Three strikes

Time out

It was almost three months to the day that Kato adopted me.

The following is what happened.

Another beautiful morning at the flea market. Looking for something to buy and perhaps turn around for a small profit. Walking up one row; back down another; scanning the tables and occasionally stopping to examine something up close.

Googie Great Horse, some sort of American Indian descendent, is set up at a corner table. Now, if you have never been to an outdoor market, then allow me to briefly fill you in on the set up.

Most fleas, but not all, have the dealer park his or her car, pick-up, van or even truck behind their table or tables. The tables are positioned in a long straight row, back to back. So, if you can picture this, when you set up you'll will have a dealer on your right, one on the left and several to your back.

If you think that this is a little chaotic, you would be correct. Pulling-in in the morning is a major headache. Leaving when you’re finished can be an absolute nightmare.

Back to my story. Googie is set-up on the corner meaning that no dealer is on his right. His tables, he rented two, are catty-corner to one of the co-op buildings. On the back of his pick-up truck is a crate with half a dozen German Shepherd puppies.

"Good morning, Googie. How's business?"

"Hey, Pick. Good, man. Really good. See anything that you can't live without?"

"Not yet. What's with the dogs?"

Picture this: Very early morning, the sun's not quite all the way up. Hundreds of dealers, both men and women, are walking about hunting for the next great treasure. What's garnering the most attention? Dogs! Six German Shepherd puppies.

"My Angel had some pups. Gotta sell them. My old lady won't let me keep 'em. Hey, maybe you'd like one P. What do ya say?"

I step over to the back of the truck and poke my fingers into the cage. One of them, a monster black and tan, begins to lick my fingers. "I'm not in the market. Out of curiosity, how much?"

"A grand."

"Like I said, not in the market." I’m looking at this one pup, I can't believe how big he is. Maybe forty pounds. "Googie, how old are these puppies?"

"Six weeks. That one, the monster licking you, he's forty, forty-five pounds." Just as I thought.

"Do me a favor. Let him out, I want to take a closer look."

My Uncle Moe pops up out of nowhere. "Don't be doing it laddie. That beast gets out of there and it'll be all over."

The old man doesn't know anything. I ignore him. Googie opens the door, wrestles with these hyper active creatures but manages to pull out the monster. The six week old bundle of energy leaps from the tailgate; dashes over to me and jumps up. He presses his front paws into my chest.

This is where it gets interesting. Very quietly I say, "No." Down he jumps; sits and looks up at me expectantly. "Googie, we're going for a walk. Right back."

"No problem, P."

"Come." That's all I say. Go strolling through the market. Dog stays at my left side, quietly, never running off, no barking, nothing. Is that even possible?

Together we circle the entire market. When we return Googie asks, "Well?"

"I'll think on it. Let you know tomorrow. Don't sell him to anyone. Okay?"

"No problem, Pick. For you buddy, anything."

At the restaurant I grab a slice of cherry pie and a mug of coffee. Uncle Moe joins me. "Well, laddie, it looks as though you have a new friend."

"No Uncle. I didn't buy him. Got to think about it."

"Silly, boy. Trust me, it's a done deal."

I walk up the hill to where the Morgan is parked. Sitting in the front seat, with his mouth slightly open and tongue showing is the monster. How did he know which car?

"Come." And he does. We walk back to Googie's table. "What's going on G? I found this beast in my car."

"Not my fault dude. Couple of minutes after you left he takes off like a bat out of hell."

I close my eyes, shake my head and take a moment to think. "TJ will drop off the money in the morning. Come monster."

And that, as they say, was that.