Norman's Neighborhood

Twenty-three

One spacious room in Paul de Laurentiis' house had been made into a fully outfitted art studio, but he had sketch pads and pencils throughout the house. Now, he sat cross-legged on the plush carpet of the living room floor with a pad in his lap, pencil busy shading in the lightest grays of the big dog's wavy coat.

Paul had insisted that the canine guest should stay with him. The Penrose family, he reasoned, had a houseful already - with three little girls, three cats (one with a litter of young kittens), and a golden retriever. What he didn't express to them was that he was looking forward to the animal's company. His own elderly bullmastiff had died recently, and he hadn't felt ready for a new dog yet. Maybe it was time. He hoped to restore this temporary vagabond to his own people - who were surely missing their beloved pet - and then he would decide.

"Bzzztt-bzzztt!" Paul's cell phone vibrated against the glass top of the nearby coffee table. The dog's ears pricked up fractionally, and he opened one eye. Paul leaned forward to see who was calling. "Bzzztt-bzzztt!" it went again. Sylvia Messenger, his cousin. He ignored the call; she would undoubtedly leave a message, and then she would text.

"Ding!" went the message notification. The dog's ears moved ever so slightly, but this time his eyes remained closed. A minute later, "Aa-ooh-gah" announced a text. No movement from the dozing animal this time. Paul smiled wryly. His visitor hadn't even met Sylvia, and already had learned to ignore her... Really, Paul got along well with his cousin. She had his best interests in mind, but her persistent efforts made her something of a pest.

The sketch was complete. Paul held it at arm's length and studied it critically. He pulled off his glasses and examined it again. Yes, he could use it. Realizing he would need other angles, and that the dog wouldn't be here indefinitely, he carefully got up and reached for his phone. Putting it in camera mode, he tiptoed in a circle around the unwary animal.

The dog slept on. Paul's stomach grumbled, and he realized it was getting late. Rummaging in his ample pantry, Paul discovered that there were two cans of dog food. If his guest woke, he would open a can. Meanwhile, he would use his moderate cooking skills to fix himself a simple supper. He grabbed a can of tomato sauce from the pantry and a package of meatballs from the freezer.

Norman's nose twitched, and a thin trail of saliva trickled to the front of his mouth. He smacked his lips and heaved a deep sigh - thus breathing in more of the alluring aroma - and abruptly woke up. Disoriented, he lay looking around the empty room. Where was he? Once again, he found himself in unfamiliar yet welcoming surroundings. He pushed himself upright, stood a bit unsteadily, and followed his nose.

He recognized the blond man who had offered a hand in friendship. The man was just sitting down at the table, where a steaming dish emitted a most appetizing fragrance. Norman drooled a bit.
"Oh, hello there - you're awake! Hungry?" Norman allowed a barely audible whimper to escape, then opened his mouth in a massive yawn. Slapping his jaws back together with a "Flup!", he looked up at his new friend and whined inquiringly, "Rrrr?"

The man started to get up, then chuckled softly and told Norman,
"I was planning to serve you dog food - but I won't tell if you don't!" Reaching for a small plate from a nearby shelf, he put two of the meatballs on it and set it on the floor. Norman sniffed cautiously at the sauce, then licked hesitantly. He didn't understand why something perfectly good was coated with that odd-tasting stuff, but he would get rid of it and enjoy the tasty meatballs!

Paul watched in amusement as the canine carefully cleaned the tomato sauce - which Paul thought had turned out quite well - off the understandably preferable meat. Working his way clockwise around the plate, the sizable animal pressed himself against the chair legs as he licked. At last, satisfied that he had disposed of the sauce, the dog sniffed the meatballs and picked up one of them. He gulped it down, waving his tail enthusiastically, and went back for the other one.

Paul realized that he'd gotten sidetracked from his own meal while watching the dog. He forked a meatball, swished it through the puddle of tomato sauce, and popped it into his mouth. It was lukewarm. 
"It's my own fault," he remarked to the watchful animal as he got up to warm the plate of food in the microwave.

"Let's see what Sylvia had to say," Paul suggested to his hairy houseguest as he returned to the table with his warmed plate of food. "I'm guessing it's something about my lack of mingling with people." He sat down and tapped "Play".
"Hey, cousin!" Sylvia's bright, cheerful voice came through the speaker. "We're having some people over next Saturday, and I want you to come. You need to get out and socialize once in a while! Call me back - 'Bye!"
"See?" Paul informed the indifferent dog. "She means well, but I'm not excited about the idea of spending Saturday afternoon with a group of people I don't know."

The dog, who was gazing at Paul's plate, shifted his haunches and licked his chops.
"Oh - you want more, huh?" There was one meatball remaining; Paul tilted his plate so that the tasty morsel slid onto the smaller dish on the floor. Before he finished scooping up the sauce left on his plate, the last meatball had disappeared.

**********

"Thanks for the report, Kathy. 'Bye!" Dena slipped her phone into a pocket and went in search of her husband.
She found him in the garage.
"Well, Kathy's tracked more of Norman's route!" she announced from the doorway. Mike looked up from his search through a box of miscellaneous hardware.
"And...?" he inquired.
"You know the Greek place, where Mom ordered the food from yesterday? He was probably there while we were eating!" She repeated the account Sam Ganas had given Kathy.

Mike raised his eyebrows and responded,
"Wow! Norman's a hero, hmm? I didn't know he had it in him. But we still don't know where he is now."
"Yeah..." Dena mused, "He seems to be making an impression on all these people he's meeting. I'd like to meet them too - maybe not the man with the naughty dachshund, though!"
"We don't even know who he is," Mike reminded her, "so you're probably safe there."
Dena sighed, "I miss Norman!"