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DOCUMENTS


The Tentacle


October 26, 2012

North Marketís New Dog

Roy Meachum

A Weimaraner lives in Pushkin’s domain. The English pointer went to eternal sleep two weeks ago. Although no dog can replace the English pointer, Goethe makes the house with North Market’s yellow door less empty.

 

Pushkin came to live with me at 12 weeks. Goethe is six years old and upholds the Weimaraner proud reputation, being extremely intelligent and very energetic. He never meets a toy that he doesn’t want. The English pointer would give a sniff and move on. Not accustomed to walking on a leash, he “floored” me on the sidewalk three times this week.

 

Goethe is strange to downtown streets. He finds fascinating the shops’ entries. The owners who give him treats are life-long buddies. His curiosity cannot be imagined. He loves a car with a door opened; the leash pulls him back. It’s not a trick I admire.

 

The Gray Ghost’s weight hovers around 95 pounds, the D.C. Weimaraner Rescue told me. Retired from the Manassas police department, Karin Bakker lives outside Front Royal, VA. Far up a paved country road that climbs into the Blue Ridge foothills, the former cop relishes the empty spaces. The traffic noises cannot reach her and the hyper-sensitive ears of her charges: she boarded seven Weimaraners last weekend, including Goethe who was christened Ranger then. I changed that the day before Diane Folliet drove me through Virginia.

 

Last Thursday, before the Folliets, mother and daughter, took me to birthday dinner at Volt’s, a block from my home. While dining, my French granddaughter offered drive her car to pick up the Weimaraner, which I had reserved on the telephone. A recent graduate from Corcoran Arts College in design, she had no work that Saturday.

 

At 10 in the morning, Diane and I set off for the Weimaraner adventure. Her sport car has a locater, which my 23-year-old Mercedes does not. She rolled up to Karin’s about noon. Our trio had lunch. Then back to her house for the necessary paperwork. Shortly, we were tooling to Frederick – with Goethe fidgeting on the back seat. By the time we arrived on North Market Street, he had climbed into the station wagon’s back; the rear-most seats were covered.

 

Diane accompanied us for first Goethe’s walk downtown. He turned out very friendly and wild. She departed for the Folliet house in Bethesda and we’ve been mostly alone since. Unlike Pushkin in his final years, Goethe jumped on the bed; we sleep together. The Weimaraner makes nights less empty, but more hectic.

 

Son Roy is expected back in 10 days; he was the most loving of all Pushkin’s friends. He knows about Goethe. When he was a wee child, a Weimaraner came out of Baltimore County to live with the Meachum family, in College Park. His Indiana mother grew up in dog-less ambiance. The third time Anschluss jumped a fence, I had to call my friend; that Gray Ghost lived out his life back in the county.

 

To anyone who reads this column be warned, Goethe is extremely friendly; he bites no one. But he jumps upon people. The first moment in the low hills that crescendos into the Blue Ridge Mountains, he vaulted onto my chest.

 

On North Market, things cannot be laid-back, as when Pushkin ruled this roost; men, women, children and dogs be warned. Goethe has different ways than the English pointer.

 

But still very friendly.

 



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