“Humph.”
Phillip flumped down onto the buggy, itchy-scratchy grassy ground around his
doghouse. “You know what’s up? I’m a
fed-up pup, that’s whassup!” Phillip
flapped a paw at a buzzy bumblebee singing and swinging around his nose and
toes. “Every dog-gone dash day is the
same, no game, quite lame,” said Phillip. “I sleep unsoundly in this coldenly doggie
hut, while my pinkly, plumply people sleep deeply in a lovely human housey! I tell ya the totally, terrible truth, I’m
fed up!”
Phillip
rolled his bug-bitten rump over a muddy hump with a big fat doggy thump. “Sure, they take care of me by feeding me
crunchity crackers and treaty smackers, but my hairless humans don’t eat the
same. On wickedly warm days filled with
hot, sunnish rays, my people slurp cones of cream as cold as ice, tasting twice
as nice! On snowsy-blowsy nights of
freezy-breezy rain, they eat soups so hot… the shame! They rest their rears on things called
chairs that are full of softness and angels’ feathers! They watch an unbelievable box, a display of
bravery and tears, policemen and dancing bears and humans selling
underwears. Worst of all…they get to go
potty on the wonderfully white, certainly soft, kingly comfortable pleasure potty
palace chair! Me? I growl
barkity-bark-bark at the daily, dependable deliveryman and drop my doggity
doody-do on the grass surrounding my houndy home! No class!”
“ I’m one fed-up
pup and I’ve had enough,” hollered Phillip.
“It’s time to get tough, take no guff and hope that things don’t get too
unpleasantly rough!” Phillip stood
solidly sound with his back two feet on the ground , his tail waggling wiggily
around. He dashed up the driveway, proudly
paraded past the demeaning doggy flap, pushed open the human door (quite a
chore!), and stepped onto the kitchen floor.
Father frantically
raced down the stairs, staring stupidly at what was willfully waiting for him
at the kitchen table. “Mother!” yelled
Father. “Why is Phillip sitting so
pleasantly and peoplely at the proper plate setting for me?”
Mother joined the
rowdy ruckousy kitchen commotion calmly.
“Hmm, it appears Phillip feels he’s fully family now, Father,” said
Mother with amazingly matronly motions.
“That is correct,
Mother,” said Phillip. “If you don’t mind,
if you’d be so kind, I’d love to dine, and try some coffee if that’s fine.”
“But…but…Phillip,”
blustered a barely believing Father, “I never, ever, ever knew you could speak in such mannerly and humanly ways!”
“I’ve never had
anything to say before now ,” said Phillip as he pawingly pulled the front page
of the paper open. “And please, use my dog name from now on: Sir Barks-A-Lot.”
Brother and Sister
tumbled down the steepish stairs to see what the loudish hoo-hah hullaballoo
was about. “Phillip!” squealed Brother
& Sister. “You’re sitting, reading
and drinking in a very mannerly and humanly way!”
“This is
oh-so-totally and truthfully true, my youngish humanly crew,” said
Phillip. “For you see, Brother and
Sisteree, I’m a frighteningly fed-up little pup. I’ve delightfully decided to declare my
doggishly days dog-gone done. I wish to
be treated and undefeated in ways most humdingishly humanish.”
“Well, Sir
Barks-A-Lot, I can see you’re not so hot to dog trot a lot, so I’ll tell you
what’s what and what’s not,” said Father.
“It’s fine that you’re a fed-up pup, but I do believe (here, let me roll
up my sleeve), that I would like to achieve being a fed-up Father!” Father shed his shirt and shucked his shoes,
flopped to the floor like a fish with the blues. “I’m a fed-up Father now and I want to experience
delightfully doggishly, luxuriously lazy, hazy doggy days! Now scratch my tummy and talk to me funny!”
“I do not want to
be left out,” said Mother. “So here me
shout, ‘I’m a fed-up Mother, what about you Sister and Brother’?”
“Awesome!” yelled
Brother and Sister. “We’re going to be
fed-up Sister and Brother, there can be no other, so why even bother, isn’t
that right, Father and Mother?” Brother
junked his jeans, standing in his tidy-whities, making for quite a sighty and
said, “It’s doggy nap-time, so good nighty!”
“I’m going
outdoors,” said Sister sassily, “and getting on all fours, and bark for hours
at passing cars and neighbors next doors!”
“Hold on here one
hot-doggedy, dog-gone hair,” hollered Phillip. “We all can’t possibly pretend to play at being fed-up forever! Who will work and cook goodies and send
Brother and Sister to school in their hoodies?”
“You should’ve
thoroughly thought this through, Sir Barks-A-Lot,” murmured Mother. “Now we have a household of hairless hounds
with no helpful humans. In order to
feed, you will indeed need to learn to read at school, obey the golden rule and
get a job…If that’s cool.”
“Work? School??” screamed Phillip. “I’m no fool, but a drooly, wooly puppy pal
who’s just fed up, that’s all. You can’t
possibly pretend to ponder this pup’s wonder at screamingly scary school and
weirdly wicked work!”
Father rantingly
ran in, his tongue wagging wildly, his manner oddly mildly, and plopped
puppy-like at Phillip’s furry feet.
“Bounce the bouncy blue ball, Sir Barks-A-Lot, and we’ll play all day
until we’re hot!”
“No pants, no
shoes and no shirt!” barked Brother. “I
just did doo-doo in the outdoor doggy dirt!
I must run, for there’s much more fun in the sun that I’ve only just
begun!”
Father was chasing
balls and scratching his bottom up against walls. Mother napped nicely and neatly with no shoes
on her feeties. Daughter hollered
houndishly at neighbors and cars and voices from afars. Brother pottied and partied in the puppy
playhouse and yard!
And they want me to go to school and work,
thought Phillip, this is too hard!
“Enough!” yelled
Phillip. “Enough funny stuff, it’s just
too tough to take, it’s no piece of cake!
Maybe I was too quick, to say I’m fed-up and sick. I do not want to go to school and work, I do
not want to eat with a fork. I want to
go back to being Phillip the dog and be as lazy dazy as a log!”
Father and Brother
put on their clothes, Daughter stood up on her back toes, and Mother merrily
said, “I suppose…I suppose, if we chose, we could go back to the lives we know. Let’s get going, gang, and be cool, it’s time
for us to leave for work and school!”
Phillp’s family
fled out the door, leaving Phillip panting on the floor. “Well,” pondered Phillip as he walked out the
doggy door, “Life is swell, all is well, the neighbor’s did not put Brother or
Sister in jail.” Phillip plopped
oh-so-puppy-like onto the green grass in front of his cozy, comfy, cutesy &
delightful doggy-house. “I am houndishly
happy and puppishly pleased to go back to my lovely life as a well-fed pup and
not a fed-up pup!”
From that day on
and once a week, Phillip’s furless family (so to speak), fed Phillip a cone
with cream as cold as ice and twice as nice.
* * *
Here
I am, talking about myself, pretending not to. Ah,
I'm probably not
fooling anyone, but play along anyway, 'kay? Just imagine Morgan Freeman
narrating and we'll all get through this just fine.
For more of Stuart R. West's adult and young adult suspense tales filled with light heart and dark humor, check out his Amazon page.
And please do check out Stuart's blog featuring weekly rants, failed stand-up comedy routines and incisive author interviews: Twisted Tales From Tornado Alley
Brand spankin' new and creeptacular trailer for Ghosts of Gannaway: http://bit.ly/1Icbj0N
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