Massive Mastiff

A silver-and-tan mastiff confidently stands on the edge of a tall brick fence, emerging with curiosity from a lush green bush.

New York City is a dog's world.

Every year, Foxy and Meatball meet new friends one day and say unknowing goodbyes the next. Some days, they have their pals to sniff and share a tail wag, or on another day, bare teeth and growl at those fellow pooches who give them an overzealous side-eye, making them today's enemy.

Foxy and Meatball often look for their neighbor, Duke, a wiry, silvery-brown, short-haired fellow, weighing in at around fifteen pounds. Duke and his dad are bachelors, living nearby enough that they can sniff each other's messages fairly regularly. Tails wag fiercely, wide-open mouths, and guttural sounds reverberate off the brick and stones when they spot each other. On lucky days, all are going in the same direction, and the three friends get together to bounce along, peeing on whatever is and isn't nailed down.

Nearby, one entrance to the park features a giant cement area with a bandshell, benches, and an elaborate, winding staircase stretching high to the street above. The other entrance cautiously reveals a gently winding path decked with flowers, various old and young trees, crows, and squirrels.

With springs in their steps, Foxy and Meatball swivel their heads side to side. Who would show up today? Midway through the winding path appears Bogus, a tan and biscuit-patched rescue, who does his usual snobby bark, immediately sitting down when checked. Sulking, he swings his head this way and that, awaiting his walk command. Sister Sweetling's brown little body waddles around the grass a bit with Daddy, completely uninterested in all the action, a giant ho-hum escaping her big brown eyes. Boys.

Foxy and Meatball bound over with tails unfurled and whipping, Mommy panting behind. Quivering noses approach hind quarters, ears, and eyes. The commotion subsiding, all the dogs sigh heroically. Every so often, cheese is proffered along with a head pat. Foxy, looking at Meatball, glances sideways. This could be more fun if they could just move along! Who else might be in the park today?

One side of the winding path had a severe upward slope, partially supported by a brick wall at one end and gigantic boulders at the other. Summertime offered a particularly wild lushness, with wildflowers and young trees springing up around the decades-old ones. Sometimes, Foxy and Meatball would walk along that tricky and overgrown part, looking down at the path now far below.

Leaving Bogus and Sweetling behind, Foxy and Meatball raise their muzzles. A very different scent sparkles through the trees, infiltrating their nostrils. They gaze back and forth at each other, looking up from the path to the slope. They catch a blaze of short, silvery-taupe fur slithering and rustling amongst the leaves.

Could it be that giant, tan, stalking dog-like creature with antlers from a while back, with a pair of soft brown eyes, and little critters attacking its fur? It appeared right up there, just like now. Foxy had to go on special medicine for sudden aches in his legs, although Meatball felt fine. They had heard their Mommy saying something about a land far away called "New Jersey" and "deers swimming across the river bringing ticks."

Foxy and Meatball stare up into the woods, mouths open, teeth showing, tongues curling. Low growls arrive trapped in their throats. A face as big as Duke's whole body emerges from the bushes. Two hundred pounds lands solidly, chest rippling, standing on the edge of the brick wall. A massive Mastiff. Quickly, a slight, spry Mommy in athletic gear appears, commanding Mastiff to stay, knowing he could easily jump down to where Foxy and Meatball stand, gobbling them up in a second.

Once within reach, the Massive Mastiff's Mommy commands him to come. He sharply spins around, charging through the plant life like one solid-moving pack of Foxy's and Meatball's. Just like that, Massive has vanished. In the distance, branches can be heard crunching and snapping under his exuberance.

Foxy and Meatball shake demurely, huffing. Definitely, not from around these parts.

On their way home, they look around for Duke. What a story to tell! They sniff and sniff, catching the air as they prance their way closer. No fresh smells of Duke anywhere. At one of Duke's messaging stations, Foxy and Meatball try to pee out as many details as they can. Foxy tries, two drops landing. Meatball pants and shakes his leg. Finally, Foxy touches Meatball's nose. Meatball huffles. Mommy looks down at them.

"Good boys! Let's go home."

© Andrea González, January 2025