The Garage

My car's battery died unexpectedly and inconveniently yesterday while I was on campus.  The ice hockey coach had jumper cables, though, and although it took some maneuvering to get his truck in a place where he could reach my battery, we started her up.  I drove to my garage to get a new battery. 

My dog was in the backseat and jumped out delightedly when we got to the garage.  She roamed around through the weeds behind the Saabs and Volkswagens and ate some of the long grass.  I wish I had a word for her lumpy hop, her front legs smooth and quick and her back leg loping along behind, with an up-and-down motion that's different from a dog with two back legs.  She came in to the garage with me and we discovered a young beagle who started baying at all of us, excited as could be.  He was tied in a back office, and around him were shredded cardboard auto part boxes and discarded bones.  He nearly pulled one of the file cabinets down trying to jump up on me.  We all got acquainted, and the head mechanic decided the beagle was too excited to stay in the building.  I volunteered to bring my dog back outside but he wouldn't hear of it, and dragged the beagle out to the back. 

Belle wandered in and out of the office and the back doors of the garage.  Do all mechanics love dogs, or is it just these guys.  They bent over her, rubbing her ears and back while she wagged at them and steadily licked their forearms.  "Oh, missing a leg and an eye both?  Do you call her Lucky?" they called to me.  "C'mere, Lucky, ain't you a good dog?"  I sat talking to the garage owner, about batteries and transmissions, about fuel prices and American foreign policy, about bear hunting and vacations, about dogs.  Belle wandered back in and sat panting at me.  The garage owner filled up a styrofoam dish with water, and she lapped it up, spilling some of it on the floor.  She lay down on the tiles behind the counter, at the feet of the garage owner.  I sat on the sofa, reading the paper. 

A man came to the door and Belle bristled and began barking at the intruder.  She got off the floor and stood about four feet from the door, her hair up in the funny mohawk she gets when she's trying to look brave and threatening.  She barked steadily, her tail wagging.  An older man with a grey beard came in and crouched down and she started licking his forearm, her hair still up.  "There's a good dog, aren't you?"  He delivered some car parts and left.  A few minutes later a customer came in and again my dog barked as though she owned the place and the customer was there to slit our throats.  Again the customer patted her and she leaned into his legs, wagging and looking up at him with adoration.  A mechanic came through and found a dog treat for her.  She settled back down near the front counter, near to the garage owner but where she could keep an eye on the door. 

When we left they said goodbye to me but two guys came out and ruffled her fur and patted her head.  "See you later, Lucky."  She trotted ahead of me and jumped up into the backseat, ready for the next destination. 

Comments

[Kelly]

Sherry-

We're looking for a good garage in Portland. Which one do you go to? I take it you like them - have you tried several?

Thanks!

Kelly

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