A Fourth Outline in the Haze

Work responsibility has not usurped my will to blog, but it's doing a number on my time. So, until something new graces these virtual pages, this recycled Facebook note will have to do. It's from April, and all this rainy, foggy September weather reminded me of it...

2 a.m. walks in a cold rain are one of the many pleasures of dog ownership. The Dude, our golden retriever pup, has developed the annoying habit of rooting around for just the perfect spot to drop a deuce. Sometimes this can take 15 or 20 minutes, which is far too long when it seems a thick layer of misty fog has infiltrated your very soul.

Tonight, as is frequently the case, The Dude and I had a third member on our expedition, Orange Cat. Orange Cat may actually believe that he is a dog. He used to fetch before I got too lazy to keep up his training. And unlike most self-respecting cats, he gladly ventures outdoors in the rain. Grooming himself is also out of the question.

So there we were, enveloped in a fog so heavy that I frequently stumbled over the edge of the road or into potholes because I couldn't see all the way to my feet. Dude's pulling the leash taut, sniffing every blade of road-side grass intently, while Orange Cat trots amiably along. And then Orange Cat's posture changed. He reversed course, back towards home, and in the distant glow of our front porch light I made out the figure of a fourth outline in the haze. Surely Phoebe, our elderly, mostly housebound cat, would have sense enough not to venture out into this cold soup. But the way Orange Cat approached the silhouette, confidently, tail in the air, and the way it, too, approached us with an air of familiarity, meant it had to be of a familiar fur. The noses of the animals even met.

Despite his breed's nose, Dude isn't always the most aware pup. A night before, we nearly walked right into a spotted bovine, obscured in the fog, before the dog's sensors tripped and a barking frenzy ensued. But, finally, he became aware that our three had grown into a foursome. I felt the nylon of the leash strap dig into my hand as he yanked me towards the nosing shadows, and then the fourth member of our party emitted a low rumbling, like a grizzly bear.

But, thankfully, it wasn't a grizzly bear. Just a possum who, like us, was on an early morning stroll.

Dude never did take a shit.