Tuesday, August 25, 2015

Phillip, the Fed-Up Pup by Stuart R. West

                “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:

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