His Spot

\ ) His Spot by Dale Heaster Probably part collie, part something big and square, like a cross between a collie and a St. Bernard, King padded wearily along the path through the mountain laurel, strewn with the first few fallen leaves, consciously grateful for the downslope. Ahead, through tired eyes, he saw the big shagbark hickory. A pause there to survey and his rounds would be complete. He then could walk across the lawn to the front porch and lie down on the patch of worn red carpet at the south side of the front door. His Spot. There he could rest comfortably and still survey the lawn, the driveway, the road, and view all the comings and goings, and passersby. If cars passing slowed down, they were barked at. Cars that pulled into the driveway were monitored by sight, sound, and smell. More by sound now. If the car belonged—family or known friends—he could relax. If strangers or certain undesirables, he leaped from his couch, barking ferociously, teeth bared, until someone from in the house advised him of disposition. The leaping had become little more than a painful lurch now, the bark a forced bravado, the voice at the door a welcome relief. At the shagbark he paused, his gaze sweeping from the road at the right, across the lawn, the outbuildings beyond the lawn, to the house at the far left, and 54 to His Spot by the door. He stiffened and snorted softly, ears quivering. Other Dog lay on his pad. They had brought him in a couple of years ago, a spoiled, disrespectful pup, some fancy breed, an unnecessary intrusion into a stable, highly satisfactory environment. King cooly ignored him at first, but when it became apparent that the whelp was there to stay, he tolerantly taught him the routine—the perimeter rounds, the up and down the road visits, and especially monitoring the cars. At first Other Dog responded well, faithfully following King in all the duties, a good student. But soon he separated himself from King, accompanying him only when he chose to. He delighted in barking at all cars passing by, indiscriminately chasing them up or down the road. Then there was the matter of His Spot. That day when King returned from a visit down the road and found Other Dog lying on His Spot, King had charged across the lawn, roaring his big dog best. The frightened Other Dog leaped up and ran, but King caught him, bowled him over on his back and straddled the terrified pup, hair bristling fiercely, his growl rumbling like thunder, teeth flashing, saliva dripping onto Other Dog's face. Carefully, slowly, King backed off, letting him up. The trembling pup slowly got to his feet, never taking his eyes off King, and slunk away toward the outbuildings . Other Dog had not dared profane His Spot again. Until recently. The first time, when he saw King out on the road, he quickly rose and scrambled away, around the house, out of sight. Each other time, though, he waited longer, left more slowly. The last time, King stalked up to him, pushed his shaggy head into Other Dog's face and growled a low growl, before Other Dog laboriously rose and ambled away a short distance, and lay down in the grass, glaring back as King repossessed His Spot. King stood by the shagbark hickory, gazing across the lawn to the house, to His Spot. Other Dog lifted his chin from his paws and gazed back at King. King watched a long time. Then slowly he walked across the lawn, watching Other Dog, who lay comfortably still, watching King. King stepped up on the porch and stopped directly in front of him. From Other Dog, glaring at King, emanated a very low growl, almost a cat purr, immediately drowned out by the buzz of a car coming up the hill. King, out of habit, glanced back toward the road, then looked back at Other Dog. Suddenly King whirled around, dashing out toward the road, barking ferociously. Other Dog instantly leaped forward, hurtled past King toward the road, barking even more ferociously. King stopped, turned back, trotted...