UNITED STATES—It all started all over again on the second of October (Annie Liebowitz’ birthday), when I approached the cottage gate, while I spied the exit of a blue-shirted employee of the Gas Company. Arriving at the gate, my eyes were greeted by a Form 30, hanging on the gate. It had been placed a few minutes before at 12:19 p.m. No time to scan it, I bounced out to the street just in the nick of time to catch the gas company’s ambassador, climbing into his company truck.
“I was with my partner,” said Mr. Llamas. “He was ready to open the gate. I stopped him just in time.”
Yes, it was a terrible scenario to contemplate. My heart skipped a couple beats: an open gate would’ve spelled a Lupe on the loose. And as destructive as the pit bull lab Lupe was –she destroyed hats, the chomped-on first-edition books, and just the sight of that Stetson with its devoured ribbon, and worse still, devoured the sweat soaked, embossed gold-lettered band, identifying its origin from a dry goods store in Sweetwater, Texas, made of Nutria fur. It brings me to despair.
It was left by Grandpa’s brother Dude breezed through Idaho in, say, the late 20’s. To wear it would require a complete ribbon-ectomy. Further, without the soft inner band (let me try it on now) just to be sure. No, in fact it does not truly feel like a crown of thorns—it IS wearable. Hooray!
In this case, of routine gas company maintenance, in point of fact a ferocious cat got so out of the bag, I am only grateful that the gas company rep restrained his eager, less experienced partner, and prevented him from opening the gate wide, thus releasing Lupe to freedom. (“Dog prevented entry” was the reason checked off on the Sorry We Missed You notice.) There but for the grace of dog, Lupe would’ve bounded down the walkway and and out onto the busy street.
And one can only picture the worst: that lovely exuberant creature, with the soulful eyes and white-tipped paws, and white belly triangle contrasting with her reddish-brown fir, taken from this world to the next by some motorist, logic would deem conscientious, much as Lupe has been adjudged Leapin’ Loca Lupe. And she takes us all by surprise—an escape artist for whom walls and wrought-iron bars are no obstacle.
That would’ve been monstrous all around. A downright tragedy. It would’ve been cathartic, of course, and it is to be avoided like a carcinogen. But a dead Lupe is not to be welcomed. Lupe, trying and unpredictable and rambunctious as she is, in equal measure vexes us and endears us. And there we would have been, planning her funeral and composing her eulogy. How can this be, and yet I wonder, I stumble. On the other hand, being a pit bull lab, she might have leapt up and been feasting on the Gas Co. rookie’s brains.
As it was, the whole blooming episode served to clear the way to the hatch where the decrepit gas meter lurks. It provided the impetus to leave the incapacitated Super ’73 electrified bike for bulky item pick up. Strict instructions to get it to the curb before 6 a.m. Friday. It was already swiped by someone before midnight Thursday.
May the Super ’73 have a whole new life bestowed by its rescuer. The house side path is clear now. We’re ready for Mr. Llamas…
To be continued…
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