The house seemed nice enough. A neat, well maintained Colonial on the small side. The kind of place you see in ads for towns named to a “Best Places to Live “ list. The lawn was manicured, the hedges trimmed, the only indication that it was the site of a dog reunion were the signs. They were everywhere, directing you to the walkway along the side of the house.
“Woof This Way,” read one. “Bark in the Back,” was another. They were handwritten, and appeared to me to be a cry for help. Mixed in among the signs were big mylar balloons. One was floating from the mailbox. It was the shape of a dog biscuit. Another was the shape of a food bowl.
I felt a little uneasy with the whole thing. “I just got a tingle of nerves,” I said to Terri
“Me too,” she said. “It’s probably just the excitement.”
“I think it may be fear,” I said.
I looked down at Butch. He was on his leash and I could feel him slowing down, probably fearful of what awaited him behind the house as well. But he wasn’t fighting it. He looked straight ahead, knowing his fate had been decided.
There were no last minute pleas, no futile cries for help, no pulling on the leash to go back to the car. He was going to meet the dogs that were supposedly his long lost brothers and sisters. Maybe even some cousins. And maybe some canines that no one could quite figure out where they belonged in the family tree.
We neared the end of the pathway along the side of the house and I could hear the gathering. All the usual sounds of a nice summer party. Conversation, laughter, but this one had barking. And I heard a growl too. The kind a dog makes when he’s had enough of some other dog’s antics. A quick snap of a growl, telling the other guy to back off, cut it out.
“Well, here goes,” Terri said.
There was excitement in her voice, anticipation. I looked down at Butch. He was still staring straight ahead, ready to meet his fate.
We turned the corner and there they all were, maybe thirty people, and it seemed as though everyone had a dog.
A cheerful woman motored toward us, brimming with the enthusiasm of a good host.
“I’m Linda. It’s so nice to see you all,” she said, reaching out to shake hands.
She quickly turned her attention to Butch and was crouching down to pet him before any of us knew what happened.
“And this must be Junior,” she said.
I looked at Terri. Terri looked at me. Both looks said, ‘who wants to tell the breeder?’ I felt it proper for me to break the news.
“Actually, Junior is now his middle name. He goes by Butch,” I said.
Linda stood up, her face was twisted in a little scowl to let me know something was very wrong.
“Oh, okay. I see,” she said. “But he just doesn’t look like a Butch to me.”
“He does to me,” I said, perhaps a bit too quickly.
Linda took a little step back, managed a fake smile, and then said, “Yes, I often get their names wrong. Must be because I do it for living. You know, having named a few hundred dogs, I guess I’m allowed to get one wrong.”
“Probably more,” I said.
“Excuse me,” Linda said.
“You’re probably allowed to get more than one wrong. I mean, I’m sure there’s a sliding scale of some sort for breeders.”
Linda was giving me a death stare accompanied with a tight little smile. It was game on.
“Let’s go meet some of the others,” Terri said, stepping in like a boxing ref trying to separate the combatants.
“Yes,” Linda said, I’ll just change Junior’s name tag, the one I had engraved for him. I’m sure I can scratch out the old name and etch in his new name, maybe with my nail or something.”
She turned and led Terri and Butch over to a large group of people and dogs standing in a circle. Linda introduced us, or should I say Linda introduced Terri and Butch. I didn’t warrant a mention and people looked at me like maybe I was the driver.
I worked my way around the group, a half step behind them, introducing myself as being with Butch as well. There were lots of dogs that looked liked Butch, a few that resembled him, and one that looked as though he was crashing the party.
“Notice anything odd,” Terri said, when we were done with the meet and greet and had moved off to the side.
“You’d be better off asking if I noticed anything that wasn’t odd,” I said.
“That dog over there,” she said, nodding toward the massive canine. “How on earth is he part of this?”
The dog was some sort of Rottweiler mix and had to weigh six times what Butch and the others did. He had a few of the little dogs sniffing his ankles.
“Looks like something out of Gulliver’s Travels,” I said.
“And it looks like we’re caught staring,” Terri said, as the couple with the giant dog started heading our way with the beast ambling behind them.
The couple introduced themselves and I started off with a softball, something to get us started.
“So, the big fella is related to our little guy here, huh?” I asked.
The couple looked at me and both shrugged.
“Geez, I’m not really sure, I mean, I don’t think so,” the guy said.
“Oh,” Terri said, “so how did you wind up here?”
The woman took the lead now. “We did this doggie DNA test, got the the results and they asked if we’d like to be connected with the owners of other dogs with a similar background. Next thing I know we got a call from Linda.”
“That’s odd,” I said.
“Yeah, so is this,” she said. “I mean the whole thing.”
Before anyone could say anything else there was a commotion across the yard. Two of the little dogs, then three, then more, were growling at one another. The growling led to snarling, then to leashes being tangled.
“Oh my,” Terri said.
They went round and round now in a mass of barking and biting and tangled leashes and owners yelling at one another. Then a woman caught in the middle went down in the tangle. It was a full fledged brawl now with owners yelling and pointing.
“I’m outta here,” the guy with the big dog said.
“It is just like a family reunion,” Terri said.
“Except without the booze,” I said, as we turned to leave.
I saw Butch sneak a look back at the mayhem, then turn and trot off down the path, pulling at the leash to get back to the car.