Memphians Again: The Cordray Doodle Dog Days to Continue

Blooming Again Where We Have Been Planted

I am jolted awake by the sharp yip of an elderly dog who can't hold her water, and the head flap and leap out from under the covers of the other elderly dog, who never misses the chance for a moonlight stroll. My glasses fog up as we venture out into the steamy night air. The sound of birds chirping joins the click and clack of the railcars shuffling off in the distance. The smell of wet grass from late-night sprinklers that drench lawns mowed twice a week is added to the sometimes palpable dampness carried on the wind from the river as it flows past. Or the sewage plant vapors north of here, but that has been a rare occurrence. Even the lightning bugs are sleeping at this hour. The dogs do their thing and we head inside, but I am up for the day. I sit on the floor on the patio listening to the day come to life and scratch my mosquito bites. A stray palmetto bug skitters across the cement and I jump up, aggravated and not willing to share my perch.

It's pushing 5 a.m. when all must rise, but not pushing too hard, maybe 20 more minutes until Dan’s phone alarm chick hollers wake up, Sunshine. I more or less despise that lady. More, not less. Libby is pot-pied under blankets on the couch, enjoying the resleep but keeping one eye on where I am and what I am doing. Layla is laying in the bedroom doorway as she always does, so she can geolocate Dan. Neither are allowed out on the patio in the wee hours lest they develop a craving for the ambiance of the joys of nighttime on the patio. There is enough let me out howling that happens in daylight hours to open that can of worms. Besides, it is mine to savor, silently, phoneless, one blind open so I can peek through the glass panes on the door and make sure all of my birdies are in their nests and snoozing. I also geolocate.

I hear a door close somewhere nearby and then footsteps. The creature's massive furry head parts the hydrangea bushes on the other side of my sittin' spot.

A doodle dog. Of COURSE it is a doodle dog. On our first day in Memphis I saw two doodles who appeared to reside in our apartment building. I thought at first I was seeing the same doodle, but one was golden and one was beige. Wow! Two in the same building! I took note of which doodle dog dad belonged to which doodle dog and went about my business.

Unloading the van, I saw a doodle dog mom walking a clearly very different two-color doodle dog. The same day, the mom of a tri-colored doodle dog waited on the curb for OUR dogs to doodle before stepping across the street to the all-dog doodle drop area.

Another day, we took a ride along the river just as the sun was setting, to get our bearings. As we left the island through the traffic circle I glanced to the right and saw a humongous brown doodle dog, tongue flapping in the breeze, hanging out the back window of a car. I rubbed my eyes, astounded, as a young couple walked yet another doodle dog along the river walk just ahead.

We are aware of at least 4, maybe 5, doodle dog residents who live in our end of the apartment complex. It seems like we have seen them on every corner as we explore Memphis. I have never in my life seen so many members of the same breed living in one area.

Two of the resident doodles don’t care for the leash, so I have been nearly bowled over by a leashless doodle who pounced upon my back like Tigger on Pooh. Every head turned on the pickle ball court as I hollered at the doodle dog dad to leash his dang dog (or maybe something a bit stronger).

When I looked out across the empty parking lot this morning and saw that dastardly doodle dog daddy and his leaping curly haired dog-horse, I cringed. Many residents have left for the summer and the dog walk has been a breeze. Of COURSE there are still doodles. Please don’t get me wrong, I am not against the breed. They are cute and cuddly and deserve love, praise, adoration, and everything good. Doodle dogs will always be the Memphis mascot to us, I guess. They represent a mixie breed, just like Dan and I do, living partially stationary and partially on on the road. It’s just uncanny how many there are in this part of the country.

Which leads me away from all of this doodle dog distraction. I couldn’t help myself. I had to put those doodles somewhere, since they are everywhere.

For those who have followed our travels and recent announcements, we will share that Dan’s contract was solidly jiggled and finally finalized, one day before we would have needed to give 30 day notice on this apartment and start the double-quick pack and stack to exit this temporary abode. We have no contract end date and are still waiting on papers for Dan to sign, but we are IN, it seems. Dozens more doodles are certainly in our future, plus a cool, comfy place to ride out the heat of the summer and shop for our next chariot. We are again so profoundly grateful for the extension of this opportunity and look forward to enjoying every minute of it. Thank you, Great Spirit!

I will tell you something that you already know full well. We Cordrays miss the yondering boondocking life, the free-to-see-and-flee life, but we are building a strong foundation by staying put. We are proud of how far we have come by sitting still! I do finally feel like our ducks are lining up with this recent contract agreement, so I can settle in and get back to my creative projects. While walking the dogs this morning, Grandmother Spider (she was a hefty lass) landed on my hand. Spider, the keeper of the knowledge of the primordial alphabet. Charlotte drew from this wisdom when she helped Wilbur with her words. Creativity, the power of the written word, woven around those who would love to read them. Yes! It’s ON.

Bwaaahh haaaa haaaa, welcome to my wordy web.

If you can’t be square, be geometric. You are bound to fit somewhere.

Brenda Cordray

The Desert Rose