The Prescott Dog: Hazel Howls

Hazel Howls  Editorial

Hazel Howls

I had the oddest dream last night. I was in a boat on open water. No land in sight in any direction. Just gentle waves and a beautiful cloud-dotted sky all around. I had never seen a body of water of any size before, so in the dream I experienced a profound curiosity mixed with anxiety (what, me anxious?).

The man and woman in the boat with me seemed familiar, but I didn’t know from where. They were very kind and explained that they were taking me home, but needed to take a different route. 

A ‘different route’ seemed to be an understatement. 

As I maneuvered around various bags of gear, oars, and the single mast, I tried to make out the scents and scenery. 

I had to pee, but couldn’t figure out what the exact procedure should be. The couple’s voices were quietly reassuring me, when out of the blue I remembered something Dad had said when he was telling me about life in large cities. 

“In the city, life can sometimes be boiled down to finding a clean bathroom they’ll let you use....” 

Then I woke up.

During the first morning patrol, checking every corner of the backyard, I told the dream to Dad as he sat gazing over his cup of coffee. When I finished the patrol, Dad was silent for a long time. When he spoke, he completely lost me (which is really not all that unusual around here).

“Open, and even certain vintage airplanes from the past can ignite the heart. You apply your mind and body in a different way that opens your heart to a different wind, so to speak.” 

He stood up to walk over to the east gate where he stands to look at the mountains. Uh-oh, I thought, I’m losing him.

“So, Dad, what do you think that dream was about?” I came along side him and sat down. When he looked down at me his eyes were full of water. “What’s up with your eyes Dad?” I was standing now.

“My brain gets hot sometimes and my eyes sweat a little.” He reached down to ruffle my ‘jackal’ ears.

He continued on. “I really don’t know about your dream. Maybe something will come to me later.” 

He turned from the gate and headed to the door, but stopped short. He grinned at me real big, which always causes my tail to start swinging. “When in doubt about a dream interpretation, there’s only one thing to do...Play Ball!” 

With that, he slid the door wide open to accommodate my high-speed gallop into the house. 

Dad grabbed a tennis ball and initiated my favorite game. He throws it towards the front door but hits the floor in front of it and bounces it off the door, launching it into the air where I can catch it. 

He always says stuff as I catch like “way to hustle out there,” or “way to cover.” I really like that part too.

The game ended with me wanting to just lay down and squish the ball over and over again in my mouth. It’s a very satisfying sensation. Everyone should try it. 

Dad sat on the floor while I laid on my side, squishing away. While he rubbed my chest I mumbled a question. “Is my heart in the wind now Dad?”

“It sure feels like it, doesn’t it kiddo?” Dad got up to get more ‘elixir of frenetic energy’ as he calls his coffee, and lay out Tucker’s and my lunch. 

After Dad left the kitchen I whispered a question to Tucker. “Hey Tuck, do our brains get hot?” 

“Yours, maybe,” he spoke through his crunching. 

“No Tuck, I mean that two-legged eye-sweating thing.” 

Tucker stopped to give me ‘the look.’ “Do you see me eating here?” 

He answered me regardless, “Two-leggeds don’t really call it ‘eye-sweating.’ If enough water comes out, it runs down their face. They call that crying.” 

Tucker grabbed a quick mouthful and turned away. 

Dad passed by, and I yelled out as he began walking away. “Hey Dad, do all two-leggeds get hot brains?”

He stopped at the hallway and looked up for a moment. “Nah, some don’t know how to get it heated, and others, well, their hearts are so cold, the brain never gets up to temperature.”

Tucker raised up. “How will we know which are which?”

Starting down the hallway Dad bellowed out, “Wag on kids, try to love up on all of ‘em. They sort themselves out on their own.”

Tucker turned to the bowl to finish up. “Two-leggeds are way beyond weird. I’m always amazed.”

“Yeah but, they sure do know how to play ball, Tuck.” 

Tucker finished the every square lick of his bowl and laid in the hallway in the cool spot (long fur, hot day). I mulled over the last thing Tucker had said at lunch all afternoon. 

Before I nodded off, I remember thinking it seems like the two-legged have a world as strange and varied as large bodies of open water seem to a desert highlands dog.


Hazel Howls

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The Prescott Dog

P.O. Box 11868

Prescott, Arizona 86304