Curtis and the Ghost Bone

Writing on January 12, the Ghost Bone has shrunk from over 9" to just 4" long. Curtis has been happily chewing it whenever he's hongry and it's not mealtime yet, or whenever I have house guests or a phone conversation and he wants to be part of it. But it wasn't always so...

 Curtis got the nickname Krampus at Christmas 2023 because he absolutely insisted on opening every gift before its recipient could have it. It was adorable, but it made the unwrapping process take hours upon hours. He is a very slow, nitpicky gift opener, tearing tiny shreds of paper away, savoring the process. 

So this Christmas I got him several alluring chewy treats (they have to be real; no toys or Nylabones for this primitive dog) and he spent almost the entire gift opening session finishing one small bully stick. Great! Krampus was occupied. In the center of everything, happy, but occupied. Surrounded by tiny shreds of giftwrap. And we were no longer his present prisoners.

 When he was done with that he started spelunking among the gifts and he found a huge collagen roll (who knows what that is--connective tissue, probably, but not rawhide, which is bad for him--and started in working on it. Perfect! 

He chewed on the bully stick and then the big collagen roll for so long I knew his jaws must be aching so after everything was cleaned up I took the big toy from him and put it high on the mantel overhead where there was no possibility he could reach it. I told him just to ask a human if he wanted it back, and we went about our merry business, me preparing a meal of prime rib, Hasselback potatoes, green beans and salad. The kids spent some time going through their loot and trying things on. 

You can see where I put the collagen roll in this sweet picture of Liam and Ayla. It's that foot-long tan-colored thing. Near the edge, but by no means hanging over it. There it would stay until the next sunny day, when I could let him out to chew it on the lawn.

Everybody gorged on the prime rib and sides, which miraculously got done by about 1 pm, and they'd all taken off for their next destinations by 2 pm. 

Curtis and I absolutely collapsed. It had been such a sweet but intense Christmas, and now it was over, just like that. 

I went downstairs to bed by 9 pm, leaving Curtis on his favorite couch. I was deep in a beautiful dream--it must have been about 1 AM--when Curtis whined at my door. I very reluctantly struggled up out of the dream, with no idea why Curtis chose to wake me. Was his stomach upset? I let him in, but instead of jumping up onto the bed, he circled the room a couple of times then stood looking out the greenhouse door. I could see him there, in the moonlight. What in the world? 

I shone my iPhone flashlight on him and there he stood, the giant collagen roll sticking straight out of his mouth like a huge cigar. He had brought it downstairs to show me. I will tell you that this is absolutely atypical of him. He is not a dog who meets you at the door, carrying a toy. Nor does he carry them from room to room. He just doesn't carry stuff around. Probably because he has no lower incisors and is missing a top right canine (thanks to no vet care in his first four years, and his penchant for pulling roots when he's digging) And yet here he was, in the screaming middle of the night, wanting me to see that he had this coveted bone.

But how had he gotten ahold of it? How indeed? That chew toy was a good 6 1/2 feet above the floor. There was absolutely no way he could have jumped up to reach it. 

In the  morning, I texted the kids to ask if anyone had taken it down for him. No, they hadn't. And a photo I took of the Christmas tree--you can see the time stamp of Wednesday, 4:05 pm--two hours after everyone left--shows it still firmly in place on the mantel. Inaccessible. I certainly hadn't given it to him, or touched it at all, before going to bed.

My mind turned in circles there in the dark as Curtis settled in to sleep. Needless to say, between his snoring, hogging the bed, and cutting bully stick farts, and my brain racing around wondering what the hell had just happened, I didn't get much more sleep that Boxing Day morning.

How did he get ahold of that roll? I decided it could only have been Bill's doing.

He loved Christmas morning. I'm sure he was in that room with us, and it seems he hung around into the  night, maybe sitting on the couch with Curtis, looking at the Christmas tree.

I texted the kids to ask how they thought Curtis got ahold of it. 

Liam: "Maybe Dad flew by and knocked it over?"

Phoebe: "I am sure Daddy knocked it down and scared him. I remember thinking it was funny when you told Curt to just ask one of us when he wanted to get it down. He must have sent a message at some point and since none of us answered, Daddy did."

Short of an earthquake (which didn't happen) or a rat (which we don't have, and it's too big and heavy to be moved by a mouse), I cannot come up with anything other than telekinesis that could have made that toy fall from its secure position on the mantel. I mean, look at it! 6.25 oz. it weighs. And it's square sided. It wouldn't have rolled.

Telekinesis seems about Bill's style, and the middle of the night was always when he came alive. 

I remember once when I told Bill that Chet Baker was sitting there staring at me, sending me pictures of a treat. I don't remember what treat it was, just that I got the message (and picture) loud and clear, and got up to give him what he'd asked for.

Bill scoffed, as men often feel they must. The unexplainable scared him, I guess.

(Until he became the unexplainable, and now he enjoys messing with the ones he left behind.)

 I shrugged. "You just wait 'til he sends you a picture." I should have said, "You just wait 

'til you're open to his mind pictures." Because animals are always sending them. 

It's our reception that's bad.

It wasn't many days later that Bill came up off the living room couch, saying, "That dog just sent me a picture of a little bowl of ice cream!"

I smiled. "Oh, so you got his message? Well, get him a little bowl of ice cream*!"

*(teebo icekeem)

I dragged myself out of bed on Boxing Day and gave the roll to Curtis in the morning. He really, really wanted to take it outside. I knew better than to let him, but who could say no to this soulful, dome-skulled boy, his tail waving hopefully?

First he carried it to the place where he chews and piles his bones, in the middle of the yard. And the next time I looked out it was gone, and Curtis with it.

I stood and listened hard for the jingle of his collar bell. And there it was, tinkling on the edge of the woods. Curtis had shoved the bone up under a fallen tree and packed lots of soil around it. He was about to cover all that with leaves when I swooped in and rescued the bone from certain death by mold.

He'd really packed that soil with his nose and paws! But I clawed it out from under the log.

Good job, Curtis! But we're taking this back indoors. We'll give it a wash.

Am I going to have to ask Daddy for it again? 

I reckon so, Curtis Loew. You and your ghost bone.