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a dog named Tupper
Wednesday, May 31 2017
location: rural Hurley Township, Ulster County, New York
Early this morning, I loaded the refrigerator from the Downs Street garage back into the Subaru in preparation for taking it to the Hurley transfer station. But I wasn't sure what their hours were, so I checked Google. Only when I saw that the transfer station was closed today did I realize it was Wednesday, not Tuesday. So I wrestled the refrigerator back out into the driveway, getting that sticky yellow skudge on my hands for a second time. The only way to get rid of that was with alcohol or a stronger solvent.
I still had an errand I wanted to run. This took me to Uptown, where I bought two pressure-treated sixteen foot four by fours at Herzog's. I'd decided the twelve footers I'd bought from Home Depot were too short for my needs, and they didn't sell 16 footers. The guy working in the lumber yard apparently didn't have much familiarity with the stock of treated four by fours, because he initially took me to the pile of 12 footers. But I immediately recognized them as being too short.
Driving homeward on Clinton Street, I passed a car pulled over by the State Police. The trooper was just finishing up the writing of a ticket. As usual, my thought was "sucks to be you." But then, less than a minute later, as I crossed Washington from Schwenk Drive to Hurley Avenue, I saw a State Police car behind me turn on his flashing lights. I pulled over, and wouldn't you know, I was the intended victim of the police action. I was so flustered as I fished for my license and registration that I forgot to put the car in park. I kept thinking, "Is there anything in this car that would be bad for a cop to find?" I couldn't think of anything. There was a partial six pack of IPAs in the foot well of the passenger side, but I was clearly drinking coffee, and that seemed like just another item in a pile of tools and things I should probably throw out. At the time I was wearing my seatbelt, but evidently the cop had spied what he thought was me not wearing a seatbelt back when I'd passed him earlier after he'd written a ticket for that other motorist. So that was my ticket: not wearing a seatbelt. I didn't raise a fuss or appeal to my white privilege. But I'll be contesting that ticket, you can be sure of that.
Further on, as I headed down Wynkoop, I saw a dog in the road. It appeared to be disoriented, approaching random cars as they passed. Had some asshole dumped a dog here, perhaps knowing that the Hurley dog catcher lives in one of these houses? I opened my passenger door and called out to the dog, and he (I soon had him sexed) jumped right in. He was an older border collie with a grey muzzle and adorable eyes. He was coming with me.
Back at the house, the mystery dog explored the yard, pissing in various hot spots he discovered in the grass. I checked his collar, but there were no tags or information aside from the collar's branding. When Gretchen returned, she was stunned to see some rando dog. I explained the situation and then Ramona (naturally) attacked him. But we yelled at her and she behaved herself from then on.
Gretchen called the Hurley dog catcher, and it turned out that the dog we'd found actually had a home right there in Hurley, just west of the bridge across the Esopus on Wynkoop. Supposedly his human parents were out looking for him. Things were put in motion such that those dog parents would be coming to our house to pick up their dog.
Meanwhile the mystery dog was getting along well with our critters. Clarence the Cat walked right past him to get to his food, and Celeste (aka "the Baby") was fascinated, though she kept her distance, watching from various concealed locations. Eventually the mystery dog started to range more widely, and at one point I had to run after him as he headed up Dug Hill Road, convincing him to come back and stay with us for the time being.
At a certain point a mystery car pulled into our driveway, and it was the mystery dog's human parents. They were old, in their 70s or 80s; he was wearing a cap that indicated he was a veteran of the Korean War (which would mean he was at least 82). They were delighted to have their dog back. It turned out that his name was Tupper and he liked to chase cars on Wynkoop. That was just something he did now and then. We chatted for awhile in the driveway about dogs, my solar panels (which are familiar at this point to everyone in Hurley). They insisted on giving us $20 for rescuing their dog. We repeatedly refused it, but when it was clear they'd be upset if we didn't take it, Gretchen did. She thought of it as more money to be given to animal rights causes, whereas I saw it as money to defray the cost of today's trouble with the State Police. Money is the most fungible of substances, so it could serve either role or partial roles in both.
Tupper the Dog.
This afternoon, Gretchen and Andrea were out for a number of errands. These included another prospective tenant checking out the attic apartment in the Downs Street house, the final walkthrough of #2 after Tara's eviction (she'd left it spotless), and falafel at the Woodstock Farm Market. Gretchen brought me home a falafel sandwich, though a hailstorm happened as she was having it prepared, so I had to add my own pickles and hot sauce.
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