears dusting the gutter, always cleaning something.
Today I noticed a subtle lilt to his step. I use the term sparingly, as this little bounce would not be discernible to all but the most observant eye. I asked him if he was in a good mood and he said yes, his mother had left mood music on the radio for him and it made him happy. I remarked that he could listen to the OJ trial* but he said no. Marcia Clark made him very nervous. He prefers the music. He went on to say that he knows what happened that night, anyway, Nicole's Akida told him, and he thinks we humans could save ourselves a lot of fuss if we would just ask the dog.
I walk Hoover twice a day when his parents go away, and he is so very grateful. Hoover cannot be rushed. Ever. You have heard of the four minute mile? With Hoover it is the four inch mile -- he is a very thorough sniffer. In our hurry-up, get-it-done-yesterday world, he teaches me patience, and so I am as grateful to Hoover as he is to me.
We have a mutual admiration thing going. When it is time for me to leave, the garage door swings closed, and he looks at me as if my departure is breaking his heart in two. Never have I known any living creature to look so upset when I leave. We discussed this during one of our journeys up the hill, but he said not to let this upset me. One of the songs on the radio talked about laughing on the outside, crying on the inside, but he said with him, it is just the opposite; he's crying on the outside but laughing on the inside. We both got a good chuckle out of this as we continued our four minute inch.
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*Written during the OJ trial!
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