The squirrel knew it was running for its life. The tall Queen palm tree near the curb gave it footing to get out of reach of the German shepherd that jumped and barked and slobbered. From my large front living room window I watched the same show almost every morning. Hanz was held on a taut leash by Mrs. Wallace, weighing not much more than 110 lbs. Sooner or later I feared he would pull free, catch the squirrel, a bird or me. I could picture the joy in its heart when finally his mistress is lying on the sidewalk and he has a victim in his jaws.
When at last I couldn’t take it anymore, I reported to the police (anonymously I believed) the daily noise and danger. What I fool I was. They knew my name, address, phone number before I finished complaining about the neighborhood problem. He told me the Wallaces would have a visit from them the next morning. Sure enough, at 9 a.m. a police car arrived. The furor, the barking began as soon as the officer rang the bell. Mrs. Wallace opened the door and Hanz, without his leash, ran outside, jumped on the officer, knocked him down the two wooden steps and stood there licking his face. His tail was wagging, twisting in circles, ending between his hind legs. I know that damn dog was laughing because he opened his mouth wide and stuck out his long pink tongue. The officer got up and gave Mrs. Wallace a piece of paper and left.
My phone rang. ‘Mrs. Branson? Did you report my sweet Hanzie to the police?’ ‘Why Mrs. Branson, why would I do a thing like that? Just because your dog growls at me, chases the squirrels that live in my palm tree and will surely bite my arm off if I let him come within 10 feet of me. Now why would I report your Frankenstein to the police? I suggest, Mrs. Wallace you buy a strong chain leash instead of the little leather one with the blue ribbon. I also suggest you call the city to request a palm tree in front of your house so Hanzie stops peeing on mine. Goodbye, Mrs. Wallace.’
The next morning the same ruckus started. Two squirrels ran like a whirlwind up and around the tree in circles until they were safe. Hanz scratched and leapt, except this time a palm frond scratched his jaw. From my window I could see blood on his right front paw. He laid down on the sidewalk and wailed pitifully. Mrs. Wallace removed his collar, tossed it on the ground and ran in the house for help. She was back fast with a metal First Aid box. I watched her put iodine on Hanz’ paw, gauze around ½ of his leg. Hanz only turned his head towards the tree, his big brown eyes still searching for the squirrels.
Seemingly from nowhere a magnificent brilliant blue butterfly with golden bands on its wings flew in slow motion and settled on Hanz’ nose. It stayed there even though its wings still fluttered. Hanz opened his mouth, stuck out his big pink tongue. The butterfly was making a friend and sat on the dog’s tongue. Mrs. Wallace gulped, tried to chase away the butterfly but it stayed put. Hans couldn’t hold his mouth open any longer and closed it tight. I couldn’t see Mrs. Wallace face then but it must have turned as green as mine.
Hanz lay still, didn’t shake his head, didn’t even move his hurt paw. After a rest he opened his mouth and there was the butterfly, unharmed. It fluttered its wings, flew out to safety, hovered over Hanz’ head for a minute and disappeared.
In the morning there was Hanz, sitting in the shade of the palm tree, his bandage gone. Two of the family of squirrels were running around the dog, playing games. Hanz watched them constantly, but didn’t bark or chase them.
As I walked into my house I swear I saw that brilliant blue butterfly with the gold stripes sitting on Hanz’ tail.
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