Walking the Perimeter

Right around 7:30 at night my dog Raffi begins to put what is called in the restaurant business the fish stare on me. The fish stare is used by waiters to encourage people who are dawdling at their table post dinner to move along: other people are waiting for the table. Raffi uses his unblinking gaze to encourage me to open a door so that he and our other two mutts can go out and check-the-perimeter. Checking-the-perimeter is a practice I instituted with our former dog Gus. It's a euphemism for walking around the property three or four times so that the dogs will have an opportunity to squat and fire before coming in for the night. They, of course, think they are out there to hunt anything that moves, bark maniacally and generally be a nuisance.

At roughly the Witching Hour, eight o'clock, (Boquete's witches party early because nobody is up to mess with at Midnight) I rise from my recliner saying "calm down, calm down" a necessary, but wasted effort on my part, as the moment there is discernible air between the chair and my butt, Raffi goes berserk. He leaps up at me, runs in circles and then hurtles himself at the door. I can't get it open fast enough to suit him. When the door is, to his way of thinking, FINALLY opened wide enough, he runs through it and then turns right around to snarl at Matti and Finni who are trying to follow him out. This, I'm told, is "Alpha" dog behavior. He then runs off into the night in search of any mayhem that might be running around loose.

My job, after that is, with flashlight in hand, to open the yard gates so that the dogs progress around the perimeter is not impeded. When that task is accomplished, I begin walking the perimeter myself in a much tighter circle. I smell the night air, check out the stars and talk to the dogs as I do so. Periodically, either Raffi or Finni will appear briefly in my flash beam before scurrying off. Matti, being a black dog, becomes invisible in the dark and even when she passes through the light beam seems nothing more than a shadow.

On my third or sometimes fourth trip around, being the clever fellow that I am, I close a yard gate behind me. The dogs, always to my front, are unaware I do so. When I've completed my circle, I pass through the remaining yard gate and call the dogs from there. When they are all in, I close that gate as well, trapping them in the yard. Last night, I was particularly proud of Raffi and Finni as they came streaking in on the first call. Matti, I thought, was being stubborn. I called her name several more times while getting annoyed and wondering what the damn hold up was. I became aware then, of a slight shuffling at my feet. I pointed my flash beam down and there she was, sitting and looking at me like I was an idiot. Black dogs can be downright spooky in the dark.

As soon as we are all back inside, I say the magic word "cookie" and the dogs sit like GOOD BOYS AND GIRLS while I give them each a dog biscuit. After that, well, we settle in for the night.

And so we come to the end of another riveting chapter in the exciting chronicles of old Doc's life. Stay tuned for tomorrow when Doc reveals how he sweeps up dog hair on a regular basis.