I’ll be Dogged

My lovely wife, Grace, gave me her “down and up” glance — the one where she lowers her eyebrows as she inspects what I am wearing, starting with my shirt, then proceeding down to the shoes, and then back up. It is her way of asking, “You’re not going to wear that, are you?”

 

“He said it was casual,” I pleaded, sensing she must have found fault with my cargo pants, sandals, or both.

 

We, and my Aunt Toogie, were invited for a “casual dinner” at the downtown Charleston home of Toogie’s gentleman friend, Brevard. Although there was the prospect of a free meal, I was not looking forward to being with his nibs on his home turf.  

 

“That may be your version of casual,” Grace declared, “but it will never pass muster South of Broad.”

 

Knowing not to debate fashion with Grace, I changed into slacks, a long-sleeve shirt, and loafers. My new and improved version of “casual” was still something from the sticks when Brevard opened the front door of his home to greet us. He wore white buck shoes, red and white striped seersucker trousers, a white silk shirt, and a royal blue double-breasted linen jacket. I thought that, if you tipped him on his side, he looked a little like an American flag, but Grace and Toogie cooed over how fashionably he was attired. As he directed us into the parlor, I did notice him giving me the “down and up” glance.

 

Brevard motioned for us to be seated and announced he would be right back from the kitchen with “aperitifs and nibbles.” After he departed, Toogie whispered, “Dalton never fixes us aperitifs and nibbles.” Grace smiled and patted my arm. Brevard returned with a tray of drinks and snacks. The beverages, he said, were a “little something” he concocted using Citroen vodka, white peach liqueur, a splash of soda, with an orange twist and rosemary sprig. I thought it was a far cry from a Perfect Manhattan, but Toogie and Grace gushed over how ingenious and refreshing it was. 

 

This praise set Brevard into motion describing and offering the “nibbles.” There were crudités with chili-lime dip and deviled quail eggs. But the pièce de résistance was the pâté. He explained it was a venison pâté made for him by a well-known local chef, but he liked to enhance it with a smear of orange-fig spread and crushed pistachios. “My additions give it a certain je ne sais quoi,” he waxed. Grace and Toogie ate it up — both the nibbles and the performance by Brevard. 

 

Then he slipped up, at least I thought so at the time, when he added, “I harvest the venison at my hunting preserve near Georgetown.” I knew the word harvest meant he shot Bambi’s mother or father and was eager to see what Grace and Toogie thought of that. So I asked him to tell us more. It seems Brevard’s great-granddaddy bought the place, several thousand acres, over a century ago. It has a stone lodge that sleeps eight comfortably, and several wooden outbuildings for equipment and dogs. He and his buddies go there every fall to hunt quail, turkey, and deer. Grace and Toogie were lapping it up like an episode of grouse hunting on “The Crown.”

 

Finally, Toogie asked, “You mentioned dogs. Do you keep them there?”

 

“Oh, no,” Brevard answered. “I board them with a trainer in Awendaw. We pick them up on our way to Georgetown and drop them off on the way home.”

 

Sensing a new opportunity to trip him up, I asked, “Have you ever lost a dog at your place? I mean with the property over a thousand acres, I’m guessing dogs get lost or are never found, right?” 

 

“Au contraire.” Brevard replied, rose, and added, “Let me get something from the study to show you. Be right back.” 

 

He returned holding a device that looked like, and actually was, a computer tablet. He launched into a tutorial on the electronic tracking system he uses for his dogs.

 

“I have seven foxhounds and we put an electronic collar on each one. Once we let them run,” Brevard explained, “we can track them on this screen using Google Earth. When I want to call them back, I push this button. It sends a vibrating impulse and they are trained to return on that signal.” 

 

Grace and Toogie leaned forward to look at the button and the tablet. “Now this red button,” Brevard continued, “sends a slight electric shock. I use that only if they don’t return on the vibrating signal.”

 

Certain the ladies would now find fault in Brevard’s ways, I was unprepared for the response that followed. Toogie leaned back, smiled, and asked, “Grace, are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

 

“I think so,” Grace chuckled.

 

When neither of them said more, I piped up, “What?”

 

“Well, I was just thinking,” Toogie offered, rubbing her chin. After a pause, she continued, “If we got one of those devices for Dalton, we could sit home and see when he goes near the liquor store.”

 

“Oh, that is delicious,” Brevard whooped, and they were off and running.

 

“Chick-fil-A drive-thru for milkshakes.”

 

“The golf shop.”

 

“What size collar?”

 

“Looks like a 16; maybe 17 and a half.”

 

“Keep him away from Total Wine.”

 

“Hit him with the red button when he tries that!”

 

“Don’t forget Wendy’s.”

 

“Goodbye Frosty.”

 

Now they were all giggling, guffawing, and having a grand old time. The banter finally subsided although the topic resurfaced during dinner with a new round of play-by-play simulating the monitoring of my whereabouts.

 

Later that evening, as we were back home and settling into bed, Grace said, “That was a fun evening. Wonderful food. I hope you don’t mind our little teasing.”

 

“You mean the dog collar thing?” I asked.

 

“Yes, dear. It was all meant in good fun.”

 

I let the sentiment settle in and remarked, “Glad to hear that because I am going to Mount Pleasant tomorrow.”

 

“Oh, what for?” Grace asked.

 

“I’m going to get some plants for the back pots at Abide A While and some furnace filters at Lowes. And,” I added, “just so you know, I’m not going to Total Wine.” 

 

When Grace didn’t respond, I continued, “Nor am I going to the liquor store, Chick-fil-A, the golf shop, or Wendy’s.”

 

Grace turned, smiled, and as she turned off the light, remarked, “Now, that is shocking!”