The Adventures of Sasha’s Gang--Chapter 12

“Plan B!” Ike barked.  “Plan B!  And quietly.  It’s the only way we can ambush him!”  The dogs ceased their howling as the building turned church mouse quiet.  Not tuned into their conversation via Turquoise, I was a bit puzzled by the sudden silence.  Unbeknownst to me the dreaded mountain lion was outside our front door while I strived to soothe a frantic dog mom. 

“They will do their best,” I assured her.  “My wife will be phoning in with frequent updates…I’m sorry, I don’t even know your name?  I’m Dan.  One of Sasha’s owners.”

She sniffled. “I’m…uh…Delany.”

“And I’m Dan’s wife,” spouse’s voice merged with the clinical sounds of stainless steel and beeping monitors.  You could nearly smell the antiseptics.   “And we need to sign off now.  When I have any news I will ring you…I promise.”   

“Thank you…please tell Lucky I love him.”  No less than a mother’s love for her child.  Two legs or four.  She continued her light sniffling.

“I’ll bow out now,” the woman officer said as she turned for the door slowly letting her hand slide from Delaney’s shoulder.   “I’ve got Lucky in my prayers.”  And as she slipped out the door, there was an immediate and unforgettable screech!  She banged against the glass door as she rushed back into the reception area.  “Mercy me!” she exclaimed, stumbling as she hurried in.  “There’s a cougar out there!”

I took a quick gander out the front window and more certain than taxes themselves, I spotted a tawny shade of sinew stalking our chain-link dog run. “Damn,” I muttered, Sasha’s was without a written protocol on how to handle a feline invasion. 

But Ike was prepared. “Okay soldiers,” he barked.  “Plan B.  Front and center, plan was to march tiny Socrates out in front of the mountain lion, elfin and vulnerable, a sacrifice easily devoured.  But quickly the rest of the dogs would rush to her rescue. 

“Horsefeathers!” Madden interrupted, having acquired a bit of romantic fondness for Socrates and thus by default, lobbied as her protector. “What kind of plan is that?  Sending this poor little girl out as bait?”  Socrates remained quiet as the focus of this debate. 

“We won’t let anything happen to her,” Ike responded.  “But military maneuvers are not without risks.”

The dogs crowded around the big room window, watching the massive feline sniff along the perimeter of the fence.   Maybe Hoss, the Great White Pyrenees, could battle successfully against this countrified intruder, but the others would be hard pressed to hold their own. 

At that instant, the female officer drew her revolver in one hand--and the dreaded taser in her other.  “Please,” I said.  “We don’t want to harm her…”

“We’ll try not to…but if she makes herself a threat to any folks…uh I may have to take extreme measures.  Did you guys know she…uh, it was out there?”

“We did…just not where exactly,” I replied. I obviously couldn’t share Ike’s defense plan with her or Spitz’s eyewitness account.  “We saw large paw prints in the frost…heading towards the back of the building.  I did call animal control but got voice mail...so left a message.  Have no idea how long it will take them to respond.”

“I just need to be prepared in case they don’t,” she spoke in a stern tone more appropriate to a tight-girdled librarian than a steward of dangerous wildlife encounters.   I could sense, as these weapons wavered in the air much like Mickey’s wand in Fantasia, that she had scant experience controlling them.  Which made me more than a wee bit nervous.  Yet I sensed her intentions were good.

 

Mama studied my face as she stealthily echoed her earlier admonishment that the mountain lion shouldn’t be seriously harmed.  I instinctively nodded in silent answer.  It’s not her fault she was chased from her forest sanctuary by the earth’s grumbling bowels in search of food.  (No mountain lions were harmed in the making of this blog!).  All life is sacred.

“Oh, damn…” the officer swore aloud. “There’s a woman uh…she’s uh..running up the street!”  If in any way similarly predatory to canines, there was a good chance the feline would chase after and pounce upon her at will.  I saw both the revolver and taser turn epileptic as they nervously floundered.  It would be catastrophic if this king of the jungle took a significant bite out of the lady. 

She was repeatedly yelling someone’s name as she neared the backside of the dog run, carrying a coil of rope.  The officer prepared to intervene, re-opening the front door. The mountain lion turned its head towards the commotion as the woman reached Sasha’s driveway, putting her but ten yards upwind from the massive feline.

“Millie!” the woman, in an auburn uniform adorned with colorful patches, cried aloud. “Millie!”

Was she searching for a friend?  Meanwhile, the policewoman, with taser raised to eye level, quietly exited the door.  The mountain lion took immediate notice of her, though remained still.  No signs of aggression nor retreat—a moment stuck in time, a bald tire in snow.   

“Millie!” the woman, her breathless voice sweet with recognition, rushed towards Sasha’s double driveway at the same moment the cougar started towards her.  The police officer’s partner was half a block away in their black and white and hadn’t seen the cougar though he had taken note of the woman in auburn hurrying up the road, though he had no idea why she was jogging in street clothes with a length of rope.  Was there going to be a hanging in Marymoor Village toay?   

“Oh God…. No, no, no!” I exclaimed, certain a traumatic calamity of some ilk was about to unfold.  I saw the officer frantically point her yellow taser in the direction of the mammoth cat as it leapt in the direction of Millie’s seeker. “Don’t shoot!” I yelled, though my voice was now held hostage by the closed front door.  It was out of my control certainly.  The outcome of this encounter would be decided by a disoriented cougar and a nervous policewoman with coiled wattage.  The cat was maybe ten feet from the woman when it took to the air and pounced, landing with a loud thud just mere inches in front of her feet. 

“Millie!” The woman gleefully announced as she fell to her knees, lovingly wrapping her arms around the beast’s fur-laden neck. “We’ve been looking all over for you…you big…uh, dummy.””  The excited cat began licking her unremittingly as if she was offspring! 

I eventually learned that Millie played more than a cameo role in the latest Cirque-de-solei production, Luzia, performed in a massive circus tent in Marymoor Park just a few blocks down the street.  But in the confusion of the earthquake a few nights earlier, she apparently had escaped her cage.  Extremely domesticated, Millie was reliable, loving and wouldn’t harm a soul. Thus no one really took notice when her cage appeared empty.  Sometimes, she was allowed to freely wander on the enclosed circus grounds, allowing her to stretch her legs and not be perpetually caged.  And she was well cared for, fed the finest cuts of beef along with a generous offering of probiotics and dog supplements and had an on-staff veterinarian to treat everything from a hang nail to a pregnancy (though her suitors were few). 

In the meantime, she may have taken shelter in the sparse jungle that grew in the naked backside of Sasha’s, where no one except a few stragglers ever stumbled through the brambles, usually with cheap wine bottle in hand.  Being on the lam without public sightings prevented the cougar from frightening the neighbors—and minimized any posing for any local paparazzi. 

“Yo…” Mama started. “Ike.  Shut it down.  The cat isn’t a threat.  Socrates.  Stay inside.  And Madden…just stay out of it.”  All the dogs watched incredulously as the 30-something woman in what appeared to be a Cirque-de-solei ensemble, simultaneously smiling and lightly weeping, continued to hug the bronze-eyed feline as if a soldier returning from war.    

I could scarcely process what I was seeing.  We’d been visited by many a bob cat, black bear and coyote in our foothills home, the McPonderosa, nearly an island in the wetlands.  But we had only seen a mountain lion once. And our litmus test for that was simple.  Does it have glistening fangs and a tail that reaches the ground?  If so, back up slowly, since that pretty kitty might just be a predator and you sure in the hell don’t want to run since that’s a foot race you’re certain to lose.  Rather, make yourself look as large and gravity-defying as possible.  Kinda like a politician.  The bigger you can make yourself look, the better your leverage, the more favors the lobbyists owe you, and your family will think you a genuine hero.

The police officer, recognizing the emotional reunion of the cougar with its trainer, allowed the weapons to slowly sink to her sides.  Her heart raced, as she gasped for a breath, her face a hundred-yard dash crimson.  This was her first month on the force.   

“Millie, you must be getting hungry,” the woman whispered in the feline’s ear as she gently slipped the thick-rope leash around her tawny mane.  “It’s alright,” she spoke in the direction of the cop.  “She’s part of our cast. The circus in Marymoor… Luzia.  Wouldn’t harm a cheeseburger.”

“Need a hand?” the officer asked as she returned her weapons to their plastic holsters.  Clearing her throat a couple times, she immediately updated her partner on the cougar situation via walkie talkie.  Cops radioed in the same stealth lexicon as doctors writing prescriptions.  Statin and aspirin appeared nearly identical in cursive--barely decipherable.  A number of tenants in the condos across the street were perched on their balconies, rubber-necking, drinking from steaming lattes.  Not too often one enjoyed a free safari from an urban roost.

Within minutes, the patrol car pulled into Sasha’s driveway where Millie and her curator climbed in to be quickly whisked away to the circus grounds inside Marymoor.  Issue resolved without further fanfare.  Millie was fed, bathed and brushed, though the Luzia show had been cancelled through the weekend due to the sporadic power outages still throughout the region. 

“Okay y’all,” Mama announced.  “Some morning exercise and then a meeting of Sasha’s gang.  We got work to stay up on that.  Earthquake set us back a piece.”

“Whatever the natural cause, sin is the true cause of all earthquakes,” Socrates pontificated before taking a canine bow of sorts, a momentary tumble into the parfait of blankets.

“Hear ye, hear ye,” Madden joked.  “So take that California.  You reap what you sow!”

 

 

 

“Okay.  Enough blue state bashing,” Mama replied.  “Remember…us dogs are apolitical.  Let’s jog and then our business meeting.  Much to catch up on.” 

With that the dogs stretched and arched their backs before undertaking a group romp around the roller derby room for a good ten minutes, tongues windblown, water in high demand, and joy radiating from every follicle and twinkle.  This wasn’t a task, it was a daily sabbatical.  And it seemed to holistically uplift them internally as well, morning weeds of bleakness eradicated by the foot-race cardiovascular. 

“Water’s getting pretty low,” Spitz said, his white snout dripping with its last vestiges.

“Cause you’re always splashing it out,” Madden challenged.

Having returned to the roller derby room, I replaced my hand on Turquoise and listened into the gang’s patter.  I raised my other hand in the air.  “Guilty as charged,” I rose to collect drought-filled water bowls to replenish.  “Spitz, this is for drinking water…not splashing water.  We clear?”  Refilling five-gallon water bowls is only one step above shoveling poop in my book.  “So let’s treat it as if it’s Sahara Desert water,” I ended.

“Gotcha chief,” Spitz replied, though I sensed his incessant water-splashing was clinically an addiction—his promises little more than hopeful wishing.  So I wasn’t going to waste my energy trying to ‘cure’ him of water play or digging holes in the dog run.  I mean we’re not training him to go into space…and dogs will be dogs.

“Okay…listen up,” Mama started.  “Just last night Sasha’s Gang received a final go on our artificial intelligence initiative.  Bambi, who has spearheaded this effort will bring you all up to speed.  Bambi?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Madden interrupted.  “This is a corporate meeting and I hate to say it…but we have a dog here that’s a foreigner…not one of us!”

Hoss spoke up in his gruff Pyrenees voice: “Let’s cut the fluff.”  He lifted his polar-bear head so he could better share his parental glaze with Madden. “Having Ming here won’t threaten state secrets.  What’s he going to do?  Open up a doggy daycare in Shanghai?”

“Besides,” Madden continued.  “He’s Chinese.”

“I was born in Humptulips…if you must know,” Ming intervened.

“See…some far off communist town.” Madden snorted.  “God knows what he would do with our classified information.”

“Horsefeathers,” Hoss said.  “Humptulips is in Washington state.  Speak with fact…not ignorance. Until his owners are found, I’m all in favor allowing Ming to join us.”

“And I second that nomination,” Mama concurred.  “All in favor say aye.”

With that, a chorus of ayes filled the chilly air and Ming luxuriated in the unanimous endorsement by his peers.  “Thank you…I appreciate your vote of confidence.”

“So Ming is invited to stay,” Mama announced.  “Now, Bambi, please share our news if you will.”

Though commonly mistaken as being shy, Bambi had proven herself to be of both high intellect with an exceedingly adept sense of detail.  Thus, she is the gang’s champion proficient at ‘closing the loop,’ approaching every project from beginning to desired end.   

“Thank you all,” Bambi said softly.  “As Mama indicated, our initiative to extend the longevity of dogs’ lives just received a major boost with our new AI in place.  With all the world turning to AI, we too have just deployed our own AI agent, which will allow us to much easier work within the human framework of industry and commerce.  No longer do we have to rely upon human friends of the gang to further our cause.  We can now do everything via computer without human reliance.”

“And the good news in that is that Sasha’s Gang, LLC, has received a $50,000 grant from the AKC Canine Health Foundation in North Carolina,” Mama boasted. “This allows us to do everything online by computer…ordering products and services, uh, paying taxes, applying for FDA approvals, product export…uh, recruiting volunteers.  Our lives have suddenly gotten much, much easier.”

“Congratulations!” I shared with the group, taking pseudo-parental pride in our Gang’s ability to successfully navigate and compete in the world of two legs. And, if eventually blessed, endowing the world’s dogs with the major gift of a longer life.  In just two days time, I have accrued a far different understanding of what life is like as a dog…and especially one at Sasha’s. 

 

 

I answered my cell phone, wife calling; I’m hoping with good news.  I invited an extremely nervous Lucky’s mom, Delaney, to join us in the roller derby room.  She had been sequestered in the employee lunchroom with a comfortable chair, tea and a recent novel published by a good friend—The Accidental Future of Dean Harris.  Killing it with rave reviews and on wife’s winter reading list!

I activated the phone’s speaker and afforded Delaney, front row seating.  “Hello…uh, have an update,” my wife said amidst the background of beeping monitors and faint medicinal voices, all female. “You there Delaney?”

“Yes?” Delaney said, heart racing, face in search of a favorable emotion. 

“Doctor Coleman is about an hour into the process…” spouse said before she was interrupted. 

“And?” Delaney was sprinting for positive news.

“Well…uh…some concerns.  Appears the spleen has started bleeding out…”

“Oh dear…what does that mean?” Delaney bemoaned. 

“We’d prefer it hadn’t…but that doesn’t put an end to the procedure,” spouse explained as directly and kindly as possible.  “The doctor has ordered blood for a transfusion.”

“A transfusion?” Delaney’s lips quivered as she was about to slip back into tears. “What does that do?”

“Keeps Lucky from bleeding out…with God on our side.”  Wife answered.

“Oh damn!” An alarmed woman’s voice in the operating room and the hurtful sound of stainless steel clanging to the floor… (to be continued)