I’m strangely bothered that I can’t remember how long it’s been since my last Elvis sighting. Was is a few weeks ago? Longer? How many times have I passed by since the sign went down? All I know is this – Elvis no longer lives at the tan bungalow along the trail. The trampoline, the patio table and toys, the sign at the back of the yard, all gone.
Elvis must be some kind of mutt. He’s got a short, squat body like a Corgi or a Basset Hound, but he’s furrier like a Shelty, with black and white patches. He’s not the sort of dog you’d think would get a lot of height, but if you ever saw him jump, you’d understand why his owners crafted and hung a sign that read: “Elvis the Jumping Dog.”
Walking our own dogs passed Elvis’ house nearly every day, my husband and I would always keep an eye out for him. There was a small clearing in the vine-covered, chain-link fence that backed up to the Monon Trail. Elvis would run right to that spot as we passed, jump until his little snoot just cleared the top of the fence, then spin into a fancy pirouette. Some days, he’d give a repeat performance – two, or even three pirouettes. Elvis seemed to be quite literally jumping for joy.
We had noticed him before his family put the sign up, but after, it was different. Knowing his name added a sense of intimacy to it. Elvis. A perfect name for such a star performer. His family must have understood that people liked seeing the show. They were willing to keep a space clear, to create the handmade sign, to share Elvis with anyone walking by who cared to notice.
The former site of Elvis the Jumping Dog:
Walking by the other day, I noticed the sign wasn’t there anymore, and all other signs of life – gone. This family of accidental place-makers have packed up the show, and didn’t leave a forwarding address. Now that he’s gone, I wonder, am I the only one mourning the loss of this neighborhood fixture? Or are there others quietly wondering about Elvis’ disappearance?
It’s funny how such small things can weave themselves into the fabric of our daily life. It’s somewhat awkward to admit as I reminisce about a dog I never met, but my neighborhood feels a little less complete.
Keep an eye out for him, Indy. If you can find Elvis, I promise one glimpse of his spin moves will make your day.