Settling once again into a nice read, the screech sounded again. Guinness once again bolted to safety and I checked my heart rate. The sound was overpowering and horrible, but as quick as it exploded, it stopped. Waiting for the next frenzy, I was tricked by the quiet. No sound was coming it seemed to have concluded its horrible incantation. I was not to be deterred from my relaxing read no matter how hard my heart beat and however long Guinness circled the table looking at me to solve this horror. The heat and relaxation overcame my nervous disposition and both dog and man settled into our afternoon nap. The screech again tore apart the neighbourhood. It was worse that the last two times. Guinness tore out from under the table at a speed I had not seen in him. I leapt out of my chair scouring to see where this vulture was lying in wait. I couldn’t see where he was hidden. This miserable bird was facing imminent death if I caught him. His owner would be flailed alive once I caught either him or the bird. I grabbed my book and downed my drink. Relaxing was over. I called to Guinness but there was no reply. I called again and looked around the fenced in yard. I couldn’t see him. This day was getting worse. So much for a relaxing day off. I tramped the yard looking at places he could hide when the doorbell rang. Reluctantly I went to answer the door. I was in no mood for visitors. Yanking the door open I stared to see three young girls on the porch with the middle one holding my white furry puppy. “Mister, is this your dog?” Guinness annoyed at my being unable to protect him from the screaming banshee had fled and jumped into the arms of three girls walking up the street. The look in his eye spoke of his disdain at my ineptitude at stopping the creature screaming. I thanked the girls and gathered Guinness in my arms. No more quiet afternoon reading in the backyard. I brought him to the car and headed for the cottage. No more screaming banshee parrots for us.
Guinness’ decision to be my best friend came with many trials for him.
His favourite drive is to the cottage. He sits up as we approach the outlying town and wags his tail searching through the car window for some memory of the place. A favourite activity of mine at the cottage is to wake early before anyone on the lake is up. Standing on the dock I stare at the mist rising above the water. Guinness sits, his small body nestled against my leg taking in the quiet, the clean smell and the freshness of the morning air. Slowly he looks up sensing my movement to the canoe and as I turn he leaps into the hull of the canoe. I stroke his head as he pushes his body next to mine with his head resting on the gunwale of the canoe. I push out slipping silently over the lake, dipping my paddle effortlessly on the calm water. Guinness, eyes closed, I sense he imagines he is floating on a cloud. I stroke forward passing the loon floating quietly. There is no need to disturb him as he is a fellow at rest. Ever so gently the mist rises and the lake comes alive. A small contingent of mergansers float behind their mother. The frantic fury of their paddling feet is camouflaged by the calm of their body. In the distance I hear the pull of an oar as fishermen take their place in the calm. A few voices drift across the lake as they search for the best fishing spot. In a few minutes these voices are silenced and calm is restored. A new sound takes over in the distance as small motor boats with engines throbbing race from opposite ends of the lake to switch fishing spots as the spot where they are is never right. The morning has arrived, Guinness no longer rests his head but smells the wind and watches the activity. The Loon calls to his partner and she responds from the distance. The ducklings start to quack furiously disturbed by the motorboats racing by. It is time for shore. Guinness stretches and as I turn toward the dock the slow movement makes him look up. Our alone time is over.
