Chapter 3- "Fire Escape Fun"

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Soon enough the time to move was at hand. Everything I owned except for a few pieces of furniture fit into my car and was able to go in one trip. That's the joy of being nineteen, I guess. Life is pretty simple.

I'd made arrangements to rent the efficiency apartment above a seven bedroom house, until the remodeling was done on the main floors. Then, I planned to share the house with some friends I'd met at college. The rent was dirt cheap, maybe because of the awful neighborhood: drugs and gunshots and break-ins. I didn't care, though. There were going to be enough of us, and with varied enough schedules that someone would almost always be there. Two of the guys had a lot of martial arts training, one was ex-military. All of us were fairly streetwise. It wasn't a good plan... but it was my plan. And I had no intention of giving up my dog again!

I settled in, and went to fetch Riff from the boarding kennel. Although the efficiency apartment was awfully tiny, it was just going to be for a few weeks, and then we'd have the whole big house. There was a huge park across the street for exercise, and my schedule was such I was guaranteed to be at home several times a day.  Not an ideal situation, but workable.

Once I got him home, we went for a jaunt through the cold park and down to the gas station for some Dr. Pepper. When we were done, he followed me up the steep, narrow, metal fire escape with only the barest of hesitation. I showed him where to lie down, his bowls and toys, and started to make some lunch. After a few minutes of exploring the apartment (there wasn't much apartment to explore) he settled down in the kitchen doorway to watch me cook.

About a half hour later, "Big T" showed up. He was one of my friends that would be a roomie once the main floors of the house were ready. T. was a large, imposing guy a few years older than me. Ex-military, with a big voice and a crew cut. Kind of like a surrogate brother, gruff but kind- with a wicked sense of humor. He'd planned to check in and see how I was doing, and see the new dog I was raving about. Riff went on alert the second T. started up the fire escape- and barked thunderously at his knock on the door. But as soon as T was through the door and it was clear I knew him, Riff was all smiles and wagging tail.

T. voiced his approval of his watchdog abilities and marveled at his sheer height. "That bark'd scare off anyone looking for trouble... coked up or not!" he pronounced. He'd never seen a borzoi and asked a bunch of questions about thier training and how they were different from other dogs. He roughed up Riff's ears and shoved him around a bit to encourage him to play. Riff stomped and snorted and lashed his tail. They seemed to hit it off real well- but I'd expected they might. T. was as much of a dog person as I was, even down to preferring the larger breeds, like me.

We hung out a bit. Had a snack and some tea. Just like always, except for the new apartment and dog. I was so pleased to be finally out on my own!

Soon, Riff went to the door and stared purposefully at the doorknob. "Well," said T., "at least you know for sure he's housebroke!"

I agreed. Housebroke and willing to tell you about it is always a bonus!

I grabbed my sweater and leash. T. grabbed his smokes. Leash on, and Riff trailing behind, I stepped out the door onto the fire escape, three stories up. T. shut the door behind him.

I started to head down the steep, narrow steps, but on the fourth step down the leash went taut. Riff hadn't budged; he was still standing at the top of the stairs, legs locked. The poor dog had completely frozen in place and trembling. T. chuckled... "I think your big bad watch dog is scared of heights."

Calmly and gently, I encouraged Riff to follow me, while T. tried to supress his obvious amusement. The poor dog simply could not budge- and after about ten minutes we were still there. I could see why. When I looked down from his angle, I could see straight down the three story drop to the ground through the grating holes through the steps. That was truly unnerving!

"We're in big trouble here..." I muttered out loud. That got T. started laughing all over again.

I started thinking through my options. There weren't many. The landlord was planning to come over later that afternoon to do some work in the in the big kitchen on the main floor. If he were there he could just open up the interior door and let us through the main part of the house. I was sure that would work. Riff seemed much less concerned by the heights in general than he did by the open stairs. The only flaw with this plan was that the landlord wasn't expected for several more hours. Riff needed to go NOW. We'd have to figure something else out.

T. lit a cigarette and lounged against the railing. "Let's go in for a minute and give him time to calm down. I have an idea."

Any idea sounded good to me. I was so stumped I didn't even complain about his smoking in the kitchen. The three of us went back inside. Riff headed right to the water bowl and had a long drink. "Oh, that's gonna help," I muttered sarcastically as I watched the dog lap down lots of water. Envisioning what the big drink would do to Riff's bladder after a few more minutes, I pressed T. for his solution. "So what's your idea?" I urged.

"Let me finish my cigarette," he answered, as he puffed nonchalantly away, "and I'll carry him down."

With a frown, I tried to visualize this. Turned sideways, Riff was wider than the stairway. His head would be hanging out into space. And the steps were very steep and narrow. "I don't think that's gonna work," I glanced over at Riff, who'd gone back to standing by the door again. "He's awfully big."

"He'll be fine. We'll get the key from the landlord when he comes and you can just take him through the house next time."

I called Riff over to me, running my hands down the sides of his wedge shaped head, stroking his ears flat against his skull. He looked up at me as if trying to figure out what I was thinking. "T's gonna carry you down the stairs," I told him. "I'll go first in case he has trouble."

The dog looked gravely into my eyes, without a trace of his usual cheerful bravado. His eyebrows wiggled expressively as he glanced from T. to me, and back again. He seemed worried. "It'll be ok," I insisted. "Just hold still and let T. do the work."

"Enough pep talk." T. put out his cigarette an cracked his knuckles purposefully. "Let's do it."

We left Riff's leash on and I took the very end in my hand. With a grunt of exertion, T. picked him up, carrying the lanky seventy-pound dog like a newborn colt. They were situated with Riff's head facing outward so he wouldn't hit it on the building. I opened the door and slipped out ahead of T. onto the fire escape. I went three steps down the stairs, as far as the leash would let me go. T. followed, carrying his trembling burden.

"Let's hope he doesn't squirm," T. said, as he hesitated at the top. "If I lose my grip on him, he'll fall on you."

I looked up at them. Aside from the trembling, Riff was surprisingly calm. He flopped his cheeks, exhaling deeply, and held very, very still. "Him, I can catch!" I retorted. "But if you fall, we're ALL goners!"

T. laughed out loud, and Riff let out a low, anxious whine. "Here we come. Get ready."

The white-knuckle trip down the three stories of stairs seemed to take three years. The instant they reached the bottom and T. set him down, Riff celebrated by hiking his leg and marking the corner of the house. He was still whizzing as the landlord pulled up. T. and I took one look at the portly middle-aged man getting out of his car- four hours early, and still five minutes too late- and broke into gales of laughter. Riff just kept peeing.


The next story will be available Wed, July 14th, 2010!

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