by M. DeVille
Embarassing? Abso-bloody-lutey! It's a Dogs Life!
A Smelly, Short Story About A Small, Bad Dog !
I suspect my youngest son had seen the dog in the pet shop earlier, while I was busy with the grocery shopping. I was only vaguely aware of him leaving my side, and returning in time for me to go through the checkout. I remained preoccupied, therefore perfectly primed and off guard.
This young man with a plan, then adroitly mustered me into ‘Pets Galore !’ for a ‘quick look’ before going home. After some meandering around the shop, I was directed to the puppy stalls – the object of the whole exercise of course.
Scrambling around were two tiny, minute dogs – and the (A.M.E.) Assault on Mummy’s Emotions - began. It really doesn’t matter how he did it, what persuasive dialogue ensued, because I bought it. Lock, Stock and Barrel. Sucker!
My son would make an excellent Barrister, I – on the other hand am, and remain the ‘Greatest Dummy oops ! Mummy!’
And so we left the shop with the livelier of the two puppies as well as all the necessary equipment to feed and bed it. I could’ve had a return world trip with the money I spent here… I often wish that’s what I’d done instead – without the return bit.
… Because of his colour, we called him Bikki, (Biscuit); he was also an unusual breed, Jack Russell - Miniature Pinscher. Belatedly I was to learn just how lively and spontaneous this breed was.
Bikki became a full, card-carrying member of the household in due course (fully vaccinated with name tag). He also became used to accompanying us on most family recreational excursions, in the small, family hatchback. His devoted master, the son with the tongue of a lawyer , would hustle on Bikki’s behalf to make sure he was included!
… and I should have learnt, but didn’t, that Bikki was a dog with a short attention span and unreliable ‘powder room’ habits.
One beautiful, spring day we decided to go for a little outing in the car. I decided that a stint up through the Victorian Mountains known as the Dandenong’s would be ideal. My son wanted to take the bizarre and aberrant Bikki.
“No !” I shouted.
I looked at the dog. The dog looked at me - there were tears in his eyes.
My son, the one with the tongue of a lawyer , had taught his ‘client’ well.
I at least insisted that his pest discharge the business of the day first, and when the pair of miscreants returned after an impossibly short time, I was assured that the homework was done.
Off we went then, with Bikki nestled comfortably on the rear window’s ledge and the rest of us tightly packed into the car. Happy in our expectations of a cosy and familiar trip, we started toward the winding, narrow road that led to the Dandenong Mountains.
In due course I became cognizant of a long trail of cars behind me and something…something…
GOD! What was that STINK !
I jammed on the brakes – trying to manoeuvre off the road as my son checked on the obvious culprit Bikki, and discovered that … some sort of multiplications had taken place.
Shamed, crushed beyond measure, I was aware that the car immediately trailing us was attempting to pass as quickly as possible; their eyes fastened resolutely on the road ahead.
‘Yep! They know - Now !’ I’m certain I could hear them say those very words.
I vowed to change my identity, cut and dye my hair, grow a beard, sell the car !
I do not want those people to ever associate me with their memories of that day!