Preview - Saturday Dogs ... and the owners they trained

Terrorist Cell

    THUMP!
    I winced, my face scrunched into a grimace of pain each time I heard the heavy thud. I flinched again as the next resounding dull whomp reached my ears.
    In the background I could make out the muted barking. High, static yipping accompanied by contrapuntal bass woofs, which entered into the rhythm at irregular intervals, was clearly audible even from this distance of almost twenty feet.
    THUMP!
    I was developing a tic under my left eye…I was sure of it.
    I followed the main melody of the frantic dogs, two short barks, a long one bordering on a howl, and then a glissando bark which began on a high note and slid to the bottom register, all interwoven around the staccato yips.
    I found myself holding my breath as I thought, “Right about now”…and was duly rewarded with a fingernails-on-the-blackboard sound. I hunched my shoulders and squeezed my eyes closed.
    This was torture. I couldn’t ignore it and I couldn’t do anything about it; moving farther away wasn’t going to make it any easier. I turned from where I was sitting on a tree-shaded rock and focused on this place I’d traveled almost three days to reach.
    A large cedar house, of clearly modern design, with an inviting covered patio and comfortable-looking chairs held my attention. I yearned to sit on something more forgiving than the rock, but I had tried that and the din from the house’s interior was overwhelming.
    THUMP!
    My eyes rose to the expanse of sliding glass door through which could be seen a strange array of dogs. By my count, which I was pretty sure was inaccurate because of the milling bodies, there were at least five dogs of various sizes and breed.
    Beginning at about two feet and peaking at four feet from the ground was an opaque smear which resembled spikes on a heart monitor and ran the width of both doors. The smear was enhanced by smudges artistically dotting either side of it and would have been the envy of Picasso, were he alive to see it.
    Suddenly, a streaking body caught my attention. A Parson Jack Russell shot off like a bullet, made a racing lap around the family room, picking up speed as he went until he gained enough momentum to leap onto the back of the sofa and launch from there to the patio doors. THUMP! Hitting the wall of glass with all four feet he then dropped like a stone to the ground and disappeared amid the churning mass of bodies.
    It took the Russell about ten seconds to disentangle himself from the pack and, with diabolical joy, head off for another lap.
    There was a pattern to all of this which I began to pick up as I sat and watched. Every third lap of the Russell was accompanied by the inverted “v” smear of a nose across the door. After one back-and-forth traverse, this dog, a Welsh terrier, threw his head back and gave a surprisingly deep bark. Just one.     Interspersed was the high-pitched scritch of nails sliding down the glass as a Plummer terrier mix scrabbled at the door.
    Sitting Buddha-like in the exact middle of all of this was a Boston terrier. Every so often he licked his lips, took a deep breath, threw his head back and, in totally non-Boston fashion, made a valiant attempt to howl. It left much to be desired.
    I like terriers. But this woman was either on a mission from God, or paying penance for terrible sins to own this many, varied terriers. The word “masochistic” floated across my mind.