Rufus, come over here . . . Would you like to go on an adventure? I ask with an inquisitive tone in my voice. Without hesitation, Rufus is at my side ready to listen about an upcoming event. From a walk to Festival Park to flying beside me on an airline, Rufus is excited, appreciative and curious as to what will happen next . . .
Rufus
The Tale of a DogBy David McCuneAuthorHouse
Copyright © 2012 David McCune
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4685-4543-2Chapter One
A lonely, cold, Red Irish Terrier roams the isolated streets. Abandoned, he searches for food and security. An old cardboard box and a few morsels of food are his staples as he takes on the role of a street dog.
Drawn from instinct and in search of companionship, the scruffy little dog leaves the security of his makeshift home. Fast moving and noisy cars, trucks, and buses keep him on guard as he ventures out on his quest to discover his destiny. Three blocks away in a three-story townhouse, a lonely human soul patiently waits and the little dog is drawn toward his emptiness. A scratch at the door and a few travailing whimpers alert the resident of a visitor, and their connection is made.
"Hey, little fellow ... where did you come from?" I smile as I lift the little dog and nestle him securely to my warm chest. "You look sort of scared and lonely. Would you care to come in for a little treat?" I ask. The dog's eyes open wide, and his head sinks softly onto my shoulder.
I gently close the door and proceed to the elevator. "I bet you've never been on one of these," I say, pushing the button to call the elevator to the first floor. The door opens, and the new noise and vibrations startle the dog. "I need to close the door and we're going to go for a little ride," I say comfortingly and slowly close the sliding door to the elevator. Having never experienced controlled vertical movement, the dog digs his nails into me during the short ride. The elevator stops and I place him on the soft carpeted elevator floor and then open the door. He quickly exits the elevator and runs to the warmth and smell of the kitchen.
"Hey, little buddy, would you like some warm milk and a little bread?" I eagerly ask. His tail, then his entire body begins wagging. This is one hungry puppy. Completely devouring the bowl of food in minutes, he ventures into the living room. Sniffing and scurrying, he finds a chair and a safe place to rest his legs. Moments later the curly red-haired puppy is sound asleep. A few hours later, with a slight yawn and a little twitch, the pup awakes to a safe, secure new world.
The little guy must be lost and his owners are frantically searching for him, I began to think. "A quick trip to the animal shelter will be the best bet to find your owners and see if you have a microchip under your coat," I say, gently picking him up.
Riding in my car to the animal shelter, the young pup sleeps soundly in the seat beside me. "We're here, little buddy, let's see if these good people inside can tell me anything about you," I say as I lift him up and out of the car. Not having a collar or leash, I hold him to my chest and walk toward the animal shelter. As the sliding doors open, I begin to feel concerned about the future of my new-found little friend.
"Hello, Happy People, how is everyone today?" I greet the employees in the reception area.
"What can we do for you, Sir?" the receptionist pleasantly asks.
"I found this little dog in downtown Fayetteville and need to report him missing," I reply. The pup watches the dialogue between the two and his head moves cautiously left and right.
"First, let's see if he has a computer chip implant under his coat," she says while examining him with the detection equipment. "No chip on him," she says sternly.
"My, so now what do we do?"
"We need to fill out a report and take his picture to post on our bulletin board," she replies while pointing at the bulletin board across from her.
"So what can you tell me about the dog?" I ask.
"Well, let's see, he looks like he's around five or six months old ... and he has carpet paws," she replies, smiling.
"Carpet paws? What are carpet paws?" I ask, laughing just a little.
"That means he has lived inside and has not spent a lot of time on the street," she laughs.
"Thanks for everything, if you hear anything just give me a call," I say, lifting the pup.
"Have a nice day and thanks for bringing him in."
Back in the car the little dog quickly falls to sleep again on the passenger seat. "Well, little guy ... I guess you're my responsibility for now," I say as I gently pat him on the head.
HAVING DECIDED TO go into work with my new little friend, I pull into my parking place in front of our business. McCune Technology/Fayetteville Steel is a complete metal fabrication facility and metals warehouse. Simply put, we make things out of metal.
"Hey, little guy, let's go in so you can meet some new people," I say, bouncing him up and down in my arms as I walk into the reception area.
"What's your name, boy?" Louise asks. The little pup looks at her and licks her hand. I place the pup on the floor and he stands up on his hind legs, walks around, then lies down.
"Remember Star Wars? Remember Chewbacca? He sort of looks like him when he walks around and is the same color of the alien. I could call him Chewy for short ... maybe that will be a good name for him," I say, laughing. Not getting a positive response, the name Chewbacca is definitely out.
During the past year I played the part of young Rufus Edmisten, North Carolina Attorney General, in a TV series. "I like the name Rufus ... you look like a Rufus. What do you think of the name Rufus?" I ask the little dog. Not hearing a reply, "Rufus is your name unless someone claims you," I say, patting him on his head and then scratching under his long-haired chin.
"Come on, Rufus, let's go outside," I call, opening the door for him. Rufus follows me out to the side of the building and quickly runs round and round in large circles. Suddenly, he lifts his torso and flies up through the air ... a little longer than a normal dog should be able to jump.
"Rufus, that was a trick I have never seen before," I say, commenting on his spectacular feat. Following me back into the building, Rufus remains close by my side.
Chapter Two
Kenny O'Brian is my first memory of a dog. The Irish Setter was my five-year-old brother Bob's dog. Kenny would knock me down and, I was told, pooped in the basement. Only Bob appeared to like the dog. Late one evening strangers came into our home on Burke Street in Parkersburg, West Virginia. The strangers quickly left with Bob's dog and he was in tears.
Next, Spot came into our lives when I was in second grade. She was a Heinz 57 mix and had a large black patch on her side. Spot seemed to be the only logical name. She lived with the family for over fifteen years. She was a good dog.
Then came Z. With an idea and a $35 investment, I founded McCune Technology in 1975. I was one of the original inventors of the rear window louver seen on hatchback cars of the seventies. I had a Datsun 240Z, so the name Z was a natural fit for the little black dog that entered and exited my life years ago. He just left one day never to return.
Between 1974 and 1975, Malcolm Bricklin introduced the Bricklin automobile. This futuristic car had a pretty much indestructible body and gull wing doors. Being a fastback, this car was the perfect candidate for my rear window louver. The Grafinger's, Harry and Susan, owned a Bricklin and ran an exotic pet store in Fayetteville. I would work on their Bricklin and in trade for a set of louvers, I ended up with a dingo.
A dingo is the wild dog from Australia that roams in packs and breeds for life. When the mate dies, their life partner lies down beside them and starves to death. An unusual dog needed an unusual name.
Nina was determined. Nina could be violent. Though a member of the canine family, Nina did not have a typical dog brain. If chasing something, she would not stop under the tree and bark ... she would climb the tree as fast as a cat. Some desired to prove that Nina would accept them. She accepted or snapped. Some were slow, and she left a mark.
On her plus side, Nina was dedicated to the family ... our family became her surrogate mate. She lived fourteen years.
In 1994, I became the statistic of a divorce and was living at McCune Technology. One day a dog showed up at the building and scratched at the door. I let him in. The dog walked into my office and eased himself into one of the club chairs. Having him there gave me a sense of comfort and helped during times of loneliness.
During a prescribed visitation, my children, David Jr. and Sarah, were spending the evening at McCune Technology. Being within compliance, I had to return them to their court-assigned residence. The mystery dog had only been with me for two days, so I left him outside during their return procedure.
Sometime after we left, he either chased us or he ran up by the main road in front of the building. Upon my return I found him on a bloodstained pavement. I pulled his motionless body off the road and buried him. Loss of the future can be just as disturbing as the absence of the past.
Chapter Three
"Come on, Rufus, let's go back to my office," I say, patting my leg. He follows close by as we go through the doors.
My office consists of a large lab, two joined personal rooms, a small kitchen with seating, and a bathroom. Artwork covers the walls. Electronic, painting, and mechanical equipment are on the counters, tables or in the shelves and drawers. An elaborate drum set, synthesizer, electric bass guitar, amplifying and recording equipment dominate my personal space. A little dog can get into big trouble here. Looking up, Rufus gazes around the rooms. He begins sniffing and finds his way to the drum set.
"Hey, Rufus, do you want to hear some new noises?" I call out from the drum throne. A few hits on the bass drum and the high hat immediately grab his attention. He appears to enjoy the new sound. I continue as he curls up under the largest floor tom-tom.
When I was a teenager, I decided to buy a set of drums. After putting them together and then admiring my purchase, I began teaching myself how to play. Years passed and the desire to play ceased. I secretly wanted to buy a new set of drums, but never followed through on my adult dream.
At the age of 51, I decided to learn how to dance. Sure, I had danced before ... like the time I attempted this body movement after a seventh grade sock hop in the confines of my locked bedroom with my radio playing. After that experience my performing abilities never blossomed. Now, as middle-aged adult, I was going to do something that I feared and something completely out of the box: I began taking professional dance lessons twice a week with my instructor, Sunday.
In the end, I competed in a dance event and shocked my family. With rhythm in my blood and a song in my heart, I was now ready to buy a set of drums. And I did.
Waking up from his much-needed nap, Rufus is ready to explore the world and relieve his bladder. Again, Rufus starts to run around in circles and jumps into the air. He appears to float in the air as time stands still. I'm tempted to have someone else observe this phenomenon of nature, then I decide to wait
Chapter Four
Our family summer vacation is here and Rufus, now part of the family, is invited to the mountains of North Carolina. After a five-hour trip, we meet everyone there.
Louie is the Weimaraner that belongs to my daughter and son-in-law. He is like a big awkward kid with a heart of gold. Rufus loves Louie. Rufus' colorful red tail constantly wags when Louie is around. Sarah is my daughter, so Rufus is Louie's uncle, in dog relationships. Rufus weighs around 20 pounds, and Louie is under 100 lbs and still filling out. Rufus and Louie enjoy each other's company.
Bark, bark ... growl. Bark, bark, ruff, ruff ... snarl, ruff, bark ... bark. "Hey Rufus, have you ever seen so many sticks?" Louie asks, looking up at all of the tall trees surrounding them.
"Where do you think all of these sticks come from, Louie ... do you think they fall from the sky?" Rufus asks, also looking up.
"Of course they fall from the sky, Rufus ... they sure don't grow up from the ground," Louie snaps back.
"This is what I call a stick smorgasbord," responds Rufus, chewing on a choice stick.
BEING A RED Irish Terrier, Rufus is seldom separated from his leash while visiting the outside world. His breed forgets the past and focuses on the future as they chase anything that moves.
While engaged in this frenzy of motion, Rufus completely forgets his name and the person who pleads while calling out, "Rufus ... Rufus ... come here, boy." Whatever has moved has captured his attention. The movement is within eyesight and the chase of his prey outweighs everything.
Months ago his victim was a mounted police horse. I am not sure who was shocked the most, the officer or his horse. Eventually Rufus gave up on the fearless attack and retreated.
THE MOUNTAIN HOUSE sits on the top of its own hill. This creates some form of invisible protective fence. Hesitant, I release Rufus from his leash and he runs happily with his buddy Louie. Quickly, he becomes aware the constraint of the leash no longer tugs his neck. He is free.
"Come here, Rufus ... come here, boy," I sternly call him. Without hesitation, he turns and runs toward me. "Now that is a good buddy. Good boy, Rufus," I say reassuringly as he licks my hand. "OK, have a good time playing with Louie." I send him off, feeling safer about my little buddy and the surroundings.
"Look, Daddy, there are blackberries over here," Sarah calls out, holding up a large, juicy berry for our inspection. Rufus quickly turns toward Sarah and investigates her discovery. In no time, Rufus is up on his hind legs walking around the bush and having his fill of the sweet blackberries. I do believe Rufus could live off the land finding all sorts of delectable treats.
Rufus and Louie begin to venture out. Before long they make a pronounced path down the hill. As sticks are thrown, both dogs race up and down in the exciting game of fetch. Though trampled more than once, Rufus never backs down to Louie.
Sarah decides join in the fun and run down the newly-formed path. With just a little caution, she releases her body to the over forty-five degree descent. Ten feet into her journey, Sarah loses her footing and slips. Down she goes ever so quickly until she finds something to grab on to and stop the fall. Louie and Rufus run to her rescue. Sarah tightly grasps Louie's collar and he helps pull her up the hill to safety. Sarah is scraped up a little and sore. Unfortunately, two weeks later would reveal she landed in poison ivy.
"Peanut Party .... Peanut Party!" I call out, throwing a small handful of nuts into the air. Rufus and Louie quickly swarm the area to find the fun little morsels.
"Don't feed Louie peanuts," Sarah says, somewhat scolding.
"Sarah, a few peanuts aren't going to hurt Louie ... and, besides, he's on vacation. He needs to live a little."
"Dogs need to eat dog food, and that's all there is to it!"
The Peanut Parties will continue when Sarah isn't around. I'm sure George Washington Carver would not have objected.
The week comes to an end and Rufus and Louie say their goodbyes. Vacations are just as fun for dogs as humans.
Chapter Five
I recently read that an average dog can successfully recognize up to one hundred words and their IQ is that of a two-year-old. Lately, I have been talking more to Rufus, attempting to build his listening cognitive vocabulary skills. Besides his name, one of Rufus' favorite words is Grandpa.
Rufus enjoys riding in the car. Usually on the weekends, we leave downtown Fayetteville and head to Sunset Beach, North Carolina. Five miles from my father's house we cross over highway 17, which intersects a McDonald's restaurant. Rufus sits up and begins looking around.
"Hey, Rufus, we are almost at Grandpa's house ... you're getting ready to see Grandpa!" I announce. The closer we approach Dad's neighborhood, the more excited Rufus becomes. When we pull in the driveway, Rufus goes into a frenzy. He is ready to escape from the car and see his loving Grandpa.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Rufusby David McCune Copyright © 2012 by David McCune. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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