Lunchin' with Gus

One of my best friends is named Gus.

Gus is ninety-one years old in people-years. In dog age, he is thirteen years old.

Most weeks I visit Gus Monday through Friday at the lunching hour. I enter his quiet home located in Gus's quiet neighborhood. I check the different rooms where Mr. Gus likes to dawg. He's almost always asleep, usually snuggled under his blankie on his doggie bed in the den. I don't wake him right away; I like to sit with him momentarily while he slumbers and dreams.

When ready, I'll address him softly, "Hey Mr. Gustard. You ready to wake up?"

If he doesn't budge, I'll gently give a light push to the side of his cushiony doggie bed. He'll then raise his head slightly peering out from under his snuggly blanket.

"Hey feller. How you doin' today?"

"I'm doing dandy Miss Carol. It's good to see you." Gus replies with his face and eyes and ears.

"It's good to see you too Gus. You wanna get up and go outside?"

Gus arises and gives a dachshund doggie stretch.

Gus is a brown dachshund with a gray face. He is missing a front tooth but manages to eat just fine which is evident by his stocky body and his belly.

Once he is stretched and ready, he usually runs to the door. When Gus runs, its more like a skippity-hop. His front legs land on the ground one after the other, but his hind legs hop landing at the same time.

I carry Gus's leash in hand and open the door. Gus jumps down the small step onto the small, squared, red-brick front porch. He then hops down another step onto the half-circle, red-brick stoop. One more downward hop, and Gus gently lands on the red-brick, winding sidewalk that leads from the home to the concrete driveway.

Gus walks into the grassy front yard at the edge of the sidewalk and relieves his bladder. Then its hopppity-skippity-hop down the brick sidewalk, onto the driveway, and up to my 1999 gray Ford Explorer; unless I've ridden my bicycle that day. If I've ridden and parked my bike in the driveway, Gus isn't quite sure what to do. But with the Explorer, Gus always wants to go for a ride. Most days we don't go for an Explorer ride; Gus needs to walk and skippity-hop to get some exercise.

As Gus bounces up and down on his front legs and exchanges looks between me and the Explorer door, I carefully pick him up so as not to hurt his back.

"It's not an Explorer day today, Gus. You know you need some exercise."

Gus doesn't mind.

I carry him on my left side, his body supported with my left arm extended under his belly up to his neck. My right hand comes across and interlocks with my left hand at Gus's chest to a form a stable arm-bed for Gus. Gus rests in my arm between my upper left torso and left hip.

I speak with Gus as we walk into the short, dead end, paved street and take a left turn. We cross another street and make our way toward what I call "the green."

"So are you having a good day Mr. Gus? Maybe some neighbors will be out today."

Many of Gus's neighbors are elderly; and we oftentimes visit with at least one neighbor. All the neighbors know and love Gus. It'd be an odd person who didn't love Gus.

Once we arrive at "the green," I walk across the small, square-with-rounded-corners grassed and treed area. A concrete sidewalk winds through the middle and connects with the concrete sidewalk that goes all the way around the outside of "the green." On the west side of "the green," three red-brick steps ascend to a red-brick sidewalk that leads to a raised gazebo. The gazebo has twelve white pillars, three at each corner, that support a black peaked roof. Three wooden park benches sit in between three of the pillar sets.

Gus and I bypass the gazebo area. I walk, Gus in arm, to the east end and sit on the wooden bench under some pin oak trees. I place Gus on the bench on my left side, his head at my thigh.

"Miss Carol, I must lick your hand you know. Nothing personal; I'm a dog and that's what us dogs do."

"That's fine Gus."

I massage Gus's back and chest. I rub Gus under his collar and around his ears.

"If I were a dog I'd get real tired of a collar. I bet that feels good doesn't it Gustard?"

After our ten-minute bench routine, I carefully place Gus on the ground. Gus's back can be finnicky so I always try to keep his back properly supported.

Once on the ground, Gus usually puts his nose in the air to catch scents and breezes unless he is distracted by the sight of a neighbor or squirrels.

Gus decides our direction. Most days I don't have to put Gus on leash. But some days he wants to skippity-hop into any open garage in the neighborhood; those are leash days.

Some days, we slowly walk and meander. Other days Gus hoppity-skips around or across the tiny park back to his house.

Once we are in route to Gus's house, he is in the let's-get-there mode. "I'm ready to go inside Miss Carol. Come on!! I want to play 'Paw!'"

He hops up the two small red-brick steps from the red-brick sidewalk onto the small red-brick porch. I open the door and he hops up the third small step into the house.

Gus hoppity-skips across the wood floor to the kitchen cabinet where his dried, low-fat liver treats are kept.

"Barkity-yelp!" "Barkity-yelp!"

Liver treats are the key component when we play "Paw."