The Dog & the Cat

(word count 543)

Winnie was her name, as in Winnie the Pooh, a Newfoundland, a breed known as a gentle family dog, good with children.

She would often bathe with my younger brothers, uninvited, and consent to having her teeth brushed. She seemed to prefer Crest. That’s what my brothers used when they brushed her teeth with my tooth brush.

Technically she was my father’s dog; preferring his company, given the opportunity she’d lay by him. She wasn’t a high energy dog and spent most of her time lying about. She ate lying down, as standing while eating was clearly an expenditure of energy not necessary. She also drank while lying down.

The breed is renowned for the voluminous amounts of saliva constantly produced. My mother would follow her about with a rag, constantly wiping up the slobber flung at random about the house. It was a losing battle, but mom never relented.

My parents enjoyed occasionally inviting the staff of nuns at the school we attended for dinner. One evening the nuns and school secretary were over, mom had everyone settled with wine or bourbon (Who would have thought nuns drink bourbon, and in such copious quantities?). Winnie wandered downstairs to see what was happening. Dad had just showered and was shaving.

For reasons unknown, the cat chose this time to jump onto the dog’s back with claws extended. The dog took off with a burst of speed and effort hereto unknown to all. Winnie had a nice healthy bark which she employed at the moment; this in turn caused the cat to yowl as Winnie sprinted about the house.

This elicited great merriment and shrieking from the nuns, secretary, my sister and brothers. Mom, retaining her wits, immediately began yelling for dad. Not being particularly modest, a family trait among the males proudly carried on, dad came streaking from their bedroom with a towel wrapped about his waist and shaving cream on half his face. He caught up with the dog on the far side of the dining table in front of the large picture window. The cat took this momentary lull in the excitement to leave the dog’s back and climb the nearby curtains.

My father had matters well in hand, so to speak, with one hand clutching the towel about his waist, and the other grasping the dog’s collar. Suddenly, the situation required a third hand, as the curtain rod, with curtain and cat still attached, began falling. Carefully, weighing all options, my father retained his grasp on the dog, and stopped the curtain, curtain rod, and cat from falling onto the dinner table. This necessitated letting go of the towel.

Sans towel, amid some seriously laughing, red faced, nuns a shriek or two, and an “Oh my” by Sister R. with her hands held over her eyes, but her fingers spread apart. Dad handed the curtain rod to mom and then escorted Winnie through the living room, amongst the giggling nuns, and out the sliding glass door. My mom, unsuccessfully stifling her laughter handed my dad his towel as he closed the door. He calmly put the towel around his waist and requested of my younger sister that she make him a stiff scotch. Then, head held high, he went to finish shaving.

(word count 543)