It’s obvious he doesn’t listen to the news. Doesn’t have his own page on Facebook. He’s completely unaware that the world beyond his backyard is in a state of panic. He’s just playing tag with the grackle who likes to taunt him from the tops of our oak trees. Just now his arch nemesis tricked him, landing in the neighbor’s lemon tree eight feet in the air behind the wall where my puzzled puppy sat facing me. Brody could hear the giant, black bird but couldn’t see him because he was facing the wrong way. I, on the other hand, had a front row view of the whole drama, the bird squawking, my dog’s head checking side to side, never thinking to turn around and look behind him. Guarding his yard, he’s at his happiest when he’s chasing away trespassers, following his own instincts, thinking his own thoughts.
Sometimes he stalks the wild lizards who hold poses on that wall like frescoes in relief. They’re the same color as the paint we selected there, but Brody, with his Superdog vision, can pretty much spot them from anywhere. Long, furry white tail held stiffly at parade rest, he lowers his head and sloooowly, inches at a time, like the stealth commando he is, creeps toward the cement wall in full view of his prey. In a nanosecond, at the very last stroke of the clock, the gecko slides sideways inside the safety of the block wall and Brody saunters proudly back to me, ready for praise and head rubs. He never even meant to catch the slithery thing. He just meant to scare it into submission.
A couple of weeks ago, he actually did snatch one, though. The thing he’d been chasing away like a nightmare in the dark. I don’t know why this one didn’t escape. Maybe it thought it was enforcing its boundaries, too. For a few tense moments there, it was like high noon at the OK Corral. Eye to eye, the two enemies stared each other down, ready to draw on their self-protection. But Brody, who can leap fairly tall bushes in a single bound, made the first move and, before El Gecko knew what happened, he was held tight in a canine clench.
I don’t know who was more surprised, Brody or his lunch, but he discovered he didn’t really like the taste of lizard and spit it out on the ground. The lizard, no worse for the wear, tucked his tail between his legs and made a beeline for the crack in the wall. I think they both learned a lesson that day. Big, white dogs mean business and tiny, little lizards taste terrible. It was a win-win from my point of view.
He’s not simply the terror of the lizard world. Any uninvited visitors get the same treatment. Like a lion in the African brush now, he glides across the grass and leaps up onto the wall, frightening away the dangerous monarch butterfly. On sunny days, he walks circles across the bright, sunlit pavers leading away from our back patio, where he tracks the movements of the deadly common housefly, victoriously stomping out their shadows while missing the essence of the insect. He’s ferocious, but a little misled.
He’s not fond of the hummingbirds we freely feed in the backyard, either. It’s not that he’s jealous of their sugary, fake red water where we leave it suspended from tall, metal hooks under the shade of our oak trees. He simply resents being divebombed by the frantic little interlopers. Either that or he sucks at tag. It’s probably a little of both. Hummingbirds are fascinating and beautiful, but pretty obnoxious sometimes. My grandmother stopped feeding hers when I was a kid once because of the possessive way they guarded the public feeders she provided, hoarding the sugary syrup, and attacking any other hungry or thirsty fowl—even their own kin.
“If they can’t behave themselves, then I’m not feeding them anymore,” Grandma declared, her Irish feistiness giving a red glow to her salt and pepper hair. It made me laugh. “That’s how hummingbirds are,” I told her. “Not in my yard,” she snapped.
Not in my yard. That’s Brody’s mantra right now. He believes in boundaries. He guards the gate to his yard. Nothing comes in or goes out without his approval or complete rejection. It’s only natural, now that I think about it. It’s his responsibility, and ours, to guard our hearts and minds. To preserve our peace and tranquility, no matter what’s going on over the back wall. Let the the grackle have its tree. The hummingbirds can chirp and fight each other for their sugar fix but they won’t get away with divebombing my dog. Even the lizards and the bugs are free game if they threaten Brody’s peace of mind. It’s his yard. His rules. His freedom to protect.
I don’t know about you, but right now I could really use a hero who thinks his own thoughts, follows his own instincts, and protects his yard from predators. Maybe I’m learning to be my own hero while I admire what comes naturally to my dog. Watching him is better than watching the drama going on around me any day of the week.
Better for my peace of mind. My health. And my soul.
We all need a real hero.
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