Warning: A gauntlet dog lives here

A while back, I was out blowing off the driveway, ridding it of the bushel-full of feathery tree droppings and seed helicopters. I hooked my dog Zeke up to the tree next to the drive and set about my task.
In the distance, I spotted a friend and her black Labrador retriever. My daughter came out to move her car for me and pointed.
"Dog, Mom," she said. That meant, do something about Zeke before it's too late. I nodded.
The lady and Lab got closer, but Zeke didn't seem to care. He was lying in the grass, which, after two days of rain, hid him to the tip of his nose. I proceeded to sweep what I couldn't get with the leaf blower, digging in hard on the sticky stuff.
Closer and closer
The pair got closer yet. They stopped while the owner chatted at a house two doors down. Zeke didn't utter a peep, but ... was he crouching down further in the grass?
No, he's a dog, not a lion, I thought.
I pushed my broom over a particularly difficult spot, as the neighbor finished her conversation and restarted her walk.
Then, it happened. WHAM! Zeke was up and running at the black Lab; the tie line snapped taut, and Zeke started caterwauling like four mailmen, a UPS truck, and a burglar came onto the lawn.
My neighbor stiffened and crossed the street, and her Lab ambled calmly alongside her. Zeke whined loudly.
Gauntlet Dog.
That's right. I'm ashamed to admit it, but my dog has become the neighborhood "Gauntlet Dog." It's not a pretty thing. Anyone who has ever taken a dog for a walk, or jogged, or pushed a baby in a stroller, knows what it is. A gauntlet dog is the dog one crosses the street or alters one's route to avoid. And Zeke is that creature. To pass by him is to run a gauntlet of courage and patience.
As I continued cleaning our sidewalk and drive, three other owners led their dogs from my block. This, despite the fact that I stood on Zeke's leash and ordered, "Quiet." They must have known him.
Not the worst
Now, I'll admit, Zeke is not the worst gauntlet dog. He's a Beardie, a big, hardy barker, not a hyperactive yip-yapper. And his barking is limited, thank heaven. There are gauntlet dogs who bark the moment they see you and continue after you're gone. Everyone has enough bad karma to have earned a house in the near vicinity of such a monster at least once in his life.
As for my bad karma, I used to live on a block with three gauntlet-dog houses right on the end of the block. If you walked west on the street, you had to pass the yipping and yapping of three poodles (the worst gauntlet breed of all), a behind-the-screen-door malamute bark, and the stoney-eyed stare of a chow (he didn't bark; he just watched you carefully).
I put up with that for about five walks, then I usually chose to go east instead.
Caught unaware
People in my current neighborhood, caught unawares by Zeke, cross the street. On that side, they find Jake. Jake is a gorgeous golden retriever who barks like crazy at passers-by, but stops as soon as they visit with him, so they do.
This irritates Zeke even further because he sees dog after dog avoiding him and going to visit Jake (who, incidentally, Zeke also likes to visit). There is the Dalmatian and his man, the black Lab and his woman, the other neighborhood golden retriever, and any number of other dogs with manners, unlike Zeke.
"That's how you need to act," I scold Zeke, who understands nothing of what I say and no doubt wonders why his barking is different from the barking of Jake.
For a time, I sat outside with a spray bottle of water and tried to teach Zeke manners. He hates a spritz of water in the face.
But now that I'm older and have been worn down, I try simply to encourage him with a word he knows -- "Quiet," and with words he doesn't -- "Be a gentleman, Zeke. Don't you want to be friends with that dog? All the dogs would visit you too, if you were quiet," which, of course, amounts to "Zeke ... quiet," too.
Unfortunately, at least for the time being, we own the gauntlet dog.
Sorry.
murphy@vindy.com