When I walked out on my balcony, I sometimes saw dolphins jumping out of the ocean. Once, I saw a whale, the water spewing from its spout and seagulls circling overhead, perhaps attempting to feed on the whale. Another time, I noted a fishing trawler that seemed to be way too close to shore. Surely enough, about two hours later, it hit a sand bar, broke apart and sank. Luckily, the crew was able to swim to the beach and no one was hurt. That story made the six o'clock news.
In one of the other condominiums lived a man and woman who owned a big Tennessee Walker hunting dog. I worked from home fairly often, and I could hear its foghorn bark during the day when I suppose it was alone. To me, the dog always sounded stressed out.
Sometimes, when I was walking on the street down below our units, I would look up and see the dog with its head stuck out between the railings. It always had a wild glare in its eyes, but it never would look directly at me. Though I am no veterinarian, I tend to understand dogs much better than I understand my fellow human beings, and I suspected it was suffering from anxiety due to being cooped up in that small space all day. A Tennessee Walker is bred to roam through the woods and run racoons up trees, after all.
The owners only let the dog out of the condo so that it could relieve itself. I happened to be outside on one of these occasions, and asked permission to pet the dog.
I learned the dog's name was Petey. The owner was a woman in her 40s or 50s with bleach blond hair, an unnaturally dark tan, manicured nails and careful makeup. She struck me as a woman who normally has a poodle, not a hunting hound dog. Her boyfriend or husband was the blue collar type with a hair style close to a mullet. He drove a van, and I believe he worked as a painter.
They were nice people, but it bothered me to see Petey so vexed all the time. I offered to take him on runs with me.
They agreed that it would be good for Petey to get some exercise.
My runs with Petey as the sun went down turned out to be some of the more enjoyable experiences of my life.
Petey was a very intelligent dog, and I could see a change in his attitude almost as soon as we hit the road together for the first time. The owners had a long but strong leash for him. He started out with a sprint, and it was all that I could do to keep up. He pulled hard at the leash and dragged me along.
After a mile or two, though, he slowed down and the leash went a little slack.
We went down streets that neither one of us had ever seen before. We came across a park with multiple baseball fields. I took Petey inside one of the empty fields and closed the gates. Then I took him off his leash.
At first, he did not know what to do and just stood there. I ran out into center field, and he loped along behind me. I turned and charged at him, to get him to play. To my surprise, though, for the very first time he looked me in the eyes. Petey snarled at me.
"It's okay, buddy!" I said as I laughed. "I'm just playing with you. I'm just trying to get you to run free a little bit."
The snarl immediately disappeared from his face and he began wagging his tail. I jumped at him again. This time, he understood. He jumped back and took off running on a sprint across the field.
Now, he felt his freedom, and he circled back to run at me. I sprinted at him like I was going to tackle him, and he peeled off at the last moment. The two of us played like this, running in circles on the baseball field, for about ten minutes.
This wore him out. I put the leash back on him, and took Petey over to another field where an actual midget league ball game was going on.
As we stood along the first base fence, watching the game, Petey leaned against my leg, exhausted.
Still, once we left the game, he jogged most of the way home with me. We went about six miles that day.
The owners would not let me take him out again for a while, as they said he was walking with a limp and was obviously sore. I had overdone it with him for the first day.
Very soon, though, I was out with him again. Petey got into shape fast and was able to tug at the leash during our entire run if he wanted to.
I found that people were scared of Petey when I went for runs. He was a big dog, carried himself like a beast, and he grunted when he ran. One lady who was out for a walk and heard Petey's grunts coming up behind her, turned and actually screamed in fear. Then she gave me a dirty look as we went by her.
One day, I took Petey for a run down the beach, and many more people we came across gave us disapproving looks. I later learned that it was against the law to have a dog on that beach, which explained their reactions.
Petey cracked me up on another occasion. We ran down Lake Park Boulevard, past a bar called "The Fat Pelican."
A woman who was quite the regular there stood outside the entrance smoking a cigarette and talking with a man who also fit into the scene well.
The woman held the cigarette down by her hip. Petey stopped dead in his tracks as we went by and put his nose about a half inch away from the end of the cigarette, smelling it. Then he pointed to the cigarette like a bird dog.
I could tell this made both the man and the woman uncomfortable, but for some reason neither one would look at us or acknowledge that we were there. Maybe they were scared of what Petey was going to do. Who knows? Like I said, he lumbered like a beast and grunted as he ran.
I began laughing. "Come on Petey, let's keep moving." I tugged at him, and with some difficulty pulled his nose away from the cigarette.
One day, Petey got a bunch of sand spurs on his leg. I tried to take one off. He gave a little yelp of pain and bit my arm. But it was not really a bite. He just put his teeth on my arm and did not clamp down. It was a gut defensive reaction to pain from him, and I was impressed that he was smart enough to know that I was not trying to hurt him. Still, it was his warning to me and I left them alone. His mouth was much bigger than my forearm.
The owners later told me that he removed the spurs himself by chewing on them.
It got to be where Petey would recognize the sound of my footsteps coming up to his door. He would begin howling and jumping against the door like he was going to knock it down.
His reaction to me surprised his female owner. "Petey doesn't get that excited even when I get home," she said.
I'd put his leash on, and down the stairs we would charge.
I think Petey's favorite part was when I let him go down into the ditches along the road. The leash was long enough for that, and he leaped through water that sometimes came up to his neck.
Of course, he got filthy doing this, and I did my best to hose him down when we got back to the condominiums. I remember the man's reaction when I brought him back after one run, though:
"God bless, Petey! You got dirt on top of your head, even!" (Petey just looked at him, panting and wagging his tail.)
The man mentioned that his wife was getting a little put out over the dirt that Petey tracked into the house.
Not long after that run, they moved to a house further inland from the beach, taking Petey with them.
I gave them a call, leaving a message on their voice mail and offering to continue to take Petey out for runs. They never returned my call, though.
I missed Petey for a while after that. I hope that the house where they moved had a fenced in yard where he could run around. Otherwise, I'm sure that wild eyed look would have returned, along with the strained fog horn howls.
Petey was a good friend.
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