Under Suspicion
Life is rarely dull around this neighborhood, even aside from the huskies. This week alone two incidents of rapid, multiple gunfire within 100 feet of the house occurred. Additionally mid week, a stolen car high-speed chase ended four houses away when the gang member crashed and emerged, confronted by seven police cruisers, two cycle officers and the police helicopter. Yes, this is normal for us and actually Robbi commented the other day how much better things have gotten around here. Police in this area over our decade of residence have been a frequent and welcome sight.
…a moody and meandering saxophone solo starts in the background….
“It all comes back to me like a scene out of a cheap detective novel….
“It was a gun-metal, gray, Saturday afternoon, hard, cold and blunt like a cheap Saturday Night Special. I had grateful feelings for not being at the business end of it all. On the plus side, the day proved cool and breezy as it offered to mingle with the reluctant and tardy clouds slumming over from the previous night’s cantankerous thunderstorm.…
“Inside the house, I was hastily packing, throwing together everything. I was looking forward to a quick getaway and hiding out for a week with some underlings in the City by the Bay. Working on a carousel in San Francisco. Views of the Golden Gate and all that loveliness. But then, the best-laid plans do go awry. Suddenly, it appeared the jig was up….
An ominous knock on the door; a persistent ringing of the bell. Without even peering through the curtains, the form behind the leaded glass window loomed immediately recognizable and formidable…the official, black uniform of a City police officer…”
Suddenly snapped from my daydreaming and my packing for a trip, I glanced beyond the curtains to what should normally be a welcome sight. However, there was a tense feel to this unfolding situation. I deemed it uncommon for a patrol officer to come knocking on my door. Familiar with police procedure, I recognized that the officer stood back from the door in a “safe and ready” posture. Having watched many of the real-life police shows, this clearly indicated impending doom. Except that it’s usually seen on TV and in front of prospective drug dealers or gun running operations, not at my own residence. Positioning himself away from the direct line of the entrance, ostensibly to avoid direct gunfire through the door, the stance also fixed the officer with his hand over his hip, able to draw quickly if needed. This clued me to the fact that something may be amiss. Apparently it should not be taken lightly by me since the officer may assume that the criminally insane inside the home, yours truly, might blast my way out in a blaze of automatic-weapons fire and end up a poster boy like Butch and Sundance.
Opening the door slowly, and very wide with a ready, friendly grin to match, I also noted the police cruiser was parked several houses away, another sure indicator of being in Big Trouble. Greeting the officer warmly, I asked what I could do for him.
His tone was polite, but serious. “We received a call from a concerned citizen reporting long, suffering, high pitched screams and loud moans coming from inside this house. Do you know anything about this and would you might if I came inside and looked around?” The officer probably confirmed right away in his mind that I really was criminally insane. My reaction to his rather formidable charge of possible violence and torture was…a bigger grin, and hearty laughter.
I blew it from the start, even though I stood in a very serious situation. “Sure, officer, you’re welcome to check around, but if you really want to hear the screaming and moaning, along with some really, awful, three part harmony, come on around the house and down the alley.” Trying to sound disarming, the whole attitude came across much too glib. To prevent six to twelve happy husky paws and mountains of fur from decorating his uniform, I decided the alley route was safer than direct contact with the dogs through the house.
Disarmed somewhat with my casual response, he continued, “You’re familiar with this?” “Oh, yes sir!”, I replied, gaining some seriousness and leading him down the steps, out of the yard and down the alley adjacent to the house. I did watch him out of the corner of my eye, half expecting him to draw down on me just to be careful. Crazy folk are extremely unpredictable you know. He stayed his distance and played it very cautious.
“We conduct husky rescue.”, I responded to his query. “As you know, the local pound officially gives dogs only 5 hours availability to be adopted. We try to find good dogs, foster them, then adopt them to loving homes.” I continued on to explain how huskies do not bark, they sing. We strode alongside the alleyside chain link fence, double lined with bamboo to protect the dogs, and yard from prying eyes. Upon reaching the padlocked gate at the far corner of our 80 foot lot, there was a place where the bamboo had been torn away and the dogs peek out to view the world as it parades up and down the alley. The officer first noted Taz and his Ice Blue Eyes. Taz began to greet the policeman. His woof has a pounding beat that puts him on par with an heavy metal artist. Missy, our primary prima donna, quickly appeared on the scene and began the opera portion of the program. It’s not so much a song as a piercing, high pitched, VERY Loud, Blood Curdling Scream which sounds eerily human. As the saying goes, ‘If one husky sings, ALL huskies must sing.’ Elvis quickly took to the stage with the husky equivalent to “You Ain’t Nothin’ But a Hound Dog.” This also has the distinct, tonal qualities of medieval torture. The cacophony revved quickly up to monumental pitch. Hard Rock, Opera, and classic Rock and Roll. To put it in perspective, it could be likened to having three, big, boom box radios, each cranked up very loud, on three, different stations and all tuned slightly off the bandwith. Earnormously earritating.
“You can clearly understand,” I yelled over the incredible din,“ that hearing this emanating from inside the house, one could easily believe that some, horrible offense was taking place. But, as you can clearly see, it’s just the way they communicate. I think they like you!”
Now the attitude of the situation changed considerably. The officer simply stood, stunned. He appeared quickly convinced that there was obviously no validity to the citizen concern. Scratching his head in confusion, one could see him trying to figure how to write up the report and explain all this to the Sergeant. He smiled weakly and began a hasty retreat to his patrol car to escape the aria as it reached its’ crescendo. He could only shake his head in wonder as the volume continued spiraling upward. From possible ax murderer under police scrutiny to awful music agent, opera conductor and rock promoter in the span of a few moments. Either way, I’m still probably considered criminally insane. Of course! I foster Huskies!
Finally, the entire affair boiled down to a twisted, and convoluted ending, just like a cheap detective novel…which reminds me….
“…A raw, and restless wind rose, subtle and supine, out of the west, whistling low and slow like a sailor sighting his first female after 6 months without shore leave. Actually, it was just me, blowing a huge, sigh of relief at not being shanghaied by the copper and sent up river to the hoosegow.
“Stepping back inside the house, I confronted the self impressed Taz who had let himself in through the back door and met me inside. “Nice going, Dog Lips!”, I snidely commented. Taz didn’t pay no never mind to the remark. Copping a glance at the wall, I spied an interesting fact. According to the dog eared calendar, hanging slightly crooked with a smiling husky beaming from the page, it stood exactly one year to the day since fostering Taz. After all this time the dog still has the ability to amaze and surprise. I snapped a loose salute at the Sibe. “Here’s looking at you, kid.” .…
Only with huskies are such things possible….
actually, make that…probable.
Gumshoe Scott, Robbi with the husky symphony orchestra and choral.
“A smile is the chosen vehicle for all ambiguities.”
–Herman Melville
