Rack and the Delivery Guys - A 12 Year Old Dog Finds His Voice Every Day At The Same Time

 

If you are here during a certain hour, it gets loud.

Don't try to take a nap on the couch, it won't work.

Which hour is it?  It's the Delivery Hour.

We somehow have all the major delivery services come right about the same time.  It actually used to be delivery plus trash pick up and recycling but the City changed refuse haulers.

I'm going to be a bit vague around which hour that is.  After all, I can plan on being here when a delivery is coming.  If I am here there's almost a zero chance that whatever it is will actually get where it is going.

Now the issue isn't the deliveries.  Getting Fedex/Amazon/The Mail/UPS all within about a half hour is great.  You can watch hilarity ensue when they are all shuffling down the block in a sort of Brownian Motion that you would see in one of those sand picture frames.

You know, the things you would see at a store in an odd place, pick up and flip, and watch the sand percolate through bubbles to the lowest place in the frame?

That's what we do with all of the trucks.

The issue is that someone is finding his voice.  After 12 years, Rack, the McNab SuperDog(TM) is getting "quirky".

That also means I get to have a conversation with a dog.  My dog.  Generally, it works well too.

He spends the day, or at least the time I am home and in My Big Green Chair at my elbow.  If he isn't there sleeping it does not particularly feel right so I go look for him.  Usually it's because I'm irritated at something and my energy is not quite where it should be.

This particular day, I was in the kitchen doing Tasks.  This time it was setting  timer for a battery charger, and starting to decant a load of sticky rice into containers for the freezer.  I spend a lot of time making this sort of "Meta Food", that is food that goes to make other food.

Kind of like "Cheese Food" is food that Cheese eats.  Or maybe not.

The rice goes into the dog food, and that tells me that I will have to make beans for the dog food... You get the idea, it keeps me honest and my freezer filled.

But this was an interruption.  I heard a low grumble.

"Rack!  It's OK! Go back into your corner!"
Grrrrumble!
"Go on!  Go into the corner!  It's the Postie, he's your buddy!"

Rack slinks into the corner, slowly and curls up.  Postie delivers the mail.  I bag 20 ounces of rice for future dog food.

Grrrrumble!
"Now what?, Rack go back into the corner, nobody there for you to growl at!"

UPS truck this time.  I look out the front windows at the big brown thing.
Grumble... mrowow!
"Shh, Rack, they're bringing you things"
Grumble gets more like distant thunder, quieter and more broken in time.
"Go on, back to the corner where your bed is"

He slinks back. 
I'm back in the kitchen getting two more 20 ounce bags of rice away and I start to hear a slam and some rattling outside.  Rack is in the corner but looking up.
Grumble.  Distant thunder quality.
Two twin brown eyes staring at me, from the gloom, not happy but now looking for info.  Amazon this time, the last of them for the day.

It is something we go through every day.  He will "deescalate" the conversation if I am actively talking to him but if we aren't managing his expectations it gets quite loud.

I had been rescued the other day from a Doctor's Office, and as we were leaving, the tire pressure alert went off on the car.  We went directly to the car dealer courtesy of "Run Flat Tires" that actually work as advertised, go figure that one out!

What the dealer now does is pay for an uber drop off instead of paying staff to run people home.  I keep hearing my aunt and uncle from Queens NYC saying in that characteristic accent "Oh No! I could never do that with a gypsy cab!".

But it's on someone else's dime, and we did get home.

Now, Rack doing his thing. For some reason he can tell when anyone who lives here comes in front of the house.  He can also tell when anyone who does NOT live here comes up in front of the house.

We pulled up in a recent vintage Toyota Tacoma Truck that smelled of various smoking materiel.  Before I could even get out of the car door, Rack was having a nervous breakdown, barking up a storm that would make the Guardians of Hell, Cerberus, proud.

I just laughed hearing him through Hurricane Glass, a Truck door, and a quietly playing radio and thought nobody was there to slow him down.

As soon as my boots hit the ground, Rack went quiet and into the characteristic Happy Dance that dogs do when they see their people. 

I guess dogs need to be managed.  I know I do too.