Ruffians Beware!

The unseasonably warm weather was such a welcomed contrast to what had been a miserable January. The higher temps have made my daily walks more enjoyable. There’s been so much more to see and smell. Even though the nights are still cold, the warm days have encouraged lots of living things to come out and enjoy the fresh air. The bees fly about looking for sugar water set out for them by thoughtful apiarists. Windows are flung open, releasing delicious cooking aromas that waft out from kitchens across Warrenton proper.

We haven’t seen any serious snowfall this winter, barely more than a scattered light dusting a time or two, and then quickly gone. That’s quite a contrast to my old life in Montana. As a Scottie, rain is an issue and ice is treacherous. But, let me tell you, a foot or more of snow can be a real problem for a shortlegged dog. If you had to walk out in similar conditions five times a day, you’d understand.

Another difference since I’ve settled in Virginia is that I’m part of a local walking group. There are five of us canines in the gang. Dr. Zeus, aka Tramp, named after the rascal in the Disney movie, is the tallest of our group. KoKo is a brindle Terrier; Lolly, a white Maltese; and Old Scruffy is another Terrier. Then there’s me, the baddest. All seniors, Scruffy has the longest canine teeth (and the shortest memory). We consider ourselves a pretty feral pack. No sensible human should allow us to roam in one group, especially along Main Street, Warrenton. We even call ourselves “The Alexandria Pike Terrors.”

A major February gathering for the Terrors was the surprise birthday party Marion threw for me. She spared no expense, as usual, and it was truly grand. There was a floral arrangement, and Scotty-themed napkin holders and salt-and-pepper shakers. Even Scotty party favors! Marion fired up the new battery-operated candles she had placed around the dining room. All the Alexandria Pike Terrors were invited. No doubt, sensing our threatening presence, every vole hibernating in the yard dug itself another six inches deeper into the soil, quaking in fear. The feast itself was amazing. I had just been put on Farmer’s Dog Food so we canines each got a large spoonful of turkey with green beans, one of my favorites, and then—treats!

We couldn’t see what the people were eating but it was a good guess it wasn’t Farmer’s Dog Food. So we sent Tramp, the tallest of us, on reconnaissance. We were planning the old “bump and dog dash” routine to knock some morsels to the floor. But all the ladies were wise to our tricks, and we failed miserably. However, my birthday gifts were all winners. I received a new medieval-looking collar, a flashing neck ring, ostensibly to make me more visible at night but, in reality, to alert other animals that the alpha dog was in the vicinity. And, joy of joys, a Barbour waterproof raincoat, very stylish indeed for Fauquier County walking parks and byways. I would have preferred red, a better color for me. But, since working at Horse Country, I’ve learned that sage green is the trademark color for Barbour and it seems to permeate the store in every department. “Soothing,” Marion says, “and it corrects so many country clothing faux pas.” (Which always make me think she’s saying “paws.”)

Yet the day’s allotment of surprises was not done. After we had all eaten, Jean, one of my walkers, ever energetic, suggested we all go for a walk to the lake. The women grabbed walking sticks from the umbrella stand by the door and off we went. It was a wonderful afternoon, clear and warm. We had gone about a quarter mile toward the lake when we entered a patch of woods that cut our visibility down to just the path and the surrounding few feet. Tramp and Lolly had gone ahead. I was moving clump-to-clump, head down, sniffing the warm winter grasses, catching a whiff of skunk.

Suddenly, Jean, a former huntsman and MFH, now a proud member of the Ashland Bassets, raised her voice and called, “’Ware coyote!” All the ladies started acting erratically. They brandished their walking sticks over their heads and shouted in unison while jumping up and down. Deaf KoKo wondered aloud what they were up to. Scruffy said, “A Highland jig! Delightful!” Eagle-eyed Jean, habitually on the lookout for danger, spotted the ruffian not 24” from my tail. Once the coyote realized he was outed, his game was up. He faded into the shrubbery like an apparition, and all was quiet.

On the return walk, the ladies regained their composure and discussed the incident. Surely a lone varmint like that had no hope of taking on a single one of us dogs, let alone the entire squad of Alexandria Pike Terrors. And me with my new flashing collar on? Out of the question! It was then generally agreed by us Terrors that the intention was to frighten the women into scattered flight, which would enable the ruffian to single one of them out for harvesting. Once again, we saved the day. Unsung heroes, to be sure. I earned my Barbour coat that afternoon!

We returned home and the guests went their ways. I sat quietly, thinking about the events of the day, when Marion asked if I had even seen the coyote. “I didn’t see him,” I said, “but I sure smelled him!” Later that night, I decided that February had already provided more than enough surprises for one month. Yet with it not even half done at that point, I wondered what other adventures might yet await. Whatever they might be, I knew the Alexandria Pike Terrors would rise to the occasion and emerge victorious. Comforted by that knowledge, I went to sleep thinking of my new sage green coat and the twinkling electric candles.