Back when I was a sweet young thing some family friends took me to their gold mine in the hills above Bakersfield. I clearly remember stopping at a restaurant that abutted the shore of the gently rolling Kern River and having my first Monte Christo sandwich. Sublime it was. It became my standard for any Monte Christo sandwich I ever had thereafter…but I digress. John and Bernice had a little soft-top Suzuki that would jolt up and down the dusty rocky roads as we trekked from gold mine to mountain top to small meadow. Perched in the back seat, and I use the term seat loosely, small and limber, I was between two male black standard poodles.
Tails docked, ramrod straight, muscle hard, like tall cloisonne space-black statues, with iron spines and granite gray eyes, covered in soft nubby bouclé coat, our three butts fit tightly on the seat. No seat belt needed, my bookends did not allow for sway, and it would have taken one of them to move for me to get out of the seat, which only happened when the car came to a complete stop. And, even then only on command. I was continually at their gentle mercy.
To say these two were elegant and awesome is to minimize what they looked like racing across a mountain top, lean bodies stretched out, a gait akin to a cheetah. Or standing guard at the windows of the AFrame Chalet where we stayed, bodies tightly coiled, heads on a swivel, totally unmoved by my small bag of potato chips. One could easily imagine these magnificent poodles out with the brilliantly dressed French nobility on a mighty steeds overlaid with fine silver adorned leather tack on a hunt racing across fields, through villages and vineyards and leaping over rock walls and Ha-ha walls.
Fast forward to this century and I now own a parti-poodle and a doodle [a border collie/poodlemix] …hence, the Oodles. They are sweet, affectionate, playful. Their movement echoes the poodles who would have protected me, torn to shreds anyone who approached menacingly and after approval, would then have peacefully sat and waited for the next event.
Mine, however, are more likely to seek the comfort of a mat or fluffy bed, lay across my lap while I attempt to type hind legs firmly on the ground, fall asleep in a car ride, and lick to death anyone who approached my house. They do know exactly where the treat drawer is and I am sure they are plotting ways in which to open it. And don’t get me started on a bag of potato chips. Sigh. This is not to denigrate their instinct…They are always on watch for a neighbor’s garage door opening, or kids playing in the next yard, or a dog walked down the street or a lawnmower or edger operating near the property line. And, I am completely protected from errant rabbits that dine on my front lawn who, in its calm demeanor, shows an innate appreciate of triple-paned thermal glass windows. Or the noisy squirrels that climb through my trees, dash across the top of the fence and chitter at the Oodles in constant conversation as the dogs battle each other noiselessly in some ancient primal rite.
Times change. In some ways I envy both the poodles I knew and the oodles I now own. Both were comfortable and slept with the ease of knowing their nature. Asking for appreciation, food, shelter and a chance to be themselves.
Hmmm…stop, appreciate and life lessons sometimes sneak up on you.