Rex and I had cabin fever. We needed to get out and DO something.

The paper had said the Bedouin Ballet was coming to town. I don’t know about you, but I can’t get my brain to wrap around the concept of a Bedouin ballet. Tutus or berkas? Tutus AND berkas? Swan Lake or Camel Lake? Pirouettes or Whirling Dervishes? No, I don’t think my money will find its way to the cashier’s box at the Bedouin Ballet.

“Rex, what do you want to do today?” I asked as my pint-sized colleague watched in mild terror a “barkless dog collar” commercial on TV. “Don’t worry, Rex. They don’t work.”
I put one on an ex-girlfriend once and she kept on yapping. I finally rolled up a newspaper and popped her on the nose to shut her up. She called the police on me. They came, heard her yipping and yapping like a Chihuahua on Red Bull, and tasered her.

She dropped to the floor like a ton of her precious Frozen Raspberry Pineapple Vanilla Laté yogurt, and shook and jerked like Britney Spears with the D.T.s. The police were kind to me and very understanding. They asked me if she had her rabies shots and gave me the SPCA hotline. The officers put a muzzle on her and threatened her with “disturbing the peace.” I drove her six hundred miles away, dropped her off, and ten days later she was on my doorstep again. Then one day she ran out in the street as an ice cream truck drove by. The driver tried to brake, but . . .

Well, that was probably too much information for you, but my therapist says every tragic story needs to be told a hundred times. I still have that darned collar.

Changing channels, I said, “Look, Rex. The Westminster Dog Show. Want to watch?” Now, Rex has never directly answered a question, but when he saw a female whippet, he went rigid with excitement. He and his girlfriend Millie were on the outs as Rex caught her sniffing a German Shepard’s private parts. Rex, with his “small man” complex, had a fit and hasn’t given her the time of day since.

Rexie hopped up on my lap and we watched as the breeds and groupings paraded around the arena. “Look Rex, look at that Newfoundland, and that Burmese Mountain dog. Whoa.” He seemed to be enjoying the show.

I got up and made some cheese and crackers for us and brought them back to the couch. We shared the snack as Rex reacted to the different dogs. “Look at that Cairn Terrier, little buddy! She give you the scorchies, or what? Look at those legs! Look at her rear end!” Rex started panting.

Suddenly, a female English Sheep dog came into the arena. I didn’t want Rex to see her and have a relapse of his broken heart with his girlfriend Millie. I switched stations before Rex saw his girlfriend’s look-alike.

I flipped channels and stumbled upon a “Girls Gone Wild” commercial. “Look at those legs, Rex! Look at her rear end! Mercy!” I started panting. The commercial was on during a Braille cooking show, which did not hold my interest.

“Rex, Rex, Rex. We’ve GOT to do something. We’ve got to get out of this house. It’s a beautiful day and we’re NOT going to sit on this couch and watch TV for hours on end.”
Without a plan, I got up, tucked Rex under my arm and with car keys in hand, walked out the door. The Bedouin Ballet was better than I thought it would be, in spite of the spitting camels.

***
Tom Burns can be reached at: burns100@earthlink.net