I found the Foolish Times deadline for the “Adventures with Rex” story fast approaching, and nothing came to mind to write about. In fact, nothing had happened in the last month.”

Rex, what are we going to write about? Nothing is new.” Rex, who had been sleeping on his back on the sofa, cracked an eye open and gave me a dismissive look. His look indicated it was MY problem, not OUR problem.

“Oh, sure, there you lie, on the sofa, without a care in the world, and I’ve got to whip out some witty little story that will continue to propel your fame and notoriety in the greater Monterey Bay area. It’s YOU who get the emails sent to my email address. It’s YOU who have the adoring fans.

It’s YOU who gets all the requests for signed photos. It’s YOU who gets all the Christmas gifts. It’s so upsetting, I’ll probably capitalize the ‘you’ in the last four sentences.”

A quick few wags of his tail rubbed a bit more salt in the wound.

“You know what comes to mind, young man?” No response.

“I’ll tell you what comes to mind! Your idea of a rough day is catching butterflies and romping through Mrs. Cavanaugh’s flower beds with your girlfriend Millie. You station yourself at your food bowl at 7AM and 5PM and look inconvenienced if I am a few minutes late. You come and you go as you please. ‘Curfew’ to you is just a four-letter word.”

Rex, at that point, covered his eyes with his paws, and with a lung full of air, sighed theatrically.

“Oh, FINE! Just fine. Know what? I’ll tell you what. NO COSTCO PIZZA FOR A WEEK! That’s what.”

Rex wagged his tail. He knew he was pushing me, and he knew he would win. What was worse, we BOTH knew he would win.

“Wag your tail, huh? No Costco pizza for a month!” His tail wagged harder. “A YEAR!!! No pizza for a YEAR!!!”

Rex’s tail whipped like an 8.0 on a Richter scale. He was getting to me big time, and he was loving it.

“Knock it off. You’re wagging your tail so hard, you’re going to throw your back out, and then I’ll have to find a dog chiropractor. And you just know it won’t be covered by insurance. See? More money flying out of my pocket to take care of you.”

I sat down on the couch next to him. A lump started to form in my throat. “It’s always ME taking care of YOU. And there’s no one to take care of me. When I’m sick, I get up and go to work. No ‘Get Well’ cards, and no birthday cards on my birthday. It’s always me paying the rent. Me cleaning the house. Me doing the dishes once a month.” I felt a tear of self-pity form in my eyes.

Rex had stopped wagging his tail, but continued to cover his eyes with his paws. It was his way of dealing with stressful situations. Mine was beer.

“Every romance I’ve had has tubed. I’ll never have a wife. You’ve got Millie-a big beautiful English sheepdog, and if you ever found out how to use a stepstool, she would bear you beautiful puppies. It’s sad, Rex. I’ll never have a wife. There’s just something about me, I guess.” I took off a sock and blew my nose.

Rex removed his paws from his eyes and stared at the ceiling. Between sobs I recounted the story of Fiona, the logging trucker from Nevada, who had captured my heart years before. She was spunky and exciting, and other than the “Men Suck” tattoo on her on her hairy back, she was a thing of beauty. But alas, she ran off with a woman down the street.

“She was a keeper, Rex. Fiona was the one, I think.”
As I sighed, Rex got up, sat on my lap, put his paws on my chest and licked my face. “I love you too, little buddy. Costco pizza for dinner?”

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