An Old Dog Story

This is not a story about an old dog. This is a story about a dog from a long time ago. It's from so long ago that I was still young. And skinny, and still had long hair.

Back in the day, I lived in the Montrose. Those of you who live in or have lived in Houston know where of I speak. back in the early '70's it was a lovely, quirky, "bohemian" neighborhood. I don't know what it's like now. But it was fun and funky then. I lived in a 4-plex with my Mother, Nana and three dogs. I was a Sophmore at UH, and everyday when I got home from school, it was my job to take all three dogs for a walk.
The dogs were my dog Mignon, a slighty bigger than Beagle-size cowdog; Beau, my Mother's pocket poodle; and Tasha, my Nana's Afghan Hound. Beau and Tasha had to be leashed, but Mignon was good enough to walk by my side, except when he watered a tree or bush.
We'd walk down South Blvd and come back up North Blvd or was it the other way around? and wind up in Barkdull Park.
One day, we're about 1/2 block from the park and Tasha break free from my grasp. I have to say, it was a joy to watch her run. If you've never seen an Afghan bounding full out, you've missed one of Mother Nature's wonders. She's about three strides from the boundary of the park when a Kharman Ghia convertible slides to the curb and starts to lower his top. With her excellent reflexes, she leaps over the driver's seat area of his car at the same moment he notices a movement in his peripheral vision. I watch his head as it swivels to follow her vault over his vehicle. He does a double-take, as if to reassure himself he has really seen what he just saw. I calmly follow her into the park with Beau and Mignon a few moments later. He points at her disappearing rear and looks at me. I just shrug as if to say, "I don't know that dog, never say her before."
Of course, once we're in the park and down the trail she took, safely out of his sight, I pick her leash back up and give it a couple of twists around my wrist. We took the far exit out of the park that day, and the long way home.

A couple of days later, the guy was back. And he had a friend with him. I could see him gesturing out the story, Tasha bounding down the street, Tasha flying over his car, Tasha disappearing into the park. The dogs and I took a detour and a different route into the park for about a week. Poor guy.

I used to take those same dogs down to Galveston about once a month from the Fall through the late Spring in my Volkswagen Bug. Now THAT was a crowded vehicle. But it was worth it because when we got there I'd just open the doors and let them out on a deserted part of the beach and they'd run 'til they were tired. Then they'd come back and I'd give them water and treats and they'd rest. Then it was time to play chase and fetch and run some more. Oh, what fun!!! And they'd sleep all the way home.