When we moved to our house seventeen years ago - just about everyone north, south and east of us had a dog. We had one - and quickly snapped up another. Butch and Jack. Less-than-perfect specimen Westies, but just right for us.
Among the immediate neighborhood dogs was Max the sweet faced standard poodle. Harley the happy Golden retriever. A big black lab whose name escapes me at the moment. And there was Rico. Rico was a Schnauzer. High strung. Vocal. Well groomed. And ornery. His owners walked him on a regular schedule four times a day while the rest of us relied on long leashes tethered to our porches. (Walks were reserved for "special times") He would begin barking the moment his paws hit the pavement and not stop until he returned home. It was annoying but tolerable. To us. The other dogs - they hated him. Little did I know that my sweet, well-behaved boys were planning to kill him.
Rico appeared to have a sixth sense about where he could go to piss off other dogs. He loved to lift his leg on our mailbox pole and he took his time doing it. He barked while he peed and always focused his beady eyes on our front door....where our guys were frantic, howling, growling maniacs. He brought out the worst in them. We all hated him. We called him The Yipper.
In his brief 8 years on earth, Butch managed to escape the house twice while Rico was on his neighborhood prowl. I did not know this side of Butch. Only Rico brought him out. He had teeth - big ugly vampirish fangs and a growl that could humble a wolf. Both times he wriggled loose from my husband, ran to the road and lunged at his long-time enemy. Once, he actually scored and brought blood. (Yea, we had to pay). And Rico?...both times he turned into a whiny sniveling girl, jumping into his owner's arms while she protected him from our vicious dog.
Rico's owners hated us. (They still do) When Butch died at the age of 8 from cancer, I'm sure they celebrated. JAck was more timid than Butch. He tried to kill Rico - but we restrained him. The daily bark-walks and pee-offs continued. Then we got Nathan and , just like Butch and Jack, Nathan hated Rico. The day Nathan escaped and attacked Rico we were visited by our friendly local law enforcement guys. They took one look at our little dachshund and asked, "Is this the vicious dog?" (Nathan was busy being cute and cuddly and lovin that officer up) "Yes Sir." "Well he don't look very vicious to me - I'll just give you a warning." Whew. It didn't quite end there either. Nathan (after some serious training) would run to the edge of the yard AS IF he were going to run into the road and attack Rico. Rico had developed an automatic response of jumping into his owner's arms and squealing. The owner had developed a nasty scowl. "Do I have to call the police again?" she asked one day. :"Be my guest," I responded,". he never left the yard. Can't get a ticket for pretending or barking or you'd already have one." So there. Very mature response.
When Jack died of cancer (yea, we don't have good luck with dogs) we got Rudy. Rudy hated Rico on sight. He also ran into the road one day to get him but just stood at the owners feet and barked instead. He's a coward. Our newest dog Stella doesn't like Rico - but she doesn't like any dog. It was when Stella came that I noticed something had changed. Rico still walked everyday. But he was quiet. My guys often don't notice when he trots by.
Rico has grown old. He is fifteen. His legs are spindly, his fur is sparse. Today I noticed he was unsteady on his feet. His owner had to coax him down the street.. He is very very skinny. As I sat in my car, waiting for them to pass my driveway, I felt like crying. I choked up. Rico is ancient in dog years. I don't hate him anymore. I respect him. I am growing older too and I get it. I nodded at his owner -who glared at me. (Oh well.) I am sad that Rico will soon be gone. He outlived every dog in the neighborhood including three of mine. I cannot believe I am saying this but I will miss him.
Who knew?.
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