Things I should not do during a picnic:
- Eat all the food.
- Sit on the picnic basket.
- Steal the blanket and roll around in the dirt with it.
- Chase a jogger.
Saturday, the day of our picnic with Doc McHottie and Wrigley, had the makings of an utterly glorious fall day. The sun shone in the sky, and the leaves had begun to change, turning the small park near the municipal building bright with autumn colors.
Ms. Anne had agreed to watch the shop, and Miss Josie promised to be back right after lunch. Doc McHottie packed a large picnic, and Wrigley and I hit it off right away. An older, calmer lab, he provided the yin to my yang, and I felt confident he’d be not only a great friend but also a good influence on me. In my quest for perfect gentleman status, I needed all the good influences I could get.
As soon as we found our picnic spot, Doc McHottie let Wrigley go off leash. Miss Josie hesitated only a second, and then followed suit, eying me warily. I eyed her right back, not sure what to do next. I’d never been unleashed in a public place before, and it felt simultaneously exhilarating and terrifying.
“You’re vegetarian, not vegan, right?” asked Doc McHottie as he spread out a red and white checkered cloth on the grass along with some comfy pillows. He’d thought of everything. He even had a bottle of white wine chilling in a tub.
“I’m more of a pescatarian,” said Miss Josie.
A big smile spread across Doc McHottie’s face. “Me, too. We have so much in common.”
“We do,” said Miss Josie, her cheeks getting pink as she played with a button on her wool cardigan and smoothed the skirt of her dress. She didn’t seem entirely comfortable with this whole dating thing, but how could she not feel great around Doc McHottie? The man was perfect.
As if on cue, he took a dish out with a flourish. “I hope you like quiche.”
A veterinarian, a vegetarian, a cowboy, and a homemade quiche maker? If Miss Josie did not fall immediately in love with this man, I decided I might have to snatch him up myself.
As Doc McHottie set up lunch, Wrigley graced me with his wisdom. “The best place to find bunny poo is over here,” he said, showing me to an area of grass that seemed greener than the rest. “Free-range bunnies produce the tastiest poo, don’t you think?”
I nodded, although I didn’t have an opinion on this matter. All bunny poo tasted like good bunny poo to me.
“Are you always off leash like this?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said. “But it’s important you prove yourself trustworthy. Ignore your instincts and don’t get distracted.”
Ignore my instincts? I guess I could. I wasn’t sure I even had instincts. “It doesn’t sound too hard.”
He laughed. “You’d be surprised. Of course, I’m older than you. I mastered it a long time ago. Do you know what the most important thing is?”
“What?”
“When your owner uses the command, ‘come,’ always listen. Run to her as fast as you can, and she’ll give you a treat. It never fails. It’s like clockwork.”
I nodded, absorbing his words. “Run as fast as I can. Got it.”
As Doc McHottie pulled one delicious thing after another out of the wicker picnic basket, I tried to investigate all the lovely smells, but he shooed us away. “This is people food, not dog food. And we don’t want you to end up with a tummy ache again, do we, Capone?”
Most definitely we did not. I backed away from the quiche, even though it smelled of cheese and I loved cheese.
Doc McHottie lectured Miss Josie about dogs as he poured her a glass of wine. “It’s all about your energy. If you’re stressed, the dog will be stressed, and it’ll make him misbehave.”
Miss Josie took a sip. “What if the dog is the cause of my stress?”
I hoped she was joking, but Doc McHottie took her question seriously. “As long as you have rules in place, and follow them, you should have no stress from Capone. He’s a great dog. What could go wrong?”
Thank goodness I’d nipped Miss Josie’s relationship with Mr. Nate in the bud. Destiny had led her to the handsome cowboy-veterinarian-vegetarian sitting on the blanket next to her. He probably even drank herbal tea. Miss Josie had found a keeper.
“Cheers,” he said, raising his glass to her. “May this be the first of many picnics.”
“Cheers,” she said, and, as they took their first sip of wine, it happened. I heard something, a sound that caused my ears to tingle in anticipation. Was someone running toward us?
Doc McHottie and Miss Josie, with their weak human hearing, were oblivious, but Wrigley heard it too. I saw it on his face. He rose to his feet, ignoring the pile of bunny poo he’d been munching on, and sniffed the air.
“Uh-oh,” he said, as the sound of pounding footsteps grew closer. “Don’t do it, Capone. We shouldn’t…”
His words got cut off by the appearance of a jogger on the path at the far side of the clearing. He hadn’t seen us yet, but we’d most certainly seen him.
I did what I had to do. I guess I have instincts after all. I ran straight toward the jogger, and Wrigley followed right behind me.
“Capone, no,” screamed Miss Josie. I looked over my shoulder to see her jump to her feet so fast she spilled her chardonnay. “Stop.”
I did not stop. Wrigley did not stop either. We ran like the wind.
What was our goal? To catch up with the jogger. What would we do when we reached him? I had absolutely no idea, and I suspected Wrigley didn’t either.
The jogger had headphones on, so he didn’t hear our approach, nor did he hear Doc McHottie and Miss Josie screaming for us to stop. When we were only a few feet away from him, he turned, incredulous, and what happened next was a total accident. Neither of us intended for the poor man to fall. We wanted to run with him—that was all—to join him as he jogged on the path circling the park. Sadly, we misjudged his speed, and we misjudged our speed, too. When Wrigley and I jumped onto the path in front of him, we blocked his way, and, he lost his balance. He ended up falling, almost as if in slow motion, in a tangle of long legs, tight running shorts, and two slobbery black labs.
Once he landed on the ground, the fun did not end. Oh, no. Wrigley and I positioned ourselves on top of him, paws on his chest, and proceeded to lick his face and the other bits of exposed skin. He had on shorts and a tank shirt, and he was a tall, lanky man. We had a great deal of exposed skin to lick.
The jogger seemed stunned and maybe a little shell-shocked. I licked him some more, thinking it would help. It didn’t, especially when my tongue accidentally slipped into his mouth as he called for help.
“Come. Now,” said Doc McHottie. Wrigley shot up and ran, quick as a wink, back to Doc McHottie’s side.
“Capone. Come here right now. I mean it,” said Miss Josie.
When I actually listened to her, I think it surprised us both. I got up and ran as fast as my puppy legs would carry me. I ran past Doc McHottie, who scolded Wrigley (now on leash), and past Miss Josie, who held a dog biscuit in one hand, and my leash in the other. I shot past both of them and headed straight to the place with the highest volume of delectable treats. The picnic area.
Let me say, although I do have some regrets, they are mostly about the jogger. A nice guy, he probably wouldn’t file charges against Doc McHottie and Miss Josie for allowing their dogs off leash in a park marked with signs saying clearly, “All dogs must be kept on a leash.” He insisted we hadn’t hurt him, although he had a skinned knee and probably a bruised ego as well.
What don’t I regret? Running straight back to the picnic lunch and scarfing up as much food as possible. Let me tell you, quiche tastes as delicious as it smells, but sandwiches made out of tofu instead of chicken salad? Uh, no, thanks. Tofu was not something I ever cared to taste again.
Miss Josie caught up with me as I polished off the last of the quiche. I didn’t even see her coming since I was so completely engrossed in eating. Before I noticed, she had me hooked to the leash again. She shot Doc McHottie a dirty look.
“It was not a good idea to let the dogs off leash.”
Doc McHottie frowned. “I didn’t realize Capone couldn’t follow simple commands.”
Ms. Josie’s dirty look got dirtier. “Wrigley didn’t listen to you either.”
He held up his hands. “Point taken, but I still think—”
She cut him off, looking at her watch. “I’d better get back to work,” she said and began picking up the remains of the picnic scattered all over the grass in front of her.
“Stop, Josie. You don’t need to help. I’ll clean it up. It’s the least I can do.”
“Well, fine. It’s been…interesting. See you later.”
As we left, Doc McHottie gave Miss Josie a sad little wave. I felt bad for him.
Note to self: Doc McHottie is a Bingley, not a Mr. Darcy.
Being Charles Bingley didn’t signify he was a bad guy. I mean, Jane Bennet liked him well enough. But Miss Josie needed to understand she could never be like Jane Bennet, which meant she could never fall for Charles Bingley.
“You were a bad dog today,” said Miss Josie as we stomped back to her car. “I’m glad I signed you up for training. Monday can’t come soon enough.”
Was she angry at me, or at Doc McHottie? I had no idea. Human behavior remained a mystery. Unfortunately, dog behavior was a mystery as well. Monday was going to be interesting.