An Interrupted Peace, Or, Lola the Wonder Dog

 

An Interrupted Peace, Or, Lola the Wonder Dog

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Lola is a dog. See Lola run. Lola barks. Hear Lola bark.

Lola is a working dog. She takes her duties seriously. She makes sure her master (Mistress? Mattress? Whatever.) goes outside her garden gate for regularly scheduled walks along with frequent unscheduled walks. Lola sees that I get regular doses of cool wet nose on my knee. She assures that I sink my fingers into her thick neck hair with great regularity.

Lola keeps me safe. As Lola became acquainted with my friends and neighbors, she took on the job of also keeping them safe.  In return, they sneak her chicken skins and leftover beef bones and gristles.

When Lola and I go walk-about, she knows where I am at all times. She is vigilant.

We all, the neighbors and I, have learned to interpret Lola’s language, her barks. She uses one bark for a strange car on our lanes. She doesn’t bark at regular cars. She has a different bark for campground people walking through our section of rancho. She has a bark for possums and snakes. And a really irritating bark for stranger dogs.

I listen. I interpret. I pay attention. Sometimes I check to verify unusual activity.

And then we have . . . Drumroll, please . . . Lola, the Wonder Dog.

Lola’s normally mild-mannered Clark Kent (Look it up. That’s why Google was invented.) brown eyes turn into rolling fiery pinwheels, able to penetrate the thickest barriers. Her normal doggy teeth grow into enormous blood-dripping fangs. Without stepping into a phone booth (Google it, I said.) she wears a caped leotard with an enormous S front and back: Super Bark, her voice of rage striking fear into the most evil heart.

1:30 in the a.m. Everybody on the Rancho woke to Lola’s Super Bark. She sounded ready and willing to rip off somebody’s legs. Two somebodies. Two prowlers were scoping out our casas, looking for cash, jewelry, cell phones, laptops; anything easy to grab, transport and turn into pesos.

These young men had split up, communicating by text. Listen hard and you could hear the ping of a message arriving.

Listen harder and you could hear my heartbeat thumping against my rib cage as I pulled the covers over my head. I do not claim super powers.

Normally, Josue would be outside, weapon in hand, ready to intercept the intruders. Thanks to Lola, the Wonder Dog, Josue knew we had prowlers.

Unfortunately, Josue is still recuperating from a fall from 6 meters up a ladder, in which he dislocated his ankle and broke his arm in two places. Josue is wheel chair bound, recuperating, but still burdened with casts, slings and braces.

All Josue could do was stand in his doorway and listen. He knew we had invaders afoot. A couple years ago, a young man broke into one of the houses. Thanks to Lola’s alter-ego alert-the-neighborhood cacophony, we all knew.

Erika called the policia who drove through the adjacent campgrounds but soon showed up with flashing lights. By that time, the menacing thieves figured the jig was up and had disappeared over the fields.

The following day, my neighbors, one by one, just happened by my gate with, you know, a handful of crispy chicken skins or bits of barbequed beef. Lola licked her glistening jowls. I pretended to not see the transactions.

A couple neighbors are installing extra security cameras. I’m not too worried. No stranger is coming through my gate in the middle of the night.

I’m waiting for movie producers to show up. Lola the Wonder Dog should be good for at least a Netflix series. Perhaps II, III and IV.

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