Things were winding down Monday night when Reno started barking loudly at the corner of the bedroom.
This was clearly a “Hey!Something’s over here” kind of bark, and he kept barking loudly and often.
The only problem was that we couldn’t see anything worrisome. At all. A sack, some books on a shelf, a plant. That was it.
The other dogs couldn’t see or smell anything, apparently, and Monroe gave Reno a “cool it, dude” nudge in the ribs, but he kept barking.
Reno, you may recall, is the puppy who was dumped at our house at the end of February.
We let him stay and he has carved his own spot in the family. He’s seven months old now and looks a lot like what they used to call a farm collie.
I often ask him how Timmy’s doing, but he rarely laughs.
He’s probably 45 or 50 pounds, far less than the 90 or so that the Internet formula had predicted based on his weight at two months. For this, I am grateful.
And he is a champion barker. He tossed out probably 800 full-throated barks Monday before Kindra realized what was afoot.
Inside the sack was a plaster garden gnome about nine inches tall.
Reno apparently peeked inside the sack, saw the gnome and immediately realized something was terribly, fearsomely wrong. Who is this tiny person, why is he wearing such an expression and why is he hiding in that sack?
Kindra took the gnome out of the sack and sat down so Reno could sniff it, but he wasn’t interested. He ran in a tight circle, under the chair and behind Kindra, barking like banshees were after him.
After some time, he stood behind Kindra and stuck his nose out far enough to sniff the gnome’s back, but he ducked for cover when she turned its face toward him.
He could not be persuaded that the gnome was harmless and he kept the barking and defensive posturing until Kindra put it in a different room.
Finally, we got to go to bed, and we slept soundly with the knowledge that Reno was on guard in case a band of gnomes tried to break into the house.