Rounding the corner, Ralph and Frodo spotted, midway up the block, the fire hydrant and fence. Frodo pulled on his leash. Already, he had urinated over an oak tree, a maple, and an elm. Then there were the rhododendron bushes. But a hydrant—that was a different matter to a Labrador retriever. Don’t even mention a fence.
Frodo struggled vigorously. Ralph’s arm remained in its socket somehow. Talk about having to go. And about a stream.
“Take it easy,” said Ralph. He thought of Banyan and the old man’s vinyl picket fence. And of how much he disliked his sour neighbor. Frowning once on his front stoop, Banyan had said that the only thing worse than a dog is a dog owner with a long leash. “I’m sure the fire department doesn’t like what your dog does to that hydrant either,” he added.
Frodo stared at the fence. Even though the pickets were far narrower than the wet hydrant, he nailed one. Banyan opened his front door.
“Your damn leash is too long. How many times do I have to tell you?”
“So what?” asked Ralph.
“So, take your business someplace else.”
Over time, dog owners resemble their pets. The opposite is also true. The two become merged, so to speak. Frodo looked at the old man who reminded him of a scarecrow. The Labrador, like Ralph, wished for a longer leash so he could range far and wide. What beats urinating on a rhododendron or cheap vinyl fence? Peeing on a scarecrow beats it.
And Ralph, massaging his shoulder socket? Ralph, who couldn’t lift a leg compared to Frodo? Did he see any difference between Old Man Banyan and a scarecrow at that moment, either?
Grey Sparrow Journal 