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  • Writer's picturePatty Kramer

Few Have Died

I’ve discovered that two-legs have rules, too. For example, the salty Booga-man can’t wear his boots in the house. With all the good stuff they have on their soles, I can’t figure out why. I mean, who wouldn’t want to be able to sniff, or better yet, taste, a sampling of the tasty treats deposited in the cow pens?

Whiny two-legs’ restrictions are easier to understand, as it’s pretty clear that her cheese has slipped a bit off her doggie biscuit. Like she’s not supposed to have a tube of super glue, the reason she keeps it hidden in her dresser drawer. She explained that it was simply an accident when she glued a piece of wood to the phone instead of the intended chair leg. And anyone should be able to understand that when she called for help, she ended up gluing both wood and phone to the outside of her cheek. Stating she wasn’t real worried about her sticky predicament until her tongue managed to become glued to the inside of her cheek.

That one very garbled emergency call to her family was followed by another when she glued a string of fake pearls to her hand instead of around the edge of a picture frame. Finishing off the neat trick by gluing the whole mess to her coffee cup. By some miracle neither the phone when she called for help, nor her tongue, ended up being glued to anything.

The family issued orders for her to leave super glue alone.

Her way of not getting into trouble for ignoring their rule was to only use it when the house was empty, plus always using it while wearing throw-away gloves. This week several pairs of them were successfully glued to a kitchen towel and numerous sections of the Booga-man’s weekly newspaper. All the illicit evidence would have been easy to identify as it had fringes of her hair decorating the edges, with one strand so long and thick that it resembled the feathers that give the scissortail bird his name. To me, she wasted a good hour that we could have been playing fetch, as the broken thing ended up in the garbage can anyway, with plenty of trash on top hiding her bad-dog behavior. No salmon treats for her!

During her project, poor Fred got the shaking of his life when two-legs went into full panic mode and banished me to her writing porch. Dog, did she ever yell and dance around when a big drop of super glue fell to the floor right beside me! Upset because apparently explaining to the Booga-man why her precious Buttons was now glued to the floor wasn’t something she cared to do. It’s funny how in a matter of seconds she can morph from Miss Sweetness, who wouldn’t take a bone from a puppy, to Miss Screaming, whose voice is shrill enough to deafen a house cat.

The Booga-man, too, can change from nice to not-so-nice. During evening couch time, he calls two-legs Lady Bug, asking her nicely to fetch him some ice cream. But during the day, he often refers to her as dummkopf in a much gruffier voice. Usually, the dummkopf comes about when she tells him what she lost, or broke, or didn’t remember to do during the day even though it was written on a piece of paper in big, black, underlined letters.

Today, her tale was about why she was late bringing the Booga-man his lunch. If she’d paid attention to me, I could have told her where her purse was when it turned up missing, as I’m madly in love with that piece of leather. It has been everywhere, and has absorbed some of the best scents I’ve come across in my three months of life. My favorite place to take a nap is just out of reach of the purse’s handles. Right below it my dreams are filled with never-ending runs through fields of exotic smells that have my tongue wagging in anticipation.

And even though I went to the big, cold box and barked and barked, she didn’t catch on that I’d seen her stick Booga-man’s lunch in her purse and put both inside to keep his sandwich cold. Not finding it until she said out loud that she couldn’t take him lunch until she found her car keys. The word lunch pinged around in her head like a pin ball hitting all the right lights, more or less identical to what the word McDonalds does inside mine. (Only mine pings quite a bit faster.)

Yet she wasn’t happy about finding it. Instead of hurrying out the door, she grabbed some strong smelly stuff that burned my tongue when I licked errant spray that fell to the floor. Sitting back to let my tongue cool down, I watched her scrub furiously at the shelf where she’d placed her purse. It was the searching, and then all the scrubbing, that made her late with Booga-man’s lunch.

I keep my eyes wide open around here. Especially since the Booga-man whispered that there used to be Oleander bushes growing on two sides of the house. He cut them all down and dug up the roots. Said he didn’t want to find their toxic leaves accidentally tucked inside his sandwich in place of lettuce. For sure, whiny two-legs has had more than her fair share of accidents.

The Booga-man went on to explain that any two-legs coming into Whiny’s kitchen is warned by the sign hanging over the shiny box that heats up their supper each night.

Hmmm. I can’t help but wonder if FEW includes any dogs?

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