The Luck of Woodrow Romine: A Dog to Whom Things Happen

Woodrow Romine was born in the year of his Lady and Queen, 2020. Like all British before him, he learned how to fetch and poop in the backyard by the age of one despite the persistent distraction from squirrels, whose blood he discovered was the same colour as his black coat.

His master, Lady Deanna, was an American but, like all the well-to-do on this continent, of fine British stock. She and Woodrow lived in Los Angeles, but her family had been in America since 1753 and, to this day, owns half of Alabama, which is like saying one owns half of France. She was a fine owner of property, thought Woodrow, but Woody, as he is affectionately known by his colleagues in the dog park, seldom shared this thought about his stepfather, Matthau O’ Grady, The Skunk of Ireland. A butcher of a man who threw temper-tantrums whenever he was not served barbeque chicken by Lady D. He spanked everyone on the regular, and one night while they slept, Woodrow buried his barbeque sauce, and thus began a set of circumstances one Woodrow Romine would encounter, starting with Trouble.

Matthau insisted Woodrow meet Trouble, his American cousin. They shared a black coat, and that was where the similarities ended. Where Woodrow was slender, Trouble was bulky. Where Woodrow knew Lady D and the Skunk of Ireland as a child, Trouble was plucked from the streets, lived by the rules of the streets, and seldom let Woodrow forget about that, even though Woody sympathized. They had both done time in the pound, but that never prevented Trouble from saying, “Woof, woof.”

“Woof,” said Woodrow, and they were broken up.

Trouble’s masters, Sir Edward and Emily O’Grady, believed Trouble when he said, “Woof,” and everything was pinned on Woodrow. Woodrow’s cause was not helped by the fact that when he and his masters returned home after a rain, Matthau discovered his barbecue sauce had been buried and did not believe Woodrow when he said, “Woof, woof.”

“The goddamn Squirrels did not bury my sauce! Get in the Rav 4!”

Woodrow was sent to an overnight doggie hotel for Lady D, and the Skunk had long planned to visit Alabama. Unbeknownst to Woodrow, he thought he was back in the pound, and remembered what an old-timer had said when Woody was a mere pup, that one could leave the pound, but never again if they returned. You get sent to the room of last barks.

Woodrow was up all night with a pipe that made a noise when you bit it. Above him was another cage occupied by a golden retriever named Staniel. That night, Staniel said, “Woof, woof.”

“Woof?” said Woody.

“Woof, woof.”

“Woof.”

“Woof, woof, woof.”

“Woof, woof.”

“Woof?”

“Woof.”

Staniel was right, their captors were drunk and fornicating, their style, in the dog house. As quickly as Woodrow was caged, he was a free dog on the streets of Los Angeles. Staniel did not mince words on the outside about how they did it and what would now happen.

“Woof, woof.”

“Woof?” asked Woodrow.

“Woof, woof.”

Staniel knew Trouble and had heard via the intricate barking system all dogs participate in, from neighbor to neighbor, what Woodrow had done to Trouble.

“Woof, woof, woof!”

“Woof,” replied Staniel.

It was to be the last time the two would bark at each other.

Mandatory 15 Minute Intermission:

Seldom did a dog walk these streets without getting stopped and asked to see his collar. Fearful of the pound, Woodrow walked with confidence until he happened upon Officer Potsdorff, who asked him where he was going.

“Woof, woof.”

“Eagle Rock?” said Officer Potsdorff. “Why, Eagle Rock is 20 miles north, this is San Pedro.”

“Woof, woof,” said Woodrow.

“I understand,” said Officer Potsdorff. “May I ask whose Last Wish Foundation wish you are fulfilling in Eagle Rock?”

“Woof.”

“I don’t mean to be insulting, Woodstock, but may I see your collar?”

“Woof.”

Woody let him look at his collar and was let go.

“Well, Woodrow, we’re both heading that direction. Care to join me in a bowl of water?”

“Woof.”

The night was spent around a bowl of water, which he and Officer Potsdorff shared. The man got on all fours and lapped as good as any dog Woodrow had met up to this point in his life. They spoke, and Woody told him tales and answered his questions until Officer Potsdorff had heard enough and called the Sheriff over. He pointed at Woody.

“Cage this dog!”

“Woof, woof?”

“I’ve heard enough of your lies! You claim to know an undercover police officer with the ridiculous name of Serpico, and when I ask if he has a first name, you say he is only known as Serpico! You take me for a fool, Woodrow? You’re just as I suspected when I saw you, a stray!”

And thus, Woodrow became a police dog, which was infinitely worse than the doggie hotel he and Staniel escaped from, but all misfortunes are not without their fortunes. During a drug raid, the roof collapsed on Officer Potsdorff, and Woodrow dragged him from a raging fire to safety. Besides getting two treats, he had also curried favor with Officer Potsdorff and received a job that usually went to a human. The Los Angeles Police Department had, for a time, been keeping surveillance on one Nicholas de Chevalier, a suspected online sports gambler. The LAPD assigned Woodrow as his emotional support dog and tasked him with reporting everything he saw. Still, upon meeting Nicholas de Chevalier, he discovered that this man was more of a dog than a human. Woodrow, having not woofed with another dog in some time, caved in and let Nicholas de Chevalier know what the police were up to.

“Woof, woof,” he said, tearfully.

“Woof?” said Nicholas.

“Woof, woof, woof, woof, woof, woof, woof, woof.”

Upon hearing all that was happening to Woodrow, Nicholas put down his phone, and they embraced.

Woodrow reported to the Sheriff’s Office and Officer Potsdorff, as close to the truth as possible without implicating Nicholas de Chevalier’s activities.

“Woof, woof, woof, woof, woof, woof, woof, woof. Woof, woof, woof, woof, woof, woof, woof, woof. Woof, woof, woof, woof, woof, woof, woof, woof. Woof, woof, woof, woof, woof, woof, woof, woof. Woof, woof, woof, woof, woof, woof, woof, woof.”

“Is there any reason to believe he won’t be on the toilet around 7 AM?” asked Officer Potsdorff. “It’s when we suspect he gambles and why you haven’t seen him betting on basketball yet.”

“Woof, woof. Woof, woof, woof, woof, woof, woof, woof, woof.”

The Sheriff looked at Potsdorff and motioned for him, whispering in his ear. Officer Potsdorff nodded.

“Is there any reason to suspect Nicholas de Chevaliar will demand satisfaction from the Sheriff’s son?”

“Woof.”

“And how much does Eric owe him?”

“Woof.”

The Sheriff and Potsdorff look at one another.

“We’ll settle my son’s debt and escort Mr. Chevailer to Pasadena, out of our jurisdiction.”

The following morning, Woodrow, dressed as Nicholas de Chevalier in a second-hand, used car salesman’s jacket, was picked up by an Uber with an envelope of the Sheriff’s son’s debt and a letter with clear instructions to leave town. The Uber drove Woodrow to Pasadena, where the actual Nicholas de Chevalier had uneventfully gone the night before.

Nicholas and Woodrow traveled up and down Topanga Canyon, selling gemstones and rocks to vulnerable, wealthy hippies, and eventually accrued 500 guineas. In Malibu, Woodrow encountered the beautiful, rich, and visibly depressed Lady Penn, a French Bulldog, whom he seduced while goading her elderly husband, Kaz Penn, to death with verbal repartee. They married shortly after.

I wish I could say a life of luxury followed, but Woodrow, upon seeing a bottle of barbecue in the Penn household, howled, for luxury is not always a monetary affair.

Nicholas, having become accustomed to being a guest at the Penn house, initially was negligent of Woodrow until he saw the dog licking more beer off the ground than usual.

“What’s wrong, Woody?”

“Woof, woooooooooooooooooof!”

“Matt and Dee?”

“Woof!”

“Why didn’t you say anything? I know those scoundrels, plus Dee owes me the under on the Heat/Hornets game.”

“Woof?”

Woodrow climbed into the passenger car of Nicholas de Chevalier’s motorcycle, dressed in the usual scarf, leather cap, and goggles, and drove 20 minutes to Eagle Rock. Matthau was passed out in the front yard, covered from head to toe in barbecue sauce and cinnamon, while Lady D quietly knitted on the front porch, waiting to hear back from the lawyers regarding the negligence of the doggie hotel. Her needles fell upon hearing a familiar bark that did not come from Matthau’s bottom.

“Woodrow!”

“Woof, woof!”

Nicholas de Chevelair stepped over the Irish Skunk, O’Grady, relying on a cane from a jet skiing accident at the Penn’s, and watched the reunification of a family, deciding, for once in his life, that he would forgo collecting the debt owed.

“Woof, woof!”

“Woof.”

They waved goodbye and wondered where and when the next adventure would take them.