I ran into Coby Smith again, today. I’d just been thinking about something he said and, looking up, there he was on the bench by the old willow, fanning himself with his hat and looking as pleased to see me as I was to see him. Beyond him, down the trail a ways, two women and their dogs had sought relief from the stifling heat in the shade of a big maple. Both dogs were lying flat out in the grass.

As I sat down, Coby donned his hat and put a finger to his lips. “Listen.”

I listened. A single insect buzzed nearby and, behind us, Island Girl was cooling off in the stream. Apart from that, there wasn’t a sound. It was quiet enough I could hear the ringing in my ears, same as that night at Jim’s place in the country.

Breaking the silence, Coby asked if I’d ever been to a high school reunion. I said I had, many years ago. Why? He said he’d been thinking about his, lately, about how little everyone had changed.

“I remember thinking the same thing,” I said.

He laughed. “My old friend, Gordy, described it as an opportunity to relive the experience of having nothing to say to the same group of people he had nothing to say to forty years ago. I was glad he showed up. We had some good laughs, shared a lot of good memories.” 

I was expecting him to go on but he didn’t, and I saw that he was looking at the women and their dogs. A third woman and her dog had just joined them.

“This isn’t the first time I’ve seen that woman shooing her dog away from other dogs' butts.” he said. “Must be very puzzling to the dog, eh, being shooed away like that, like you’re doing something wrong?”

“There’s probably lots we do puzzles dogs.”

He was watching them, still. "Interesting, isn’t it, that whole butt-sniffing business. Like, what’s going on there, anyway? What are they learning about one another?”

“Have you googled it to see what the experts have to say?”

“Matter of fact, I have. A couple of weeks ago.” 

“And?”

“And, just as I expected, there was a whole lot of presumption and speculation, but nobody really knew anything for sure. And how could they? None of them were dogs.”

He’d taken his hat off again and was fanning himself. “A friend of mine,” he said, “had a dog—a Weimaraner, I think—retrieved rocks thrown out into the bay—a rocky-bottomed bay—and brought back the right one every time—could pick up the scent of whoever’d thrown it under water!”

"I know. Their sense of smell is phenomenal, isn’t it. Wouldn’t surprise me at all, with a few sniffs of another dog’s behind, a dog learns more about that other dog than we humans can learn about another human in a week—a month, maybe.”

“Maybe.” He was smiling.

"Tapping into that,” he said, “could revolutionize the entire Human Resources field. I can see it, now—a long line of job applicants filing one-at-a-time past a recruiter who scans each of their butts with an Apple iWand, immediately opening one of two doors—one leading to a bright new future, the other to the parking lot. Think of the savings. Hell, a temp could do the scanning!” 

 

I laughed and asked how he comes up with this stuff.

“Comes with the name,” he said. “When your name’s Coboconk, you can’t go around sounding like a Jim or a Bob. There are expectations."

“I’ve been largely unencumbered by those,” I said. I gestured to Island Girl. “She’s about to bark at me, aren’t you, Girl—about to shout, ‘Come on, let’s go!’ ”

“She’s a beautiful creature.”

“She is, isn’t she.” I got up from the bench. “We’re heading to Sherwood. Join us, why don’t you.”

“Too hot,” he said. “Maybe next time.”