Enzo barks noisily at the grey squirrels whose tails wag amidst the bare cottonwood trunks to tease him. I try to think of Enzo in new surroundings. Could he make the transition to downtown dog?
Given his size and his “cute” factor, I have to wonder how he might survive if Mark and I were to move downtown in several years. Enzo would be 6 or 7 by then. Maybe he wouldn’t survive, so I imagine Enzo in present day living in a home in future time.
Washington Park would be complete, women in tank shirts, walking dogs of all sizes. Enzo would strut into the fray, as he did in puppy class, and knowing of his good looks and charm, simply bat his long eyelashes and wait for the women to come and scratch behind his ears, while he simply whiled away in the sunshine. It happens so often now, young girls argue over who “gets to walk Enzo” and who get to pet him first, and who Enzo likes best. I shy away from telling any of them the truth.
Then the SCPA would let out, and Enzo would anxiously await the steady stream of students pouring out the school doors. He would be perturbed by trombones and trumpets playing when the windows were open in Spring. He would be fascinated by the girls whose giggles carry them to their cars.
The groomer down the street would have opened up shop next to the old Post office, which would now be a bar with white washed exterior appropriately called the Post Office. Such that, when I tired of my long summer afternoons of writing, I would scoot out of the house with the excuse of “having to go to the post office.” The groomer would let Enzo take shade inside her facilities while I took comfort in a cold beer.
And while Fountain Square is off limits to dogs (the Lady doth protest too much through her spray of water), Findlay Market would welcome Enzo with open sausage casings. He would bask in the sunshine outside of Madison’s Produce, catch droppings outside of the Eckerlin’s butcher shop, from those who choose to eat their city chicken or goetta on site, and certainly lick up a few drops of fig-orange gelato just outside the doors of Dojo Gelato. He would even be known to sniff out a few good vintages at Market Wines. I did originally consider calling him “Pinot” after my favorite wine.
He would saunter with me over to Grammer’s, the once venerable and now resurrected beer hall, and scoop up remnants of popcorn on the floor from the night’s previous improve show. We had been calling him the Hoov-dog for his abilities to transform himself into a vacuum cleaner, sans the filter, so Grammar’s might be open to Enzo working part-time, like Dr. Seuss’s Robert the Race Horse, who went to work for the police force.
And because Enzo is a literary-minded pup (he was named after a character in a book), we would spend many hours at the Mercantile Library. Of course, I would have had to purchase a membership there. It had always been on my to-do list, I was just waiting until they offered me an honorary membership after I published a few more books.
Enzo, a healing dog in our family, would certainly do the same. Perhaps provide a respite for the homeless man, with a lost job, lost children, but somehow able to connect with his inner spirit and feel the love that Enzo could give. Its been said that dogs are a mirror of their owners, and if this is true, then I would certainly follow in Enzo’s paws to learn compassion in way that one does not practice in the suburbs.
His soft fur would warm even the coldest hearts, yet his escape from the backyard at anytime might prove to be injurious to such a dog as ours. We have domesticated him so that he can function in this crazy household. Of course, if he survived a house full of teenagers, for a dog that is akin to surviving the streets.
At evening’s end, as we strode home from a day around downtown, Enzo would protect me from any perceived danger. I would hope to do the same.
