The Lady and the Bum

Santa Barbara, California is a great place for people-watching, particularly in the summer when the town is bubbling with tourists on holidays, exploring the shops, testing the waves, and appreciating the warm sunny days which we natives too often take for granted. And it's a great town for dog-watching, too. Labradors, Golden Retrievers, Shelties, and Poodles seem to be favorites here, along with an untold number of mixed breeds who happily sport red bandanas just like their purebred counterparts. All in all, Santa Barbara is an ideal place to "socialize" a puppy.

So that's what I was doing one day last summer, while sipping a cold drink and watching life go by outside the Open Door Cafe. Jazz, my pampered and adored Kerry puppy, spent the time at the end of her leash checking out every passerby, most of whom gave her a pat or a kind word, and many of whom stopped to ask her name and breed.

It was one of these Sunday strollers who caught my eye even before she stopped. An elegantly dressed woman with striking red hair paused beside Jazz and with pointed finger exclaimed in a charming Irish accent, "Now you're a Kerry Blue!" As we all know, it's not everyone who identifies our breed, so when we meet one who does, we naturally sit up and take notice. A short chat revealed that her family had raised Kerry Blues back in Ireland, and while she hadn't seen one in quite some time, she made it clear that she wasn't keen on seeing any more at the upcoming dog show I mentioned. In fact, she stayed at arm's length from Jazz, who retreated a step or two as if she'd done something wrong. The lady elaborated, "We had up to 100 Kerries at one time, and that's more than I ever want to see again!"

While I sat there trying hard to imagine 100 Kerries all in the same place at the same time, she was off again before I could think to ask for the kennel name. 100 Kerries! I pondered the amount of property this would require, the amount of dog food, and the number of kennel assistants to not only keep the place clean and the dogs well groomed, but to give them all the cuddles, training, and treats every good Kerry deserves.

This contemplation occupied my mind until the bum ambled by and noticed Jazz. While he stopped and stared wordlessly at her, I watched fascinated as Jazz, who I admit loves everybody, stood at attention, tail wagging, and suddenly bounded joyously into his outstretched arms. Had they met before, I wondered? The bum broke into a radiant smile and rubbed Jazz's head in his big hands as he explained, "I always 'talk' to a dog I meet first. If the dog doesn't like me, I leave 'im alone!" Well, Jazz was obviously crazy about him, but I wasn't sure I could handle a bum who communicated psychically with dogs. I decided it was time to go, but the bum went on. "Just lost my dog. Been with me for 14 years. Yep. He had a good life. Better than mine!" he said with a chuckle.

I was about to push my chair back, but the bum continued, "Old Frankie. He was quite a dog. Always in trouble. Tangled with a porcupine once. Just once, mind you. Needed pliers to pull those quills out."

When I protested that the dog needed the attention of a vet, the bum just shook his head. "Naw. A dog knows how to take care of hisself if ya just let 'im. I helped him along, is all. In no time, he was as good as new."

He continued to pet Jazz, who was wriggling all around him. "Don't look anything like old Frankie. My old Frankie. Always in trouble. Chased a car once. Just once, mind you. Never did that again as long as I had 'im. They learn fast, dogs. Faster than us people, I reckon. Faster than me, that's for sure."

He gave Jazz one last hug and straightened up. "You take good care of her now," he told me. "She's the best friend you'll ever have."

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