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Sunday, August 13, 2017

386: Dogs

 “We need to talk.”

That was a surprise. C.W. hadn’t said a word in 20 minutes. He just sat on the couch in what is becoming his favorite form: The Galilean. I knew to be careful. He’s wily in this form.

“Oh?” I played dumb.

“Quite.”

“About what?”

“Mrs. Big Dope.”

“I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

“Have you ever noticed anything unusual about her?”

I wanted so badly to reach and see if he happened to be wearing a wire under his robe. “Unusual?” I was stalling for time. “She’s unusually intelligent.”

“I agree, until I look at you, that is.”

“She’s unusually beautiful.”

“Could probably have done better. Can you think of anything that kept her from it? Habits? Traits? Idiosyncrasies?

“She has an inordinate fondness for dogs.”

“I agree. Someone once said that about Dad and beetles. It’s true. So far he’s made over a quarter-million different species of them, if you are to believe your vice-president. That makes the old man chuckle.”

The diversion pleased me. “Why so many?”

“Let’s get back on topic. Anything unusual about Mrs. Big Dope’s relationship with dogs? I mean other than the fact she has so many of them?”

I thought of my options. Even as The Galilean, I didn’t trust him completely. “Well,” I said, “she thinks they understand English, talks to them all the time in complete sentences.”

“I’ve noticed that. What’s odd about it?”

“Uh, other than the fact that they are dogs?”

“You don’t think they understand her when she talks to them?”

I waited, thought, then said. “Not really.”

“Be prepared,” he said, “for a shock. They do.”

I didn’t answer for a moment, thinking of my options. “They what?”

“They understand every word she says.”

“Get out of town.”

“They last time someone told me that was a day or so after they welcomed me in with hosings.”

“I think you mean hosannas.”

“Whatever. Anyway, sure the dogs understand her. It’s one of the greatest inside jokes in the galaxy that they don’t answer her back. Maybe they will someday.”

“They’re playing a joke on her?”

“Not playing a joke, testing her faith.”

“You’re joking.”

“I don’t joke. They dogs do though. And, by the way, I know a lot more about the testing of faith than you do.”

“The dogs joke?”

“Of course. Haven’t you ever seen them play the ‘damage to the auditory nerve game’ when she states a demand they don’t approve of?”

“Do you mean the ‘deaf’ game.”

“My son, you’re never going to develop friends until you break the habit of repeating everything they say. And, yes, the deaf game. Sometimes they play it just after they’ve run a mile because she yelled the word ‘treat’ once.”

“They do that on purpose, play deaf I mean?”

“Haven’t you noticed the way they roll over on their backs and wiggle after they’ve done it?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I think I have seen that.”

“That’s their method of laughing about it. They call it a ‘group guffaw,’ and it’s one of their great joys. That and making up limericks.”

“They make up limericks?”

“Oh heck yes. Of course, you can’t hear them. They communicate with thought waves much above your range.”

“Limericks?”

“Want to hear one? One that the female boxer-mix made up?”

I bit. “Sure.”

He though, then recited:

There once was a Great Dane name Marge
Who dated a Dachshund named Sarge.
She’d stand in the river.
And how she would quiver,
As he approached from behind on a barge.

“That’s awful.”
 
Do you really think she would let you
buy this chair for a mere human? - C.W.
“Don’t let her hear you say that.”

“Why?”

“Remember the last time she licked you in the face?”

“Yes.”

“Guess what she had been doing just before that?’

I thought. “No … surely not.”

“What do you think that translates into?”

"I'm afraid to think."

"Well it sure as hell ain't, 'Why don't you float up and drop anchor sometime, big boy?'"


See also:
Order Big Dope's Book at Wattensaw PressAmazon, or other book sellers.


Sunday, August 6, 2017

385. Paradise

Yesterday C.W. walked up in the shape of a well-dressed twenty-something and wanted to go downtown and have a drink at a bar.

“I understand that is where your young people go to seek adventure,” he said.

That made me think. “I guess some do,” I said.

“Where else would they go?”

“Some go to Mount Everest for excitement.”

“Are there girls there?”

“Not many.”

“Why then?”

“Gosh,” I said, “I really don’t know. To try and climb it I suppose.”

I could sense his internal computer going off. “They could encounter difficulty doing that. The elevations would pose problems.”

“Oh yes.”

“Are they sent there as punishment?”

“No. They go there willingly.”

“Where else do they go?”

I thought. “There is a place in Spain where young people let wild bulls chase them down narrow streets.”

He frowned. “A human could get killed doing that.”

“Some do,” I said.

“That sounds like allahkahgdomcince,” he said.

“A what?”

“It’s Falloonian for seeking danger when there is no danger.”

“Oh. Perhaps so.”

He paused again as his internal database kicked in. “It is similar to what your American author James A. Michener disclosed in his published book Tales of the South Pacific years ago.

“You’ve jumped the track on me.”

“He recounted how medical officers stationed in the South Pacific during one of your great wars noticed a case, among the natives of the islands, of something that deviates from what is standard, normal, or expected.”

“An anomaly?”

“Are you going to repeat everything I say today?”

“No. Explain the anomaly. I seem to remember something about it. I haven’t read that book since my high school days.”

“Did they call it that because you all stayed high most of the time.”
,
“Just on learning. Now back to the ‘paradise syndrome’ you were talking about.”

He recycled. “Seems people lived on these South Sea islands in what you should call, a place or condition of great happiness where everything is exactly as you would like it.”

“Bliss?”

“Paradise.”

“Okay. Now what is your point?”

“No disease. Food hanging from trees. Abundant water. Comfortable climate. No need to work. No problems at all. That’s why it didn’t make sense.”
 
Can't have this, can we? - C.W.
“What didn’t make sense?”

“That they created cruel, inhumane, and destructive religions that kept their people in a constant state of tension.”

“I seem to remember that,” I said. “It doesn’t make sense, does it?”

“It’s almost like you live in luxury but want someone uncaring, cruel, and mean to rule over your daily activities. Falloonians would call that, kughtckoughuruhnhos.”

“Well I’m glad we’re civilized today and passed all that nonsense.”

He looked at me for a time and started to say something but stopped. He nodded to himself, thought, and said, “I’m ready to go get that drink now.”

See also:
Order Big Dope's Book at Wattensaw PressAmazon, or other book sellers.