Brillo’s Come As You Are Party

Now that the weather’s turned cold, Ms. Rachow likes her coffee hot and her sleepwear cozy.

The sun is barely up on this chilly day, and I’ve just poured a cup of Peet’s French roast, when I hear bark, bark, bark, bark, bark…
This is not a sound anyone enjoys with morning coffee. For me it usually means my Jack Russells have dreamed up yet another stunt to prove their terrier natures. I steel myself to the fact my caffeine fix must wait.
However, I look around and see all my dogs ensconced in a heap on the sofa. Apparently, they’ve not had their morning coffee, either, and they’re putting their paws over their ears until a more decent hour.
“What’s wrong? Have you guys turned into beauty parlor dogs?”
The barking outside is now frantic. And this is definitely a terrier bark. I know the sound. It’s a dog calling for help. And if a terrier is calling, I must go. I take one little sip of my coffee and then head out the back door to see what I can do.
The first thing I realize is that the neighbor’s new terrier, Brillo, is doing the barking. It also occurs to me I’m wearing the baggy sweatpants I slept in. I start to count the hours since my tousled hair has seen a comb, but I cancel that calculation as soon as I see the neighbor girl on the other side of the fence, back where the hedge grows thick and wild.
She’s also in the outfit she slept in, and her pale hair’s a jumble of tresses and twigs. This is a look that’s considerably more charming on a ten-year-old than on a middle-aged woman like me.
But there’s no time to worry about fashion and grooming. Brillo’s after a rat, and the girl’s after Brillo.
“Shall I come over?” I shout.
It’s times like this I wish we had a gate between our yards, because, at my age, leaping a fence is more fantasy than possibility. Luckily, adrenaline’s erased my good sense, and up and over I go. I hear fabric rip, but it’s nothing that won’t make a good rag at day’s end.
The girl and I go to work bending the bushes to get to Brillo and his rat. About then the mom and the younger sister come outside. They’re still in their nighttime clothes, too, and they have mussed blond hair and sleepy eyes. To heck with proper attire, I think. This is definitely a come-as-you-are party.
“What’s happening?” the mom asks.
For a moment I worry that I’ll be in trouble for fence jumping and shrubbery shredding.
“I think Brillo has some kind of animal cornered,” I say. I avoid the word “rat” because I know a lot of people don’t like to think that our south coast suburbia is a perfect haven for all kinds of wild creatures, including the ones with long skinny tails.
But the neighbor mom is not squeamish, and she’s happy to have help extracting Brillo from the brush. He barks with great gusto and seems to be welcoming us and taking it for granted we’ve all come to help exterminate that naughty rodent. “About time you got here,” he barks.
Having lived for years with Jack Russells, I know they’re born believing a terrier’s highest purpose is the assassination of vermin. Brillo’s a wire-haired Border terrier mix, and he indeed resembles a Brillo pad. Today he proves he’s pure terrier.
For a while it seems we’ll have no chance to penetrate the dense shrubs to nab this fearless hunter. But as we tear at the twigs, we manage to dislodge the rat. It scurries, and Brillo follows. The mom grabs his collar and scoops him into her arms. “What a face!” she says.
Brillo grins from ear to wiry ear. There’s never been a dog more pleased with himself.
This may be the first time he’s escaped his manicured yard to hunt. “It won’t be the last,” I assure my neighbors.
Brillo’s panting hard, but he’ll be ready in twenty minutes for his day job -- walking his girls to school.
As I head home, the sun shines bright, and it’s a beautiful day. My dogs are awake now, complaining bitterly that I went on an adventure without them.
My coffee’s gone cold, but I feel the warmth that comes from helping neighbors and a dog. And, in so doing, I’ve discovered the array of ridiculous sweatpants we girls all sleep in once the winter chill is in the air.
First published in the Montecito Journal November 29, 2007