This Side Up

Telemarketers, take note

John Howell
Posted 4/7/15

Telemarketers, beware. Ollie is on to you.

No kidding, this spotted coonhound rescued from North Carolina knows your ring. What’s more, he especially takes offense to your calls at dinnertime or …

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This Side Up

Telemarketers, take note

Posted

Telemarketers, beware. Ollie is on to you.

No kidding, this spotted coonhound rescued from North Carolina knows your ring. What’s more, he especially takes offense to your calls at dinnertime or just when he’s gone to sleep.

Neither Carol nor I understand how he picked up this trait of calling you out. How would he know the difference from your 800 number or a call from one of the family? There’s no distinguishing tone. A ring is a ring. But Ollie knows.

We were at the dinner table the first time he responded to an interrupting call. He was lying on the carpet pretending to be asleep. His head was centered between his outstretched paws, eyes shut. His nose was a giveaway. It twitched as it took in the aroma of lasagna and broccoli, and I knew as soon as he heard my fork scraping across the plate he’d be up and heading to the kitchen to see what tidbits I might have left. Broccoli, I’ve learned, is not one of those things you want to leave him. It has a way of coming back to haunt you late at night. Eggplant is also on the list of vegetables known to produce a toxic reaction with an accompanying odor capable of forcing you to open the window in the dead of winter. We haven’t dared try beans, other than green string beans that Carol gives him with his breakfast kibble.

I had a bite of lasagna to go when the phone interrupted. Carol looked up. We both waited for the phone’s clunky computer generated voice to intone the name of the caller. Ollie opened his eyes. We both remained seated. We didn’t get a name, but rather that it was an unknown caller.

“Telemarketer,” Carol announced knowingly. We waited for the answering machine to click on. If this was like other telemarketing calls, there wouldn’t be a message. The line would go dead.

Ollie was now on his haunches. He let out a prolonged howl. Carol and I looked at one another. It’s just the way we felt, too. Ollie seemed to understand our approval. He wagged with gratification and went back to his restful pose.

All the dogs we’ve had sounded the alarm when someone is at the door, and Binky, who we rescued from the Warwick Animal Shelter, was a terror when a stranger came near the car.

Ollie doesn’t have any of those protective instincts. He’ll whine in expectation of meeting strangers even if you’re doing 35 on West Shore Road and the person is on the sidewalk across the street. He loves people and he loves other dogs even more. He wants to know them all.

We’ve dared not take him on long trips, fearing it would be a journey punctuated with cries as he spots people and other canines. Sedatives have been suggested, and we’ve thought of driving at night.

So, I wondered, might this response to the call be another of his pleas to be introduced to a total stranger? No, this was a howl that clearly said, “You’re bugging me.”

We laughed at this new characteristic and wondered if it was just an anomaly. But then it happened again, this time when he was awakened. He wasn’t happy. It was not the howl he gives when we sing “Happy Birthday” to the grandchildren or when Carol plays her guitar. In those cases, he’s joining in the chorus. He’s singing.

No, this was neither “I want to meet you” nor “don’t leave me out; I like singing, too.” By the third time he did it, I started to wonder if finally we have the antidote to the telemarketing calls.

I just have to teach him how to answer the phone. Now, that would be a howl.

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