I saw what appeared to be a small, tapered canine appendage sticking out from behind the couch.
“Little Rexie, little Rexie, little Rexie, oh where could he be?”
The appendage, that being the tail of a small black dachshund, began to whip back and forth: evidently he was hiding from me and had been discovered.
To myself, I loudly queried, “Oh, my. I need someone to help me clean out the garage. Someone to drag that old rag on the garage floor out into the backyard and pretend it’s a poisonous python and shake the living daylights out of it to save my life. Of course, then, that someone and I could have a big bowl of ICE CREAM to celebrate.” The small black tail beat furiously back and forth at the mention of ice cream.
“And then, I need someone to help me hunt for the missing Lost Pirate’s Treasure that I think it is buried in the back yard. Someone to help me DIG way down DEEP in the loamy soil that I just planted my new prize-wining AZALEAS in. I think I planted the AZALEAS right over the Lost Pirate’s Treasure. And then we could hop in the pickup, drive to COSTCO, and buy a Huge, Giant Combo PIZZA and take it down to the beach to eat it!” The tail fired up on all cylinders again, beating back and forth like a metronome in The Saber Dance.
I amped up my voice a little for theatrical effect. “But who could help me? I don’t know where REX is, and he’s my best friend. The bestest everest friend. Why, if I knew where he was right now, why I’d get out the CHEESE and CRACKERS and sit on the back porch with him and SCRATCH HIS BELLY.” His tail, wagging with such intensity, looked like a blur.
This little charade couldn’t go on much longer, as Rex has a severely limited grasp of the English language. I was almost out of words he knew. I ploughed ahead, though.
“If I knew where REXIE was, I could ask MILLIE’S mom if MILLIE and REX could go romping through Mrs. Hoffenmuellers’ FLOWER BEDS and DIG UP some FLOWERS!” The tail almost came off his hindquarters he was wagging it so much.
There. I was out of words he knew. What to do now?
Perhaps I could see if Rex had expanded his vocabulary while I wasn’t looking.
“It’s such a nice day. Maybe Rex would like a BATH!” The tail exhibited no movement. “Hey, it’s about that time of year to get REX his RABIES and BORDATELLA SHOTS!” The tail was limp.
“I know. I could take REX to the VET to have THE THERMOMETER INSERTED to take his temperature.” No tail movement, only a small whimper.
“Say! I’ve got a grand idea! It’s time to get out those VIDEOS of the national CAT SHOW!” The tail, almost rigid with non-movement, lay on the floor like a stick. He did, however, offer a little growl at the mention of “Cat Show.”
Perhaps it was time to have an instant reply of the goings-on up to this point. I said, rather softly, “Ice cream.” The tail had come back to life, and thumped against the back of the couch.
“Dig up azaleas . . . ,” a little softer. The tail banged back and forth and I thought I caught a glimpse of a dust bunny running for its life.
A loud whisper, “Costco pizza . . .” He whipped his tail so hard a column of dust rose from behind the couch.
Softly, “Cheese . . . crackers . . .” His tail crashed so fast and violently, I thought he’d break it off.
“Millie . . . dig up flowers. Mrs. Hoffenmueller’s . . . flower . . . . . . beds.” He could contain himself no more. He thrashed his tail until I thought he’d wear the hair off of it.
And now, one last phrase. I knew this would make or break him. “The HERNANDEZ’S CAT!” The tail disappeared as Rex flew out the other side from behind the couch. He took one look at me and bared his fangs.
“HERNANDEZ’S CAT. NA-NA-NA-Na-NAAAA-NA!!” He charged me, with his saber-like incisors trying to take big hunks of meat out of me.
“HEEEEEEEELP! HEEEEEEELP! The monster’s trying to get me!” I ran out the back door with the sound of little snapping teeth like psycho castanets hunting me down. “HEEEEELP. HEEEEELP ME!!!”
I didn’t care what the neighbors thought—they were used to me by now. I darted to the back fence, being run down by a man-eating beast. I grabbed the top of the back fence and hurled myself over it, landing in the alley.
I got up, checked for broken bones, dusted myself off, and peered into my backyard through a space in the fence boards.
There was a familiar-looking small black dachshund, wagging his tail, sitting on his haunches and panting heavily. Game over.
* * *
Tom and / or Rex can be reached at burns100@earthlink.net.
