The Namedroppers
Cornwallis and Lenny went to the same New Year’s Eve party every year at Doug’s house. They knew they could count on seeing a certain Ricardo Robbins in attendance. They knew Ricardo would be holding court, the center of attention of course, Mister six foot two and eyes of blue. Mister Namedropper. “So how long do you think it’ll take Ricardo to mention his buddy, Pat Sajak?” said Cornwallis to Lenny.
“Oh, if it’s anything like last year, probably ten minutes tops.”
“How about we make a little wager then?” said Cornwallis.
“I’m up for a bet,” replied Lenny. “You know me.”
“I’ll take the over if you’ll take the under,” said Cornwallis.
“Over ten minutes to mention Pat Sajak?” questioned Lenny. “No way. I’d be happy to take the under if you’ll stick with the over.”
“You’re on!” said Cornwallis. “Loser does the dishes for the week.”
After the wager was agreed upon, into Doug’s house went the boys. Sure enough, they found Ricardo Robbins lingering near the shrimp bowl, casually popping one shrimp after another into his perfectly squared jaw. There he was, in all his six foot two glory, regaling two young lovelies about his days at sea. Cornwallis and Lenny were sickened. They didn’t come to Doug’s party to listen to Ricardo prattle on about responsible tanning, flexing on the bow, or paying lip service to saving the environment. They wanted to throw around some names -- and they had a bet to settle.
The two lovelies were well-mannered indeed, allowing Cornwallis and Lenny to intrude upon their threesome. And after proper introductions were made, Cornwallis asked Ricardo if he was still working down at the depot. “Of course I am. Where else would a man want to work?”
“And I bet you even run into a few celebrities every now and then,” hinted Lenny.
“Oh, from time to time I suppose,” Ricardo admitted.
“Any in particular you’d care to mention?” continued Lenny.
“Not really,” said Ricardo. “We’re really quite busy most of the time. I hardly have a moment to notice such things.”
Lenny wasn’t buying it. “But if they happen to be on television most nights, surely you’d take notice -- just a little.”
“If Ricardo doesn’t remember, he doesn’t remember,” injected Cornwallis. “But perhaps his recall will improve after eight or nine minutes go by.”
“Say, what are you boys up to?” asked Ricardo. “Do you intend to make merry with me?”
“Heavens no,” said Lenny. “Cornwallis and I just thought your two friends here would be interested in the people with whom you associate. I know I would.”
“Yes, they might,” added Cornwallis, “but only after seven minutes or so.”
“I believe you do make merry with me,” said Ricardo. “But if you wish to know that I’ve entertained the likes of Pat Sajak, then I’m fine with that. I have nothing to hide. Why, Pat and I…”
“I win!” blurted Lenny. “I win! He namedropped Pat Sajak. You’re doing the dishes for a week, Cornwallis. Lather up, my little friend.”
“You win nothing,” Ricardo spat. “Nothing at all. You, Leonard, will never live as large as I. And do you know why? It’s because you have no class, no style or panache. Had a person of Pat Sajak’s esteem entered your establishment, you might well sell him a pack of gum, but then ask if he’d like to buy a vowel as well. As if he’d never heard that one before. And Leonard, I know for a fact that you crossed paths with Marilu Henner at a recent gala. And I know for a fact that after meeting Marilu Henner, you told her that you’d heard she was pretty smart in real life for a dame -- a dame?! Oh, I heard she was as gracious as you’d expect from someone on television, but then turned to her companion and asked if anyone knew who that rube was. And you, Cornwallis? Don’t look so imperious. I know that you’ve been bragging all over town about meeting not one but two cast members from tv’s Seventh Heaven. But you couldn’t let it end there, could you? I heard you started peppering them -- badgering them really -- with questions about Beverley Mitchell, what’s she really like and all that. They finally had to give you the brush off, saying in effect, Hey dude, we’re just actors, okay? Let it go. Have another drink. See, you two losers will never know what it’s like to be comfortable with celebrities, what it’s like to be on their level. What I did with Pat Sajak was simple. I would bottle it if I could. See, I run into him and all he gets out of me is a friendly head nod and a slight smile of recognition. After that, you know, a trust is developed. Soon we’re pals. But you guys, you fuck it all up. Pardon my French, but I can’t say it any different. You fuck it up. You’re fuck ups.”
“Okay,” said a dejected Lenny, “I can see we have different approaches. But tell us, Ricardo, what other celebrities have you seen lately?”
Ricardo thought it over, though this was mostly for effect. “Why, just the other day I made the acquaintance of one Juliette Lewis.”
“Juliette Lewis!” said an excited Cornwallis. “Wow. Did you ask her about DeNiro, Scorcese?”
“Did you not listen to anything I’ve told you?” asked Ricardo. “No, of course you didn‘t. But I tell you, I gave Juliette nothing more than I gave to Pat Sajak. But mark my words, the next time I check my e-mail the very first name I’ll see in my in-box will be…”
“Juliette Lewis!” cried Cornwallis and Lenny in unison.
“Exactly,” replied Ricardo. “Exactly.”
The end.
p.s. Parts of this story are actually true.
A Few of our Favorite Things: 2016
Books (Miki)
Brooklyn by Colm Toibin
Witch of Lime Street by David Jaher
Kitchens of the Great Midwest by J Ryan Stradel
The Girls by Emma Cline
Black Rabbit Hall by Eve Chase
Books (Pete)
The Heavenly Table by Donald Ray Pollack
A Man Lies Dreaming by Lavie Tidhar
Chronicles Vol. 1 by Bob Dylan
Swing by Philip Beard
A Man Called Ove by Fredrik Backman
Movies (We didn’t see many but we did like…)
Sing Street
Television (Miki)
This is Us
Television (Pete)
Anthony Bourdain ‘Parts Unknown’
Concert (Miki)
Norah Jones, Dixie Chicks
Concert (Pete)
Norah Jones
Music (Miki)
Nathanial Ratliff
Music (Pete)
Esmee Patterson’s ‘When We Were Wild’
Vacation highlight (Miki)
Magnolia Farms (Waco, Texas)
Vacation highlight (Pete)
Oregon beaches
Favorite event (both)
Going to the DMV. Wait, that wasn’t it at all. Our favorite event was the birth of our little Cordi. Despite a rather tumultuous year, we at the Schulte Sector have been truly blessed. We hope 2017 brings you all the best life has to offer. Happy New Year everyone!
Saturday, December 31, 2016
Thursday, December 22, 2016
A baby floating in the sky is not a Christmas miracle, it's just Gina. (A short story and some bonus photos)
It’s Alright, Ma (I’m Only Levitating)
Greg returned home after a long day at work to his wife, Alma, and their newborn daughter, Gina. Only Gina was nowhere to be found. A panicked Greg said to Alma, “Honey, where’s the baby?” Alma said nothing, but pointed up at the ceiling.
“What the?” said an aghast Greg as he gazed up at his diapered baby hovering gently near the ceiling.
“She’s been up there nearly an hour,” said Alva. “I can’t get her to come down. I think she’s actually sleeping.”
“Well,” said Greg, scratching his head, “sleeping or no sleeping, the ceiling is no place for a baby.”
“Hey,” said Alma, “I’ll feed the baby and I’ll change the baby, but I won’t be peeling her off the ceiling for you. That’ll be your job, buddy.”
“Fair enough,” replied Greg. “Fair enough. I’ll go fetch the ladder. You call Dr. Hobbs. This is all highly irregular.”
Greg carefully retrieved Gina from the ceiling, then all three raced to Dr. Hobbs’ office. Once inside, the doctor asked Greg and Alma why they’d brought little Gina in. Greg said nothing while Alma released the baby from her grasp. Rather than falling to the floor, Gina simply levitated at about eye level to the adults in the room.
“By golly you’ve got a floater!” said old Doc Hobbs. “Why I haven’t seen one of these in years,” he said while casually waving his hand beneath the levitating baby. “I’ll be darned…”
“But what do we do?” asked Greg.
“What do you do?” laughed the doctor. “What do you do? You don’t do anything is what you do. Enjoy the spectacle I guess.”
Dr. Hobbs inquired as to whether Greg and Alma were first time parents. They were. He then counseled them not to panic, that although floaters were a rarity for sure, they were not entirely unheard of. He informed the frightened parents that Gina was small and light even for a baby, and that gases had simply built up inside her and caused her to levitate. She would eventually burp and fart and return on her own to the safety of their arms. Dr. Hobbs relayed that he had seen some floaters in the past climb down the curtains themselves when they were hungry enough. “They always return to the boob, right Greg?” said the doctor with a wink in his eye. “Am I right?”
“What are you asking me for?” replied Greg. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
“Seriously,” said the doctor, “it’s nothing to worry about. Just make sure to keep her tethered if you take her outside, and keep watch for birds of prey. Otherwise, she’ll be fine. Fine I say. Why I once had a floater that made it clear over to Omaha before we got him back down to solid earth. Now that boy was some kind of floater, some kind of floater indeed. They don’t make them like that anymore.”
“Hey, I bet my Gina could make it past Omaha,” said Greg, proudly.
“Now you’re talking!” Doc Hobbs replied. “That’s the spirit I like to hear.”
In the end, Gina floated for two more seasons until she put some weight on her and never took that kind of flight again. But every now and then her parents keep one eye on the sky, and bid a sigh of relief every time a belch escapes from Gina’s tiny body.
The end.
Greg returned home after a long day at work to his wife, Alma, and their newborn daughter, Gina. Only Gina was nowhere to be found. A panicked Greg said to Alma, “Honey, where’s the baby?” Alma said nothing, but pointed up at the ceiling.
“What the?” said an aghast Greg as he gazed up at his diapered baby hovering gently near the ceiling.
“She’s been up there nearly an hour,” said Alva. “I can’t get her to come down. I think she’s actually sleeping.”
“Well,” said Greg, scratching his head, “sleeping or no sleeping, the ceiling is no place for a baby.”
“Hey,” said Alma, “I’ll feed the baby and I’ll change the baby, but I won’t be peeling her off the ceiling for you. That’ll be your job, buddy.”
“Fair enough,” replied Greg. “Fair enough. I’ll go fetch the ladder. You call Dr. Hobbs. This is all highly irregular.”
Greg carefully retrieved Gina from the ceiling, then all three raced to Dr. Hobbs’ office. Once inside, the doctor asked Greg and Alma why they’d brought little Gina in. Greg said nothing while Alma released the baby from her grasp. Rather than falling to the floor, Gina simply levitated at about eye level to the adults in the room.
“By golly you’ve got a floater!” said old Doc Hobbs. “Why I haven’t seen one of these in years,” he said while casually waving his hand beneath the levitating baby. “I’ll be darned…”
“But what do we do?” asked Greg.
“What do you do?” laughed the doctor. “What do you do? You don’t do anything is what you do. Enjoy the spectacle I guess.”
Dr. Hobbs inquired as to whether Greg and Alma were first time parents. They were. He then counseled them not to panic, that although floaters were a rarity for sure, they were not entirely unheard of. He informed the frightened parents that Gina was small and light even for a baby, and that gases had simply built up inside her and caused her to levitate. She would eventually burp and fart and return on her own to the safety of their arms. Dr. Hobbs relayed that he had seen some floaters in the past climb down the curtains themselves when they were hungry enough. “They always return to the boob, right Greg?” said the doctor with a wink in his eye. “Am I right?”
“What are you asking me for?” replied Greg. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
“Seriously,” said the doctor, “it’s nothing to worry about. Just make sure to keep her tethered if you take her outside, and keep watch for birds of prey. Otherwise, she’ll be fine. Fine I say. Why I once had a floater that made it clear over to Omaha before we got him back down to solid earth. Now that boy was some kind of floater, some kind of floater indeed. They don’t make them like that anymore.”
“Hey, I bet my Gina could make it past Omaha,” said Greg, proudly.
“Now you’re talking!” Doc Hobbs replied. “That’s the spirit I like to hear.”
In the end, Gina floated for two more seasons until she put some weight on her and never took that kind of flight again. But every now and then her parents keep one eye on the sky, and bid a sigh of relief every time a belch escapes from Gina’s tiny body.
The end.
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| Here comes Santa Claus! |
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| Red |
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| Manger scene |
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| Not much going on in the garden this time of year. |
Monday, December 12, 2016
Pete takes a break from diaper duty to pen a quick short story and add some holiday pictures...
The Last Chance Lover and the Kissing Bandit
Ramon, the dating expert, was doing his best to counsel Arturo, who sought help because his love life was a zero, had always been a zero. Ramon was under contract to provide for Arturo ten dates, one of which had to have at least some degree of success -- meaning at least a second date or a romantic encounter. Failing that, Arturo’s money was to be refunded. Thus far, nine dates had failed miserably and Arturo was down to his last one. Ramon had just one girl left for him, and this girl’s record as far as dating was concerned was no better than Arturo’s. Her name was Penelope, and Ramon described her to Arturo as thus: “She’s got some cans, man. This much I can tell you. Cans as big as…well…big cans.”
“Cans, really?” replied Arturo.
“And stems too,” added Ramon. “Stems, gams, whatever you want to call them.”
“Stems?” said Arturo. “She’s got stems?”
“Like a dancer, you know?” said Ramon. “A ballet dancer with the long legs. And I’ll tell you the best part…”
“It gets better?” asked Arturo, incredulously. “How can this be?”
“Of course it gets better,” said Ramon. “For my favorite client I get nothing but the best girls. Let me tell you something, Arturo, this girl…this girl…well, she’s got an ass that won’t quit. That’s the best part. That ass didn’t quit today, it won’t quit tomorrow, and it sure didn’t quit yesterday. That’s what I’m saying to you, my friend.”
“She’s got all this,” said Arturo, “and you think she’d go for a guy like me? Is this even possible?”
“A guy like you?” replied Ramon. “Hell yes, a guy like you. You are Arturo Romero and nothing can stop you. Nothing. You are a red hot fire cracker!”
“Me? You really think so?”
“You just need a little back story,” said Ramon. “Now work with me.”
Ramon advised Arturo that he needed to add an edge to his rather ordinary personality. He needed to learn to play a little hardball every once in a while, show everyone who was boss in this town. The ladies want that out of a man, Ramon counseled, they would respect his power and revel in his protection. By the end of their date he would have Penelope in the palm of his hand, he would have her cans in the palms of his hands. All he needed to do was to tell her this…
Arturo spied a girl sitting alone in a booth at the bar they’d agree upon for their date. She looked like a woman from a 1940’s movie. Her dress was vintage, her lips bright red. She wore a red scarf over her hair. Arturo extended a single red rose as he approached the booth. “Might you be Penelope?”
“I just might be,” she replied, taking the rose from his hand. “And are you the Latin lover I’m supposed to be meeting?”
“I certainly am,” said Arturo. “May I take a seat?”
“Please do.”
Arturo and Penelope shared pleasant small talk while enjoying drinks and appetizers. But Arturo had been this far along before, with nights like this ending with a simple handshake and some vague promises for a future date, which never materialized. It was time for him to play some hardball, just as Ramon had advised. “Before we go any further,“ said Arturo, “I have to come clean about something.”
“Uh-oh,” said Penelope, “here it comes.”
“Hey,” said Arturo, “I’m a hard guy and I have hard things to say.”
“Say, I’m no easy dame either,” Penelope replied. “Spill it.”
“It’s just that, well, I used to bang. In my past I used to bang a little. That’s the truth of it.”
“Bang on what?” asked Penelope. “Pots and pans on New Year’s Eve?”
“No, that wasn’t it.”
“Bang on what?” she continued. “The drums? Are you a drummer in a band?”
“No, not that at all.”
“Erasers?” asked Penelope. “Did you get detention and have to bang on erasers?”
“No,” said Arturo, “nothing even close to that.”
“Because that’s what they used to do, before the modern day.”
“I know that,” said Arturo, “I do know that. But that’s not what I’m talking about at all.”
“Well, what are you banging on then?”
“I was in a gang, okay?” said Arturo. “I was a gang member. I banged with a gang because I was a gang member. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“What kind of gang are we talking about here? Did you steal horses? Were you in a horse thieving gang?”
“A horse thieving gang?” said Arturo. “Are you kidding me? What is this, 1875?”
“Well how am I supposed to know?” replied Penelope. “What’d you do in this gang?”
“You know what a gang is, don’t you?” asked Arturo. “You wear the certain colors, you stand on the corner and flash signs. That kind of stuff.”
“What kind of signs?” asked Penelope. “Peace signs?”
“No, not peace signs,” said Arturo. “Gang signs. With the fingers and the guns and the…”
“I like this one sign where aim your thumbs down and put your index fingers together. It makes a heart, see?”
“Oh brother,” sighed Arturo, “this isn’t working at all. This is awful. I should quit.”
“What’s the matter?”
“Who am I kidding?” said Arturo. “I wasn’t in a gang. That was just a ruse.”
“So you didn’t bang?
“No,” he admitted to her, “I didn’t bang. I was trying to play hardball with you. I was trying to get you interested in me. I meant no harm. I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay,” said Penelope. “That’s okay. So you didn’t bang. You’re still okay by me. But see, I have to come clean too. The truth is, though you may not have banged, I did.”
“You?” said Arturo, exasperated. “You’re telling me that you banged?”
“Well, just with myself. I was a gang of one.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Arturo. “You can‘t call it a gang if you‘re all by yourself.”
“Well, I didn’t need anybody else,” said Penelope.
“What did you do?” said Arturo. “I won’t tell anyone. I‘m no snitch.”
“I robbed a bank. That’s what I did.”
“What!”
Penelope told Arturo of a hot summer day, a yellow dusty kind of day without a single breeze to stir up the air. She was poor, jobless, with really nothing left to lose. On impulse she disguised herself beneath a scarf and robbed the first bank she came upon. Penelope managed to escape back to her apartment okay, but a dye pack the bank had inserted in her money bag exploded, discoloring much of the loot she’d scored. With the money she was able to salvage, Penelope bought a tandem bicycle at a pawn shop. She’d never even ridden it, never had a partner to ride with. “They call me the Kissing Bandit,” she told Arturo, proudly. “I guess because of my bright red lipstick.”
“You’re the Kissing Bandit?” said Arturo. “I’ve heard of you. You’re wanted. Did you know that?”
“Of course I know that,” she replied. “But they probably don’t want me all that much. I hardly got anything.”
“Still, bank robbery is frowned upon.”
Penelope agreed. She then had an idea. “Say, Arturo, how’d you like a second date?”
“A second date?” he replied. “Wow, that’d be new territory for me.”
“Sure, a second date,” said Penelope. “I’ll break out my tandem bike. I’ll sit up front, and you can ride in the back and flash gang signs at all your friends.”
“I don’t think I’d get shot to death for doing that, but more like ridiculed to death. I don’t believe gang signs have ever been flashed from the back of a bicycle built for two.”
“You can sit up front then,” said Penelope. “I don’t mind. I tell you, we’ll have high times you and me. High times and big laughs.”
So began a quaint courtship and eventually a life of crime for Arturo and the Kissing Bandit, although Arturo wasn’t too impressed with the nickname the press had given to him. In bed, under the covers, he angrily shook the newspaper in his hands. “Do you know what they’re calling us?” he asked Penelope.
“Who’s calling us what?” said Penelope, absently filing her fingernails.
“Them, everyone, the police,” said Arturo.
“What are they calling us, dear?”
“The Kissing Bandit and the Oval-headed Guy.”
“So what’s wrong with that?” asked Penelope.
“Well, every adult is more or less oval-headed,” replied Arturo. “Is that the best description they could think of for me -- the only description?”
“Hey mister,“ said Penelope, reaching for him under the covers. “I don’t know about anybody else, but I like an oval-headed guy.”
“But don’t you understand that that isn’t unique? Don’t you get that?”
Penelope just laughed. Arturo wasn’t much to look at, but he had in his bed the Kissing Bandit, and she wasn’t going anywhere.
The end.
Postscript: The Kissing Bandit and the Oval-headed Guy are still on the loose. Who could ever arrest -- or even suspect -- a couple of hard core bank robbers on a bicycle built for two?
Ramon, the dating expert, was doing his best to counsel Arturo, who sought help because his love life was a zero, had always been a zero. Ramon was under contract to provide for Arturo ten dates, one of which had to have at least some degree of success -- meaning at least a second date or a romantic encounter. Failing that, Arturo’s money was to be refunded. Thus far, nine dates had failed miserably and Arturo was down to his last one. Ramon had just one girl left for him, and this girl’s record as far as dating was concerned was no better than Arturo’s. Her name was Penelope, and Ramon described her to Arturo as thus: “She’s got some cans, man. This much I can tell you. Cans as big as…well…big cans.”
“Cans, really?” replied Arturo.
“And stems too,” added Ramon. “Stems, gams, whatever you want to call them.”
“Stems?” said Arturo. “She’s got stems?”
“Like a dancer, you know?” said Ramon. “A ballet dancer with the long legs. And I’ll tell you the best part…”
“It gets better?” asked Arturo, incredulously. “How can this be?”
“Of course it gets better,” said Ramon. “For my favorite client I get nothing but the best girls. Let me tell you something, Arturo, this girl…this girl…well, she’s got an ass that won’t quit. That’s the best part. That ass didn’t quit today, it won’t quit tomorrow, and it sure didn’t quit yesterday. That’s what I’m saying to you, my friend.”
“She’s got all this,” said Arturo, “and you think she’d go for a guy like me? Is this even possible?”
“A guy like you?” replied Ramon. “Hell yes, a guy like you. You are Arturo Romero and nothing can stop you. Nothing. You are a red hot fire cracker!”
“Me? You really think so?”
“You just need a little back story,” said Ramon. “Now work with me.”
Ramon advised Arturo that he needed to add an edge to his rather ordinary personality. He needed to learn to play a little hardball every once in a while, show everyone who was boss in this town. The ladies want that out of a man, Ramon counseled, they would respect his power and revel in his protection. By the end of their date he would have Penelope in the palm of his hand, he would have her cans in the palms of his hands. All he needed to do was to tell her this…
Arturo spied a girl sitting alone in a booth at the bar they’d agree upon for their date. She looked like a woman from a 1940’s movie. Her dress was vintage, her lips bright red. She wore a red scarf over her hair. Arturo extended a single red rose as he approached the booth. “Might you be Penelope?”
“I just might be,” she replied, taking the rose from his hand. “And are you the Latin lover I’m supposed to be meeting?”
“I certainly am,” said Arturo. “May I take a seat?”
“Please do.”
Arturo and Penelope shared pleasant small talk while enjoying drinks and appetizers. But Arturo had been this far along before, with nights like this ending with a simple handshake and some vague promises for a future date, which never materialized. It was time for him to play some hardball, just as Ramon had advised. “Before we go any further,“ said Arturo, “I have to come clean about something.”
“Uh-oh,” said Penelope, “here it comes.”
“Hey,” said Arturo, “I’m a hard guy and I have hard things to say.”
“Say, I’m no easy dame either,” Penelope replied. “Spill it.”
“It’s just that, well, I used to bang. In my past I used to bang a little. That’s the truth of it.”
“Bang on what?” asked Penelope. “Pots and pans on New Year’s Eve?”
“No, that wasn’t it.”
“Bang on what?” she continued. “The drums? Are you a drummer in a band?”
“No, not that at all.”
“Erasers?” asked Penelope. “Did you get detention and have to bang on erasers?”
“No,” said Arturo, “nothing even close to that.”
“Because that’s what they used to do, before the modern day.”
“I know that,” said Arturo, “I do know that. But that’s not what I’m talking about at all.”
“Well, what are you banging on then?”
“I was in a gang, okay?” said Arturo. “I was a gang member. I banged with a gang because I was a gang member. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“What kind of gang are we talking about here? Did you steal horses? Were you in a horse thieving gang?”
“A horse thieving gang?” said Arturo. “Are you kidding me? What is this, 1875?”
“Well how am I supposed to know?” replied Penelope. “What’d you do in this gang?”
“You know what a gang is, don’t you?” asked Arturo. “You wear the certain colors, you stand on the corner and flash signs. That kind of stuff.”
“What kind of signs?” asked Penelope. “Peace signs?”
“No, not peace signs,” said Arturo. “Gang signs. With the fingers and the guns and the…”
“I like this one sign where aim your thumbs down and put your index fingers together. It makes a heart, see?”
“Oh brother,” sighed Arturo, “this isn’t working at all. This is awful. I should quit.”
“What’s the matter?”
“Who am I kidding?” said Arturo. “I wasn’t in a gang. That was just a ruse.”
“So you didn’t bang?
“No,” he admitted to her, “I didn’t bang. I was trying to play hardball with you. I was trying to get you interested in me. I meant no harm. I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay,” said Penelope. “That’s okay. So you didn’t bang. You’re still okay by me. But see, I have to come clean too. The truth is, though you may not have banged, I did.”
“You?” said Arturo, exasperated. “You’re telling me that you banged?”
“Well, just with myself. I was a gang of one.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Arturo. “You can‘t call it a gang if you‘re all by yourself.”
“Well, I didn’t need anybody else,” said Penelope.
“What did you do?” said Arturo. “I won’t tell anyone. I‘m no snitch.”
“I robbed a bank. That’s what I did.”
“What!”
Penelope told Arturo of a hot summer day, a yellow dusty kind of day without a single breeze to stir up the air. She was poor, jobless, with really nothing left to lose. On impulse she disguised herself beneath a scarf and robbed the first bank she came upon. Penelope managed to escape back to her apartment okay, but a dye pack the bank had inserted in her money bag exploded, discoloring much of the loot she’d scored. With the money she was able to salvage, Penelope bought a tandem bicycle at a pawn shop. She’d never even ridden it, never had a partner to ride with. “They call me the Kissing Bandit,” she told Arturo, proudly. “I guess because of my bright red lipstick.”
“You’re the Kissing Bandit?” said Arturo. “I’ve heard of you. You’re wanted. Did you know that?”
“Of course I know that,” she replied. “But they probably don’t want me all that much. I hardly got anything.”
“Still, bank robbery is frowned upon.”
Penelope agreed. She then had an idea. “Say, Arturo, how’d you like a second date?”
“A second date?” he replied. “Wow, that’d be new territory for me.”
“Sure, a second date,” said Penelope. “I’ll break out my tandem bike. I’ll sit up front, and you can ride in the back and flash gang signs at all your friends.”
“I don’t think I’d get shot to death for doing that, but more like ridiculed to death. I don’t believe gang signs have ever been flashed from the back of a bicycle built for two.”
“You can sit up front then,” said Penelope. “I don’t mind. I tell you, we’ll have high times you and me. High times and big laughs.”
So began a quaint courtship and eventually a life of crime for Arturo and the Kissing Bandit, although Arturo wasn’t too impressed with the nickname the press had given to him. In bed, under the covers, he angrily shook the newspaper in his hands. “Do you know what they’re calling us?” he asked Penelope.
“Who’s calling us what?” said Penelope, absently filing her fingernails.
“Them, everyone, the police,” said Arturo.
“What are they calling us, dear?”
“The Kissing Bandit and the Oval-headed Guy.”
“So what’s wrong with that?” asked Penelope.
“Well, every adult is more or less oval-headed,” replied Arturo. “Is that the best description they could think of for me -- the only description?”
“Hey mister,“ said Penelope, reaching for him under the covers. “I don’t know about anybody else, but I like an oval-headed guy.”
“But don’t you understand that that isn’t unique? Don’t you get that?”
Penelope just laughed. Arturo wasn’t much to look at, but he had in his bed the Kissing Bandit, and she wasn’t going anywhere.
The end.
Postscript: The Kissing Bandit and the Oval-headed Guy are still on the loose. Who could ever arrest -- or even suspect -- a couple of hard core bank robbers on a bicycle built for two?
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| Welcome Cordelia Katie Scarlett Schulte! |
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| art by Arlette Malivernier |
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| A Snowman's Christmas |
Saturday, November 19, 2016
Autumn pics...
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| Untitled painting |
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| Snow cones near |
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| A gold rock |
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| Autumn path |
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| Happy sun |
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| Neighborhood hawk |
Monday, October 31, 2016
A review of 'A Man Called Ove' by Fredrik Backman
"Well, in Whoville they say -- that the Grinch's heart grew three sizes that day." Dr. Seuss
There is a lot of the Grinch in Fredrik Backman's 'Ove,' and also some Gru from 'Despicable Me.' In fact, as the the story unfolds, the only living thing that wants anything to do with the 59 year-old Swedish curmudgeon is the neighborhood stray cat. But as the chapters pass, more and more is revealed about Ove. His early days are harsh to be sure, but his path leads to a tender and bittersweet romance with the only love of his life. But his days, he feels, are nearly over -- until the new neighbors move in and run over his mailbox. She's Iranian and he's, well, Ove. His greatest compliment to anyone is "You're not entirely without hope." The new neighbor has her work cut out for her, but she's up for it even while several months pregnant. A Man Called Ove was so funny and touching that I had to put it down several times just think about it. So many customers and friends recommended this book to me, and so I'm recommending it to you. As I toured my neighborhood the other day picking up trash and guarding against possible malfeasance, I thought, "My gosh, I'm Ove." You probably know one too.
Saturday, October 29, 2016
The Girl on the Train
I've recently finished reading The Girl on the Train, though I've yet to see the movie version. It was a very good mystery, but I fear a proper review might give away some key plot points. Therefore, you'll have to suffer through a poem instead. But I do hope you will either read or see the movie version of The Girl on the Train. It was special to me because I read it while riding on the train back and forth to work. I was the boy on the train reading about the girl on the train. Anyway, here comes the poem. I hope it doesn't spoil anything for anyone.
Girl on the Train
She feels nothing special,
no need to dress, kind of plain.
Her best days behind her,
she’s just a girl on the train.
She’s kind of a loner,
and barely sober,
her whole life going down the drain.
She’s just a girl on the train.
She can’t feel your pain,
she’s got much of her own.
You can’t sit next to her,
she wants to be alone.
She’s a girl on the train.
She’s seen something strange,
but what can you do?
One of the suspects
just might be you.
She’s a girl on the train.
She’s just a girl on the train.
But maybe there’s hope,
if she can only remember.
It’s closer than she thinks,
and they’ll want her to surrender.
She’s a girl on the train.
She’s just a girl on the train.
It’s getting clearer now,
but time’s not her friend.
One false move
and it might be the end.
She’s a girl on the train.
She’s just a girl on the train.
“Track number nine will be departing in one minute… Track number nine will be departing in one minute… All aboard!”
Friday, October 14, 2016
Tuborg: The Runt of the Litter. A tale of about a little guard puppy. Storytime Magazine says "Two Paws Up!"
Tuborg: The Runt of the Litter
The big day had finally come. It was adoption day for Miss Applebutter’s seven little puppies. They were all brothers and sisters and eager for their forever homes. From biggest to smallest they were as follows: Jocko, Hildy, Leslie, Pablo, Reese, Cookie, Wayne, and -- really a half-puppy because he was so small -- Tuborg, the runt of the litter.
“You may have to stay here with Miss Applebutter,” said Leslie to Tuborg. “Who would want to adopt such a scrawny, little puppy?”
“Miss Applebutter says it’s what’s on the inside that counts,” replied Tuborg. “And I’ve got a lot going on inside me.”
“Well, I hope so,” said Jocko, “because there ain’t much on the outside that I can see.”
“I’ll show you,” said Tuborg. “I’ll get adopted. Just you wait.”
And wait he did. For once the adoption began, all six of Tuborg’s siblings found their forever homes. It was getting late in the evening and Tuborg found himself all alone at the feet of Miss Applebutter. “Don’t you worry, Tuborg,” she said to him. “You’ll always have a home here if nobody else comes round.”
“I know,” said Tuborg. “I was just hoping so much to be adopted.”
The sun was just about to set for the night and poor Tuborg still waited by the door. Just then, a thundering knock startled the whole house. “Who could that be?” asked Miss Applebutter. “I thought the adoption was over for the day.”
She opened the door to a big, burly older man with an unlit cigar clenched between his teeth. The coat he wore was thick and long like that of a wooly mammoth. He towered above Miss Applebutter and Tuborg rose just above his ankles. “I hear you got some puppies up for adoption,” said the giant man.
“Well, we did earlier,” admitted Miss Applebutter. “But I’m afraid they’ve all been adopted -- except for little Tuborg here.”
“Tuborg, you say,” said the large man. “And you say that’s a dog?”
“Of course I’m a dog!” protested Tuborg.
“Now, Tuborg,” said Miss Applebutter, “you must mind your manners. Our visitor was probably just expecting something…”
“Bigger,” said the man, “much bigger. Mildred instructed me to come home with a pup, but this one could fit into my own palm. You sure you don’t have one more in a larger size?”
“But I am a larger size,” said Tuborg. “You just can’t see it.”
“Now wait here,” said the man. “Let’s begin again. My name is Jack Kingsley and I’m in need of a dog. Now if Tuborg is all that you’ve got, well, maybe Tuborg is all that I need. You see, son, we don’t need a lap dog. Me and Mildred already got one of those. What I want to do, son, is offer you a job.”
“Me?” said Tuborg, excitably, wagging his little stump of a tail, “A job? This must be my lucky day. Well I accept your job, sir. I am your man!”
“Now just wait right here, son,” said Mr. Kingsley, “you haven’t even heard what the job entails.”
“Doesn’t matter to me,” said Tuborg. “I’m your man, sir. You can count on me.”
“Well isn’t he just an eager beaver,” said Mr. Kingsley. “This boy’s got spunk -- if not size.”
“He is spunky,” said Miss Applebutter. “I’ll give him that. But what is the job you speak of, sir, if I may ask?”
“Why, he’s going to be our guard dog,” replied Mr. Kingsley. “Tuborg will be the last line of defense for our home. You think you can handle that, son? It’s quite a responsibility.”
“I’m up for the challenge, sir. I’ll gladly be your last line of defense.”
“I must say, this boy does have some spunk,” said Mr. Kinsgley. “I’ll take him off your hands if you’ll allow me, ma’am. I‘ll certainly give him a try.”
Miss Applebutter and Mr. Kingsley exchanged pleasantries and finalized Tuborg’s adoption. Mr. Kinglsey then gathered up Tuborg in his palm and took him out to his truck. They then roared away into the night.
Somewhere along the many miles Tuborg fell fast asleep. When he awoke, he was in a great big two-story home at the foot of a giant staircase. Tuborg gathered his senses and saw that Mr. Kingsley was standing right beside him. “Is this where you live?” asked Tuborg, rubbing his eyes awake.
“Why yes it is,” replied Mr. Kingsley. “But Tuborg, this is where you live as well. We’re home now, boy.”
“Home?”
“Of course, home,” said Mr. Kingsley. “Now it’s time for you to meet the others.”
“The others?” Tuborg gulped.
Just then, a woman in a flowing nightgown descended down the staircase. And in her arms was the most beautiful puppy Tuborg had ever laid his eyes on.
“Tuborg,” said Mr. Kingsley, “this is my wife, Mildred, and this our other puppy, Cordelia.”
“Yowza,” muttered Tuborg.
“What’s that you said, boy?” asked Mr. Kingsley. “I didn’t quite catch that.”
“I just said I’m pleased to you meet you, ma’am, and pleased to meet you too, Cordelia.”
“That’s what I thought you said,” added Mr. Kingsley.
“I’m actually too young to date anyhow, sir. I meant no offense.”
“I’m sure you are too young to date, boy. I’m sure you are.”
“Now Jack,” said Mildred, “do you mean to tell me this is the guard dog you were told to bring home? How on earth is this little whippersnapper supposed to protect Cordelia and me?”
“Well, Mildred, I know Tuborg’s got little britches to begin with, but I think in due time he’ll grow into them. Don’t you think so? Don‘t you think we ought to at least give him a try?”
Mildred bent down to kiss little Cordelia. “So little Cordi, do you think we ought to give the little fellow a try?”
Cordelia sniffed at the air but Tuborg couldn’t tell at all what that meant. He hoped and prayed for the best. At length, Mildred looked down upon Tuborg. “Cordi says we’ll give you a try, young man.”
“Oh boy!” exclaimed Tuborg. “I won’t let you down, ma’am. Not now or ever.”
“He sure is a feisty one,” said Mildred. “I’ll give him that.”
Mildred and Cordelia ascended up the stairs leaving Tuborg with Mr. Kingsley. When the ladies were out of earshot, Mr. Kingsley said to Tuborg, “We’ll be sleeping upstairs and you’ll be in charge of downstairs. It’s a big area down here, Tuborg, so I want you to sleep with one eye open.”
“Oh, I’ll sleep with both eyes open, sir. You can count on me.”
Mr. Kingsley showed Tuborg the first floor layout, then brought him into the kitchen for a midnight snack. He made a blanket bed in the corner for Tuborg and then went up the stairs to bed. He told Tuborg to be ready first thing in the morning, for his day on the job would be a long one. Tuborg tried his hardest to sleep with both eyes open, but one soon shut followed by the other and off to sleep he drifted. He was home now, and his sleep was warm and peaceful and deep…
At sunrise the next morning, Mr. Kingsley rousted Tuborg awake. After a quick breakfast, he led the little puppy out the back door. Tuborg gazed upon a wide, fenced in lawn as green as he could ever imagine. There was one big oak tree right in the middle of the grass, but that was it. “Tuborg,” said Mr. Kingsley, “this is my backyard. I take good care of it and I’m mighty proud of the results.”
“As you should be, sir.”
“Now, Tuborg,” Mr. Kingsley continued, “I’m gone an awful lot, and I don’t have the time to watch over my land. That’s where you come in. You see, your day job will be to guard this property, understand?”
“Yes, sir. I’ll guard it all right. You can count on me.”
“Nobody but me and Mildred and Cordelia comes and goes back here, understand?”
“I understand, sir,” said Tuborg. “I’m ready to start at once, sir.”
“That’s good to hear, Tuborg. That’s good to hear. Now I’ve got something for you to wear. I want you to look official and represent our family well.”
Mr. Kingsley had a small box tucked under his arm. He placed it front of Tuborg and opened it.
“Is that what I think it is?” asked Tuborg, nervously.
“This here is the uniform I want you wear. You’ve got a blue shirt, a cap, and a badge.”
“Oh, boy! A uniform!”
“You wear it with pride, son.”
Tuborg immediately slipped on the shirt and then placed the cap on his head. As he was fumbling with the badge, he said to Mr. Kingsley, “And will there be a gun and a holster as well?”
Mr. Kingsley held his big belly and laughed. “Now don’t you get ahead of yourself, boy. You’ve got to walk before you can run if you know what I mean.”
“Oh, I’ll walk, sir. I’ll watch every inch of this lawn a thousand times over. Nothing will ever get by old Tuborg. You can count on that.”
“All right, all right,” said Mr. Kingsley as he bent over Tuborg to give the puppy a friendly pat. “I do believe I’ve the right man for the job after all. Now I’ll leave you to your work.”
Tuborg did indeed walk every inch of the property within the big brown fences. Eventually he made his way to the oak tree in the middle. There he found a heart carved into the trunk. In the middle of the heart there was a scratching that read J + M. This is a good home, Tuborg thought to himself, with a good yard and a good tree. He would guard this place with everything he’s got.
Tuborg noticed small things at first. The calm breeze, a darting squirrel, a screaming blue jay, a praying mantis. Nothing to cause alarm, nothing to investigate. But just as he backed up to the tree to settle in and take five, he heard what he thought was a knocking at the front fence. Tuborg rushed over to the fence and barked a strong warning. But when he got there he could see nothing between the slats of the fence. After a moment he turned away, sensing everything was on the up and up. But then he heard another knocking. What was going on? He could see nothing. Finally a voice came. “Hey, buddy, we’re down here.”
“Who’s down here?” asked Tuborg.
“We are,” said the voice. “We all are.”
Tuborg bent his head lower, and sure enough there was a tiny gate at the bottom of the fence, no more than an inch or two high. Tuborg worked his paw to open the gate a crack. What he saw was amazing. It was a tiny man in a uniform, but not a uniform like his own. He was a marching band leader, and behind him a band of over a hundred strong hoisting musical instruments of every kind imaginable. “My gosh, you’re the biggest dog I think I’ve ever seen,” said the band leader.
“I am?” questioned Tuborg. “But I’m the runt of the litter. You should see my bothers and sisters.”
“If they’re larger than you are,” said the band leader, “then I don’t ever want to see your brothers and sisters.”
Tuborg smiled. He was finally big -- at least compared to the marching band before him.
“Now sonny, you’ve got to let us cross your yard,” said the band leader. “We’re very late.”
“But I can’t let you cross the yard. Mr. Kingsley forbids it.”
“Yes,” said the band leader, “but does Mr. Kingsley know that blue team is playing the red team and it’s the biggest game of the season? Now what would the biggest game of the season be without a marching band?”
“I see your point,” said Tuborg, rubbing his chin. “He didn’t tell me anything about the big game.”
“No, he didn’t. But don’t you worry. We won’t cause a ruckus. We’ll just play our tunes and march right across the yard and out the back door. It’s all standard procedure for marching bands. That’s right. All standard procedure.”
“Well, if it’s standard procedure…”
“In fact,” said the band leader, “I’ll even give you my baton and you can lead them through. How about that?”
“Wow!” said Tuborg. “Me, a band leader? Imagine that.”
“There’s no imagination, sonny. This is the real deal. Lead them through!
Tuborg held the baton high and led the marching band all the way across the yard to the back of the fence. Sure enough there was another tiny door to let the band out. He surrendered the baton to the band leader and shut the little door. And then they were gone. It was Mildred’s voice he heard next. Tuborg ran back to the house so he could better hear her.
“Tuborg, what is all that noise I’m hearing?” asked Mildred.
“Oh nothing, ma’am. It’s just the wind is all.”
“Well, the wind sure does sound like When the Saints Go Marching In.”
“It’s a very nice wind you’ve got back here, ma’am,” said Tuborg.
“Well, tell the wind to keep it down, okay?”
“Yes, ma’am. I will.”
Tuborg took a few laps around the perimeter of the yard to make sure everything was on the up and up, then settled down to take five against the tree. But as soon as he plopped his butt on the ground there came another rapping at the gate. Tuborg barked a stern warning and dashed over as quickly as he could. Now what, he thought, bending his ear down to the little door. “Open up!” he heard. “The circus is in town.”
Tuborg timidly propped open the door. “The circus?”
A tiny man in a sharp tuxedo and a tall top hat emerged from behind the door. In his hand he waved a baton and smiled as brightly as he could. “My gosh, look at the size of you,” he said to Tuborg. “Are you some kind of polar bear?”
“A polar bear, me?” said Tuborg. “No, sir, I’m just a guard dog.”
“A guard dog, huh?” said the tiny man. “What‘s your name?”
“I’m Tuborg.”
“Well, Mr. Tuborg, I do believe you’re the fiercest, roughest, toughest guard dog I ever did lay eyes on.”
“I am?” replied Tuborg, puffing out his chest.
“But I sense that you’re a reasonable dog as well.”
“I’d like to think so, sir,” said Tuborg. “But what about you? Who are you?”
“Why Mr. Tuborg, I’m the Ringmaster, the master of ceremonies, the talk of the town, the Baron of the big top, the biggest of the big!”
“You’re all of those things?” said Tuborg. “Wow.”
The Ringmaster propped open the door as wide as he could manage. Behind the door was a long line of every kind of circus performer there was. There were jugglers, trapeze artists, tight rope walkers, fire eaters, men and women on stilts, and more. “Now as you can see, son, the circus is in town. Now you’ve got to let us through. We’re late for our show and time’s a wasting. You don‘t want the children to miss out on the circus, do you?”
“But I just let a marching band cross the yard,” explained Tuborg. “How can I let the circus come through, too? You want to get me fired?”
“Mr. guard dog,” said the Ringmaster, “what do you see at the point of my baton?”
“Well,“ said Tuborg, “I see five clowns.”
“What you see, son, is five sad clowns. Now you’ve got to help us turn those frowns upside down.”
“How do I do that?” asked Tuborg.
“By letting us pass, by letting us cross the yard,” said the Ringmaster. “That’s how. Don’t you love a clown?”
“Well, to be honest…”
All of the sudden the clowns started crying and moaning. “Now look what you’ve done, son. I’ve got five crying clowns on my hands. Who doesn‘t love a clown I say.”
“All right, all right,” said Tuborg. “I’ll let you pass. I sure don’t want to see anyone in tears, certainly not five clowns.”
“That’s my boy!” said the Ringmaster, ushering the once again happy clowns back into formation. “And as for your reward, here is my baton. You, Tuborg, are the honorary leader of the circus, the temporary Ringmaster who looks like a polar bear. Take us through, son!”
Tuborg grabbed the little baton and led the long column of circus performers across the yard and out the back gate. With all of their musical instruments and clowning, the circus made quite a commotion. Tuborg was very glad when the last of them passed through the gate. Once they were gone, however, he heard the voice of Mildred. This time she was out on the back porch -- with Cordelia by her side. “Tuborg!” she called from across the yard. “Is there something amiss in the yard?”
“No, ma’am,” Tuborg called back as he ran toward them. ”We’re all clear back here.”
Mildred held up her hand to stop a running Tuborg dead in his tracks. “Why do I smell peanuts then?”
“Oh, they’re in season, ma’am. It’s definitely high peanut season I believe.”
“And you’re a farmer as well, Tuborg?” said Mildred.
“It sure smells like the circus,” said Cordelia, gazing upon Tuborg with a suspicious eye. “It most surely does.”
Tuborg felt it was best to hold his tongue. Anything else he said might make it worse. Mildred took a look around the yard and made sure the coast was clear. “Now, Tuborg, the real reason we’ve come out here is because Cordelia needs to go potty. What I need you to do is be a gentleman and face the opposite direction from where she goes. A lady needs her privacy, understand?”
“Oh yes, ma’am,” said Tuborg. “I’ll bury my head in the ground if that’s what it takes.”
“Well aren’t you the little gentleman,” said Mildred. “It’s nice to have a gentleman in the house.”
“It’s part of my job,” replied Tuborg, “and a lifestyle choice as well.”
“My, my, Tuborg,” said Mildred, patting him on his cap “aren’t you scoring points with me today!”
Cordelia came running back, eventually going back inside the house with Mildred. Tuborg himself went potty, and then settled down under the tree for an afternoon nap. He was awakened not much later by another knocking at the gate. “What now?” Tuborg said, rousing himself from a deep slumber. “Not another circus I hope.” He trotted over to the tiny door and crouched down low. “Who goes there?” he asked.
“Howdy, pardner!” called a booming voice. “Open the door! Let me see your peepers.”
“My peepers?” questioned Tuborg.
“Your eyes,” said the voice. “I want to meet you face to face.”
Tuborg tentatively opened the door. On the other side he found a tiny cowboy wearing boots and spurs, dirty jeans, and a ten-gallon hat. “Friends call me Tex,“ he said, doffing his hat. And behind Tex were four other mini cowboys, and then a head of cattle as far as he could see.
“What the..?” exclaimed Tuborg.
“Pleased to meet you, friend,” said Tex. “What’s your name?”
“I’m Tuborg, the guard dog for this yard. What are you doing with all this cattle?”
“Well,” said Tex, “we’re on a cattle drive as you can see. We’ve got to drive this cattle because that’s what we do. We drive them here, and then we turn around and drive them there. Now if you’ll kindly let us cross your land, we’ll be out of your hair in no time. By the way, you’re about the biggest varmint I ever did see. What did you say your name was again, Bullfrog?”
“The name is Tuborg. Now why should I let you cross our yard? You could get me in big trouble.”
“I’d say trouble is your middle name.”
“It’s not,” replied Tuborg. “It’s Joseph.”
“Well, Tuborg Joseph, I’ve got a deal for you. You let us cross the yard, and I’ll let you lead the rooty-tootyest cattle drive you ever did see. Are you ready to be a cowboy, Bullfrog?”
“Oh, brother,” sighed Tuborg, propping open the door as far as he could. “All right, cowboys, line them up. I’ll take you through. Yee-ha!”
Tuborg led the cowboys and the cattle in a straight line across the yard. He let them out on the other side. “Whew,” he said, dusting off his clothes, “what a day.”
Soon after, Mr. Kingsley appeared at the back porch. He called for Tuborg across the yard. The little guard dog ran as fast as he could to the back porch. Mr. Kingsley let his eyes gaze upon the large expanse of his yard. “Looks awfully dusty back here, Tuborg. What do you think?”
“We just haven’t had the rains this year, sir.”
“No,” replied Mr. Kingsley, “we sure have not. Now tell me about your first day, Tuborg. Anything of note to report?”
“No, sir. It’s all jake back here, sir.”
“All jake? Is that right? Well, Tuborg, then let’s get you some supper. Looks like you’ve well deserved it.”
Mr. Kingsley attempted to usher Tuborg inside, but the little dog wouldn’t budge. ‘What’s the matter, Tuborg? Ain’t you hungry?”
“I am, sir,” admitted Tuborg, “but I have to tell you something. I cannot tell a lie.”
“What lie is that, son?”
“That everything was jake. No, sir, everything wasn’t jake. It wasn’t jake at all. In fact, there were breaches.”
“Breaches!” Mr. Kingsly exclaimed. “There were breaches in my backyard?”
“Three of them actually,” replied Tuborg.
“Three breaches you say? What kind of three breaches?”
“Well, first there was a tiny marching band, a hundred of them, but no more than an inch high. But, you see, the red team was playing the blue team and they really needed a marching band to play. They couldn’t be late for game like that.”
“That is true,” admitted Mr. Kingsley. “The red team did play the blue team, and it sure wouldn’t have been the same without a marching band. Now tell me about the second breach.”
“Next there was a mini circus. The clowns were crying and they didn’t want to let the little children down. They couldn’t have been late for the big show.”
“I don’t suppose not,” said Mr. Kingsley. “Nobody likes a clown… I mean, a crying clown. A crying clown will bring you down. That’s what I always say.”
“Me too, sir,” said Tuborg. “Me too.”
“Now tell me about this third breach.”
“They were tiny cowboys, sir, real ones, but tiny, and a herd of cattle as far as you can see…”
“All right, all right, Tuborg,” said Mr. Kingsley, laughing. “Let’s go inside and get us some supper. I want to hear all about the cowboys, the cattle, the circus. In fact, I want to hear about everything…”
Tuborg had supper with his new family and told them all about his adventures in the backyard. In the next days and weeks he settled into his job as guard dog. He did continue to let some groups cross the yard. The marching bands and circuses and cattle drives came and went, as did a dancing troupe, some Girl Scouts, a lacrosse team, and a comedian named Marty. He did not, however, let in zombies, litterbugs, solicitors, or anyone Mr. Kingsley considered tumbleweeds, turnip seeds, hockey pucks, flimflammers, sidewinders, gullywumpers, rabblerousers, and an especially heinous group calling themselves The Brigade of Angry Cats.
In time, Mr. Kingsley led Tuborg out to the big tree. There they carved out a new heart right next to the one that read J + M. In it, Mr. Kingsley helped Tuborg carve out T + C. In the big house, with the big yard, and a big tree in the middle, they lived happily ever after.
The end.
The big day had finally come. It was adoption day for Miss Applebutter’s seven little puppies. They were all brothers and sisters and eager for their forever homes. From biggest to smallest they were as follows: Jocko, Hildy, Leslie, Pablo, Reese, Cookie, Wayne, and -- really a half-puppy because he was so small -- Tuborg, the runt of the litter.
“You may have to stay here with Miss Applebutter,” said Leslie to Tuborg. “Who would want to adopt such a scrawny, little puppy?”
“Miss Applebutter says it’s what’s on the inside that counts,” replied Tuborg. “And I’ve got a lot going on inside me.”
“Well, I hope so,” said Jocko, “because there ain’t much on the outside that I can see.”
“I’ll show you,” said Tuborg. “I’ll get adopted. Just you wait.”
And wait he did. For once the adoption began, all six of Tuborg’s siblings found their forever homes. It was getting late in the evening and Tuborg found himself all alone at the feet of Miss Applebutter. “Don’t you worry, Tuborg,” she said to him. “You’ll always have a home here if nobody else comes round.”
“I know,” said Tuborg. “I was just hoping so much to be adopted.”
The sun was just about to set for the night and poor Tuborg still waited by the door. Just then, a thundering knock startled the whole house. “Who could that be?” asked Miss Applebutter. “I thought the adoption was over for the day.”
She opened the door to a big, burly older man with an unlit cigar clenched between his teeth. The coat he wore was thick and long like that of a wooly mammoth. He towered above Miss Applebutter and Tuborg rose just above his ankles. “I hear you got some puppies up for adoption,” said the giant man.
“Well, we did earlier,” admitted Miss Applebutter. “But I’m afraid they’ve all been adopted -- except for little Tuborg here.”
“Tuborg, you say,” said the large man. “And you say that’s a dog?”
“Of course I’m a dog!” protested Tuborg.
“Now, Tuborg,” said Miss Applebutter, “you must mind your manners. Our visitor was probably just expecting something…”
“Bigger,” said the man, “much bigger. Mildred instructed me to come home with a pup, but this one could fit into my own palm. You sure you don’t have one more in a larger size?”
“But I am a larger size,” said Tuborg. “You just can’t see it.”
“Now wait here,” said the man. “Let’s begin again. My name is Jack Kingsley and I’m in need of a dog. Now if Tuborg is all that you’ve got, well, maybe Tuborg is all that I need. You see, son, we don’t need a lap dog. Me and Mildred already got one of those. What I want to do, son, is offer you a job.”
“Me?” said Tuborg, excitably, wagging his little stump of a tail, “A job? This must be my lucky day. Well I accept your job, sir. I am your man!”
“Now just wait right here, son,” said Mr. Kingsley, “you haven’t even heard what the job entails.”
“Doesn’t matter to me,” said Tuborg. “I’m your man, sir. You can count on me.”
“Well isn’t he just an eager beaver,” said Mr. Kingsley. “This boy’s got spunk -- if not size.”
“He is spunky,” said Miss Applebutter. “I’ll give him that. But what is the job you speak of, sir, if I may ask?”
“Why, he’s going to be our guard dog,” replied Mr. Kingsley. “Tuborg will be the last line of defense for our home. You think you can handle that, son? It’s quite a responsibility.”
“I’m up for the challenge, sir. I’ll gladly be your last line of defense.”
“I must say, this boy does have some spunk,” said Mr. Kinsgley. “I’ll take him off your hands if you’ll allow me, ma’am. I‘ll certainly give him a try.”
Miss Applebutter and Mr. Kingsley exchanged pleasantries and finalized Tuborg’s adoption. Mr. Kinglsey then gathered up Tuborg in his palm and took him out to his truck. They then roared away into the night.
Somewhere along the many miles Tuborg fell fast asleep. When he awoke, he was in a great big two-story home at the foot of a giant staircase. Tuborg gathered his senses and saw that Mr. Kingsley was standing right beside him. “Is this where you live?” asked Tuborg, rubbing his eyes awake.
“Why yes it is,” replied Mr. Kingsley. “But Tuborg, this is where you live as well. We’re home now, boy.”
“Home?”
“Of course, home,” said Mr. Kingsley. “Now it’s time for you to meet the others.”
“The others?” Tuborg gulped.
Just then, a woman in a flowing nightgown descended down the staircase. And in her arms was the most beautiful puppy Tuborg had ever laid his eyes on.
“Tuborg,” said Mr. Kingsley, “this is my wife, Mildred, and this our other puppy, Cordelia.”
“Yowza,” muttered Tuborg.
“What’s that you said, boy?” asked Mr. Kingsley. “I didn’t quite catch that.”
“I just said I’m pleased to you meet you, ma’am, and pleased to meet you too, Cordelia.”
“That’s what I thought you said,” added Mr. Kingsley.
“I’m actually too young to date anyhow, sir. I meant no offense.”
“I’m sure you are too young to date, boy. I’m sure you are.”
“Now Jack,” said Mildred, “do you mean to tell me this is the guard dog you were told to bring home? How on earth is this little whippersnapper supposed to protect Cordelia and me?”
“Well, Mildred, I know Tuborg’s got little britches to begin with, but I think in due time he’ll grow into them. Don’t you think so? Don‘t you think we ought to at least give him a try?”
Mildred bent down to kiss little Cordelia. “So little Cordi, do you think we ought to give the little fellow a try?”
Cordelia sniffed at the air but Tuborg couldn’t tell at all what that meant. He hoped and prayed for the best. At length, Mildred looked down upon Tuborg. “Cordi says we’ll give you a try, young man.”
“Oh boy!” exclaimed Tuborg. “I won’t let you down, ma’am. Not now or ever.”
“He sure is a feisty one,” said Mildred. “I’ll give him that.”
Mildred and Cordelia ascended up the stairs leaving Tuborg with Mr. Kingsley. When the ladies were out of earshot, Mr. Kingsley said to Tuborg, “We’ll be sleeping upstairs and you’ll be in charge of downstairs. It’s a big area down here, Tuborg, so I want you to sleep with one eye open.”
“Oh, I’ll sleep with both eyes open, sir. You can count on me.”
Mr. Kingsley showed Tuborg the first floor layout, then brought him into the kitchen for a midnight snack. He made a blanket bed in the corner for Tuborg and then went up the stairs to bed. He told Tuborg to be ready first thing in the morning, for his day on the job would be a long one. Tuborg tried his hardest to sleep with both eyes open, but one soon shut followed by the other and off to sleep he drifted. He was home now, and his sleep was warm and peaceful and deep…
At sunrise the next morning, Mr. Kingsley rousted Tuborg awake. After a quick breakfast, he led the little puppy out the back door. Tuborg gazed upon a wide, fenced in lawn as green as he could ever imagine. There was one big oak tree right in the middle of the grass, but that was it. “Tuborg,” said Mr. Kingsley, “this is my backyard. I take good care of it and I’m mighty proud of the results.”
“As you should be, sir.”
“Now, Tuborg,” Mr. Kingsley continued, “I’m gone an awful lot, and I don’t have the time to watch over my land. That’s where you come in. You see, your day job will be to guard this property, understand?”
“Yes, sir. I’ll guard it all right. You can count on me.”
“Nobody but me and Mildred and Cordelia comes and goes back here, understand?”
“I understand, sir,” said Tuborg. “I’m ready to start at once, sir.”
“That’s good to hear, Tuborg. That’s good to hear. Now I’ve got something for you to wear. I want you to look official and represent our family well.”
Mr. Kingsley had a small box tucked under his arm. He placed it front of Tuborg and opened it.
“Is that what I think it is?” asked Tuborg, nervously.
“This here is the uniform I want you wear. You’ve got a blue shirt, a cap, and a badge.”
“Oh, boy! A uniform!”
“You wear it with pride, son.”
Tuborg immediately slipped on the shirt and then placed the cap on his head. As he was fumbling with the badge, he said to Mr. Kingsley, “And will there be a gun and a holster as well?”
Mr. Kingsley held his big belly and laughed. “Now don’t you get ahead of yourself, boy. You’ve got to walk before you can run if you know what I mean.”
“Oh, I’ll walk, sir. I’ll watch every inch of this lawn a thousand times over. Nothing will ever get by old Tuborg. You can count on that.”
“All right, all right,” said Mr. Kingsley as he bent over Tuborg to give the puppy a friendly pat. “I do believe I’ve the right man for the job after all. Now I’ll leave you to your work.”
Tuborg did indeed walk every inch of the property within the big brown fences. Eventually he made his way to the oak tree in the middle. There he found a heart carved into the trunk. In the middle of the heart there was a scratching that read J + M. This is a good home, Tuborg thought to himself, with a good yard and a good tree. He would guard this place with everything he’s got.
Tuborg noticed small things at first. The calm breeze, a darting squirrel, a screaming blue jay, a praying mantis. Nothing to cause alarm, nothing to investigate. But just as he backed up to the tree to settle in and take five, he heard what he thought was a knocking at the front fence. Tuborg rushed over to the fence and barked a strong warning. But when he got there he could see nothing between the slats of the fence. After a moment he turned away, sensing everything was on the up and up. But then he heard another knocking. What was going on? He could see nothing. Finally a voice came. “Hey, buddy, we’re down here.”
“Who’s down here?” asked Tuborg.
“We are,” said the voice. “We all are.”
Tuborg bent his head lower, and sure enough there was a tiny gate at the bottom of the fence, no more than an inch or two high. Tuborg worked his paw to open the gate a crack. What he saw was amazing. It was a tiny man in a uniform, but not a uniform like his own. He was a marching band leader, and behind him a band of over a hundred strong hoisting musical instruments of every kind imaginable. “My gosh, you’re the biggest dog I think I’ve ever seen,” said the band leader.
“I am?” questioned Tuborg. “But I’m the runt of the litter. You should see my bothers and sisters.”
“If they’re larger than you are,” said the band leader, “then I don’t ever want to see your brothers and sisters.”
Tuborg smiled. He was finally big -- at least compared to the marching band before him.
“Now sonny, you’ve got to let us cross your yard,” said the band leader. “We’re very late.”
“But I can’t let you cross the yard. Mr. Kingsley forbids it.”
“Yes,” said the band leader, “but does Mr. Kingsley know that blue team is playing the red team and it’s the biggest game of the season? Now what would the biggest game of the season be without a marching band?”
“I see your point,” said Tuborg, rubbing his chin. “He didn’t tell me anything about the big game.”
“No, he didn’t. But don’t you worry. We won’t cause a ruckus. We’ll just play our tunes and march right across the yard and out the back door. It’s all standard procedure for marching bands. That’s right. All standard procedure.”
“Well, if it’s standard procedure…”
“In fact,” said the band leader, “I’ll even give you my baton and you can lead them through. How about that?”
“Wow!” said Tuborg. “Me, a band leader? Imagine that.”
“There’s no imagination, sonny. This is the real deal. Lead them through!
Tuborg held the baton high and led the marching band all the way across the yard to the back of the fence. Sure enough there was another tiny door to let the band out. He surrendered the baton to the band leader and shut the little door. And then they were gone. It was Mildred’s voice he heard next. Tuborg ran back to the house so he could better hear her.
“Tuborg, what is all that noise I’m hearing?” asked Mildred.
“Oh nothing, ma’am. It’s just the wind is all.”
“Well, the wind sure does sound like When the Saints Go Marching In.”
“It’s a very nice wind you’ve got back here, ma’am,” said Tuborg.
“Well, tell the wind to keep it down, okay?”
“Yes, ma’am. I will.”
Tuborg took a few laps around the perimeter of the yard to make sure everything was on the up and up, then settled down to take five against the tree. But as soon as he plopped his butt on the ground there came another rapping at the gate. Tuborg barked a stern warning and dashed over as quickly as he could. Now what, he thought, bending his ear down to the little door. “Open up!” he heard. “The circus is in town.”
Tuborg timidly propped open the door. “The circus?”
A tiny man in a sharp tuxedo and a tall top hat emerged from behind the door. In his hand he waved a baton and smiled as brightly as he could. “My gosh, look at the size of you,” he said to Tuborg. “Are you some kind of polar bear?”
“A polar bear, me?” said Tuborg. “No, sir, I’m just a guard dog.”
“A guard dog, huh?” said the tiny man. “What‘s your name?”
“I’m Tuborg.”
“Well, Mr. Tuborg, I do believe you’re the fiercest, roughest, toughest guard dog I ever did lay eyes on.”
“I am?” replied Tuborg, puffing out his chest.
“But I sense that you’re a reasonable dog as well.”
“I’d like to think so, sir,” said Tuborg. “But what about you? Who are you?”
“Why Mr. Tuborg, I’m the Ringmaster, the master of ceremonies, the talk of the town, the Baron of the big top, the biggest of the big!”
“You’re all of those things?” said Tuborg. “Wow.”
The Ringmaster propped open the door as wide as he could manage. Behind the door was a long line of every kind of circus performer there was. There were jugglers, trapeze artists, tight rope walkers, fire eaters, men and women on stilts, and more. “Now as you can see, son, the circus is in town. Now you’ve got to let us through. We’re late for our show and time’s a wasting. You don‘t want the children to miss out on the circus, do you?”
“But I just let a marching band cross the yard,” explained Tuborg. “How can I let the circus come through, too? You want to get me fired?”
“Mr. guard dog,” said the Ringmaster, “what do you see at the point of my baton?”
“Well,“ said Tuborg, “I see five clowns.”
“What you see, son, is five sad clowns. Now you’ve got to help us turn those frowns upside down.”
“How do I do that?” asked Tuborg.
“By letting us pass, by letting us cross the yard,” said the Ringmaster. “That’s how. Don’t you love a clown?”
“Well, to be honest…”
All of the sudden the clowns started crying and moaning. “Now look what you’ve done, son. I’ve got five crying clowns on my hands. Who doesn‘t love a clown I say.”
“All right, all right,” said Tuborg. “I’ll let you pass. I sure don’t want to see anyone in tears, certainly not five clowns.”
“That’s my boy!” said the Ringmaster, ushering the once again happy clowns back into formation. “And as for your reward, here is my baton. You, Tuborg, are the honorary leader of the circus, the temporary Ringmaster who looks like a polar bear. Take us through, son!”
Tuborg grabbed the little baton and led the long column of circus performers across the yard and out the back gate. With all of their musical instruments and clowning, the circus made quite a commotion. Tuborg was very glad when the last of them passed through the gate. Once they were gone, however, he heard the voice of Mildred. This time she was out on the back porch -- with Cordelia by her side. “Tuborg!” she called from across the yard. “Is there something amiss in the yard?”
“No, ma’am,” Tuborg called back as he ran toward them. ”We’re all clear back here.”
Mildred held up her hand to stop a running Tuborg dead in his tracks. “Why do I smell peanuts then?”
“Oh, they’re in season, ma’am. It’s definitely high peanut season I believe.”
“And you’re a farmer as well, Tuborg?” said Mildred.
“It sure smells like the circus,” said Cordelia, gazing upon Tuborg with a suspicious eye. “It most surely does.”
Tuborg felt it was best to hold his tongue. Anything else he said might make it worse. Mildred took a look around the yard and made sure the coast was clear. “Now, Tuborg, the real reason we’ve come out here is because Cordelia needs to go potty. What I need you to do is be a gentleman and face the opposite direction from where she goes. A lady needs her privacy, understand?”
“Oh yes, ma’am,” said Tuborg. “I’ll bury my head in the ground if that’s what it takes.”
“Well aren’t you the little gentleman,” said Mildred. “It’s nice to have a gentleman in the house.”
“It’s part of my job,” replied Tuborg, “and a lifestyle choice as well.”
“My, my, Tuborg,” said Mildred, patting him on his cap “aren’t you scoring points with me today!”
Cordelia came running back, eventually going back inside the house with Mildred. Tuborg himself went potty, and then settled down under the tree for an afternoon nap. He was awakened not much later by another knocking at the gate. “What now?” Tuborg said, rousing himself from a deep slumber. “Not another circus I hope.” He trotted over to the tiny door and crouched down low. “Who goes there?” he asked.
“Howdy, pardner!” called a booming voice. “Open the door! Let me see your peepers.”
“My peepers?” questioned Tuborg.
“Your eyes,” said the voice. “I want to meet you face to face.”
Tuborg tentatively opened the door. On the other side he found a tiny cowboy wearing boots and spurs, dirty jeans, and a ten-gallon hat. “Friends call me Tex,“ he said, doffing his hat. And behind Tex were four other mini cowboys, and then a head of cattle as far as he could see.
“What the..?” exclaimed Tuborg.
“Pleased to meet you, friend,” said Tex. “What’s your name?”
“I’m Tuborg, the guard dog for this yard. What are you doing with all this cattle?”
“Well,” said Tex, “we’re on a cattle drive as you can see. We’ve got to drive this cattle because that’s what we do. We drive them here, and then we turn around and drive them there. Now if you’ll kindly let us cross your land, we’ll be out of your hair in no time. By the way, you’re about the biggest varmint I ever did see. What did you say your name was again, Bullfrog?”
“The name is Tuborg. Now why should I let you cross our yard? You could get me in big trouble.”
“I’d say trouble is your middle name.”
“It’s not,” replied Tuborg. “It’s Joseph.”
“Well, Tuborg Joseph, I’ve got a deal for you. You let us cross the yard, and I’ll let you lead the rooty-tootyest cattle drive you ever did see. Are you ready to be a cowboy, Bullfrog?”
“Oh, brother,” sighed Tuborg, propping open the door as far as he could. “All right, cowboys, line them up. I’ll take you through. Yee-ha!”
Tuborg led the cowboys and the cattle in a straight line across the yard. He let them out on the other side. “Whew,” he said, dusting off his clothes, “what a day.”
Soon after, Mr. Kingsley appeared at the back porch. He called for Tuborg across the yard. The little guard dog ran as fast as he could to the back porch. Mr. Kingsley let his eyes gaze upon the large expanse of his yard. “Looks awfully dusty back here, Tuborg. What do you think?”
“We just haven’t had the rains this year, sir.”
“No,” replied Mr. Kingsley, “we sure have not. Now tell me about your first day, Tuborg. Anything of note to report?”
“No, sir. It’s all jake back here, sir.”
“All jake? Is that right? Well, Tuborg, then let’s get you some supper. Looks like you’ve well deserved it.”
Mr. Kingsley attempted to usher Tuborg inside, but the little dog wouldn’t budge. ‘What’s the matter, Tuborg? Ain’t you hungry?”
“I am, sir,” admitted Tuborg, “but I have to tell you something. I cannot tell a lie.”
“What lie is that, son?”
“That everything was jake. No, sir, everything wasn’t jake. It wasn’t jake at all. In fact, there were breaches.”
“Breaches!” Mr. Kingsly exclaimed. “There were breaches in my backyard?”
“Three of them actually,” replied Tuborg.
“Three breaches you say? What kind of three breaches?”
“Well, first there was a tiny marching band, a hundred of them, but no more than an inch high. But, you see, the red team was playing the blue team and they really needed a marching band to play. They couldn’t be late for game like that.”
“That is true,” admitted Mr. Kingsley. “The red team did play the blue team, and it sure wouldn’t have been the same without a marching band. Now tell me about the second breach.”
“Next there was a mini circus. The clowns were crying and they didn’t want to let the little children down. They couldn’t have been late for the big show.”
“I don’t suppose not,” said Mr. Kingsley. “Nobody likes a clown… I mean, a crying clown. A crying clown will bring you down. That’s what I always say.”
“Me too, sir,” said Tuborg. “Me too.”
“Now tell me about this third breach.”
“They were tiny cowboys, sir, real ones, but tiny, and a herd of cattle as far as you can see…”
“All right, all right, Tuborg,” said Mr. Kingsley, laughing. “Let’s go inside and get us some supper. I want to hear all about the cowboys, the cattle, the circus. In fact, I want to hear about everything…”
Tuborg had supper with his new family and told them all about his adventures in the backyard. In the next days and weeks he settled into his job as guard dog. He did continue to let some groups cross the yard. The marching bands and circuses and cattle drives came and went, as did a dancing troupe, some Girl Scouts, a lacrosse team, and a comedian named Marty. He did not, however, let in zombies, litterbugs, solicitors, or anyone Mr. Kingsley considered tumbleweeds, turnip seeds, hockey pucks, flimflammers, sidewinders, gullywumpers, rabblerousers, and an especially heinous group calling themselves The Brigade of Angry Cats.
In time, Mr. Kingsley led Tuborg out to the big tree. There they carved out a new heart right next to the one that read J + M. In it, Mr. Kingsley helped Tuborg carve out T + C. In the big house, with the big yard, and a big tree in the middle, they lived happily ever after.
The end.
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