Timmy and Max were inseparable. They went everywhere together, shared all of their secrets and spent hours and hours playing outside. Mom never had to tell them to go outside to play. It was all she could do to get them to come inside for dinner or to go to bed.
Max hadn’t lived in the neighborhood for long. He was a new addition, but as far as Timmy was concerned, he was THE BEST thing that had ever happened to that neighborhood. Their rural neighborhood consisted of open fields, heavy woods, swamps and a real live creek. And not too many people to yell at them for playing where they shouldn’t. There were a few neighbors that they had to watch out for. They couldn’t play on Mr. Thuman’s lawn with bikes or heavy toys, especially when it was wet, because they would leave marks.
They spent all day, day after day, climbing trees and playing hide and go seek. When you’re playing hide and seek with just two, in a five-acre radius, it can take all day to just be found once. If one of them was lucky. Or unlucky, depending on how you looked at it. Many of their games consisted of a nice nap in the sun while waiting to be found. Counting grass blades and searching whole fields for four-leafed clover were also frequent activities.
Since it was summer, they were free to do as they chose all day, every day. Timmy was the organizer. The idea guy. Max was happy-go-lucky and followed Timmy around. Max seemed to have sinus trouble, as he was always sniffing. Especially in a new environment. Max was a little younger, so every idea that Timmy had seemed like a brilliant idea to Max. Just so he didn’t have to stay at home by himself, that was all he cared about. If he was with Timmy doing anything, he was happy.
The day they spent wandering around the old barn was a great day. They had so much fun and found so many great treasures. You and I would not consider them treasures, but for those who are blissfully ignorant of the cold realities of the world, stray marbles, dusty feathers and ancient farm machinery are to be cherished. Of course, they couldn’t all be tucked into pockets and carried home.
When they walked into the barn, they stood for a minute adjusting to the dim light. And the ancient odor of a million musty yesterdays. Max was sniffing as though his life depended on it. Timmy sniffed a few times, but the got used to the mustiness.
They began to explore, going in opposite directions. Max found a dead rat in the corner. It looked ancient--mostly from its style of dress—no self respecting rat would dress like that today. It was perfectly preserved, including the top hat. If you didn’t know the rat had to have been dead for 70 years, likely more, you might have thought it passed away yesterday. They really did some things well in those days, that’s for sure.
Downstairs there was tack on the walls, as this was originally a horse barn. There were several stalls, most of the walls still standing, but long empty. At least of their original occupants. There was evidence of many others living here, or at least passing through over the years. Timmy and Max studied the feathered remains, the droppings, the flotsam of the birds and rodents who had refuged here at some point.
Then they went upstairs, very carefully, as half of the floor was gone and the other half was going fast. They made extensive use of their athletic abilities just to get up the stairs. It was like jumping hurdles, but vertically. Eventually they arrived upstairs and once up there they poked, and poked, and poked.
They found scraps of old newspapers. Max found one from December, 1917. The headline was sensational: “ATTACK.” Timmy had found one sticking out of the wall that was dated 1898. Could that be? His father had told him that this was the original barn and that it was the only original structure still standing. If you can call that standing. Some might call it listing.
His dad said it was old. Timmy had thought that meant it was really old, like twenty years or something like that. He was surprised to learn that it was, according to his third grade math, at least 90 years old. That was beyond Timmy’s comprehension. And definitely beyond Max’s.
The rafters were amazing. They had to be a foot thick and still had much of the bark on them. The supports and the studs in the walls were all at eight inches square, except they were mostly semi-square and semi-round. They no longer found it amazing that the barn still stood. Instead, they questioned the poor quality of materials used on the horizontal planes. The floorboards and the stairs had not held up so well. One exterior wall was mostly missing, so it apparently wasn’t all quality all the time. That must have been the “Friday wall.”
Timmy spied some ancient machinery. He hop scotched across the soft floorboards to get a closer look. It was a printing press. Timmy explained to Max how it must have worked. A few of the letters were still in the rack, the rest scattered through time. They were fascinated. That explains that crazy headline and more so the crazy dates. Someone had been coming up here and printing out crazy stuff to leave around for impressionable little kids to find. An adult misinformation campaign. Now Timmy was expecting to find a paper that was appropriately yellowed and with a headline of “Timmy to go to prison for not cleaning his room,” or some such nonsense.
Still, despite the campaign, the press fascinated them. Max found a few other letters and brought them over. There were still several missing, but they decided to make it their project that week--or that summer--to search the barn until they had scoured every inch in order to find as many letters as possible. Timmy figured that the stuff had to be more than twenty years old. Once he was done playing with it, he could have his dad sell it on eBay for at least twenty dollars. That’s ten dollars each.
Timmy tried to drag the press out into better light. It didn’t budge. Max came over and they pulled together. It started to move, and then, with a high- pitched screech, it moved. Too fast. The press crashed down on them both. Max danced away, he was struck while it was on the way down, but had cat-like reflexes. He shook it off. Timmy, however, was pinned and he was screaming bloody murder. It fell across his legs and at least one of them was bent at an odd angle, with the press on top of it.
Max didn’t know what to do. He tried to pull it off, then using his body weight, to push it off. After a few understandable moments of panic, Timmy got control of himself and pushed with Max, but the press wouldn’t budge, even with both of their efforts. Exhausted from both effort and fear, Timmy realized that Max would have to go for help. They were too far away from home for anyone to hear screams, so Max would have to go. He told Max what to do. He had to make his way down the stairs, and go home and bring mom and dad back with him. Max listened intently. He stood next to Timmy for a minute and then he began his journey.
Timmy could hear him picking his way down the stairs. There was a tense moment when he heard Max hit too many steps all at once, too hard, but it sounded like he recovered and Timmy heard him scrambling below him, then he heard no more and assumed that help was on the way.
Max got to the doorway. He started for home, his nose in the air, running hard. He was halfway there when he smelled something that brought him to a dead stop. He froze, one rear leg still in the air. He sniffed.
Yes! He made a ninety degree turn and took off as though his life depended on it. Lassie was in heat. It just might be his lucky day.
Copyright 2007 Antigone Lett. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Friday, June 22, 2007
Wheels of Change
It was so quiet. I couldn’t even hear myself moving down the hallway. It seemed that there was a sound vacuum. The walls, the floor sucked up every wave of sound. I’d never heard nothing quite like it. The hallway was long. So long that you couldn’t see next week or next month, let alone tomorrow. After what seemed like miles of silent transport down the never-ending hallway I came to the door.
It isn’t just any door, but The Door. I had envisioned this moment for so long that I wasn’t sure what to do, how to proceed. I didn’t dare touch the knob. I froze and both time and space stood still. It was massive, at least ten feet tall. Made of quarter-sawn oak, brilliantly finished. The light refracted in a blinding array, even though the nearest overhead light was twenty feet away. It was as though the oak itself were alive, breathing. And shining. The knob was ordinary. Pewter, but not the kind of grand knob with a solid gold knocker that I might have expected from such an important door.
Outside the door, a million possibilities ran through my mind. This could be the answer to all of my questions. All of my hopes and dreams. It could change the course of my life in an instant- could be the key to every cookie cabinet everywhere in the world. I don’t believe that I had ever fully appreciated the potential of any other door. I suppose they all held equal opportunity to be life changing, I just never saw it.
Swallowing hard, I decided that I had to do it- I had to go in there to face life’s possibilities. And to embrace at least a few of them. I reached my hand out for the pewter knob. I felt a shock, as though it was electrified. That can’t be right. I tried again with the lightest of touches. I began to turn the knob to the right. The handle snapped back in the opposite direction. I jumped back, my heart thundering. Was someone on the other side trying to get out? Deep breath. Another one. It had to have been the natural action of the knob, just moving back to neutral after I held it lightly while turning. I forced myself to believe that, as the thundering of my heart lessened.
I tried again. I took hold of the knob, firmer this time and turned it, expecting resistance. There was none, the knob turned easily and then the click and the door moved. Without giving myself time to reconsider, I pushed the door open and entered. I stopped. I had to take some time to gaze around, to take in the grandness of this place. It looked like…well, it looked like just about any room in any office building anywhere in the US. Antiseptic smell, beige floor tiles, small sealed windows, Ikea furniture. Nothing remotely special about the interior. I must be missing something. There must be something grand here somewhere to indicate the importance of this room.
I took a spot at the empty table to continue my search. There was no one to be seen. No sign of life anywhere. There were doors off the main waiting area, but no voices, shadows or other remnants of life. But there must be something going on here, somewhere. I would figure it out. On the table were issues of O, Oprah’s magazine. Lucky me. It looked like the complete collection since the very first issue. I wouldn’t have known such a thing, except for the card that said “This is the complete collection, in order, of O Magazine, please do not attempt to steal them, as an alarm will go off.”
I sat, tapping my fingers on the table. Waiting. I still had no idea what it was that I waited for. It would come to me soon, I was sure. A long way off, down one of the corridors, through one of the doors, I thought I heard sounds. I listened intently. Maybe this was why I had come. The sounds did come from above. Maybe one of the doors led to stairs. I was certain now that I could hear voices and footsteps. There were at least two people, coming toward me. At a snail’s pace. Didn’t they understand how important this was to me? What this could mean? It’s hard to remain calm in the face of such a life changing force, but I did my best. I tried the Lamaze breathing that I’m always seeing on TV. I’d just skip the “push” part. There probably was no need for that at this moment. The breathing seemed to help the people arrive a little sooner.
Suddenly, the door opened, and I saw steep stairs climbing into shadows, stars and brilliantly colored lights. It looked like a doorway to another universe and one of the strangest people, scratch that, creatures, I had ever seen walked through the door.
It said “We’ve been waiting for you. What has taken you so long?” The other creature did not walk through the door.
I stuttered “I..I..I..”, not knowing what to say and being dumbstruck to boot.
Luckily the creature took no notice of my lack of the most basic of linguistic skills. It looked like a wizard, but had a long snout, similar to that of a dog. And pointy
ears. It actually looked like the wolf dressed up as grandma. It had big teeth too, but it was smiling and it looked like a genuine smile. It was not scary, which is usually a good thing when you’re being offered the opportunity to pass into the realm of another universe and your guide looks like the wolf that ate grandma.
It took in the rest of the empty room and then looked at me “Well, are you ready to go?”
I said, “I have been ready to go for twenty-five years. Yes, I am ready.”
I wheeled my chair over to the doorway and it stared at me as though seeing a ghost. It just looked down at me sadly, stepped back and closed the door between us.
Copyright 2007 Antigone Lett. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed.
It isn’t just any door, but The Door. I had envisioned this moment for so long that I wasn’t sure what to do, how to proceed. I didn’t dare touch the knob. I froze and both time and space stood still. It was massive, at least ten feet tall. Made of quarter-sawn oak, brilliantly finished. The light refracted in a blinding array, even though the nearest overhead light was twenty feet away. It was as though the oak itself were alive, breathing. And shining. The knob was ordinary. Pewter, but not the kind of grand knob with a solid gold knocker that I might have expected from such an important door.
Outside the door, a million possibilities ran through my mind. This could be the answer to all of my questions. All of my hopes and dreams. It could change the course of my life in an instant- could be the key to every cookie cabinet everywhere in the world. I don’t believe that I had ever fully appreciated the potential of any other door. I suppose they all held equal opportunity to be life changing, I just never saw it.
Swallowing hard, I decided that I had to do it- I had to go in there to face life’s possibilities. And to embrace at least a few of them. I reached my hand out for the pewter knob. I felt a shock, as though it was electrified. That can’t be right. I tried again with the lightest of touches. I began to turn the knob to the right. The handle snapped back in the opposite direction. I jumped back, my heart thundering. Was someone on the other side trying to get out? Deep breath. Another one. It had to have been the natural action of the knob, just moving back to neutral after I held it lightly while turning. I forced myself to believe that, as the thundering of my heart lessened.
I tried again. I took hold of the knob, firmer this time and turned it, expecting resistance. There was none, the knob turned easily and then the click and the door moved. Without giving myself time to reconsider, I pushed the door open and entered. I stopped. I had to take some time to gaze around, to take in the grandness of this place. It looked like…well, it looked like just about any room in any office building anywhere in the US. Antiseptic smell, beige floor tiles, small sealed windows, Ikea furniture. Nothing remotely special about the interior. I must be missing something. There must be something grand here somewhere to indicate the importance of this room.
I took a spot at the empty table to continue my search. There was no one to be seen. No sign of life anywhere. There were doors off the main waiting area, but no voices, shadows or other remnants of life. But there must be something going on here, somewhere. I would figure it out. On the table were issues of O, Oprah’s magazine. Lucky me. It looked like the complete collection since the very first issue. I wouldn’t have known such a thing, except for the card that said “This is the complete collection, in order, of O Magazine, please do not attempt to steal them, as an alarm will go off.”
I sat, tapping my fingers on the table. Waiting. I still had no idea what it was that I waited for. It would come to me soon, I was sure. A long way off, down one of the corridors, through one of the doors, I thought I heard sounds. I listened intently. Maybe this was why I had come. The sounds did come from above. Maybe one of the doors led to stairs. I was certain now that I could hear voices and footsteps. There were at least two people, coming toward me. At a snail’s pace. Didn’t they understand how important this was to me? What this could mean? It’s hard to remain calm in the face of such a life changing force, but I did my best. I tried the Lamaze breathing that I’m always seeing on TV. I’d just skip the “push” part. There probably was no need for that at this moment. The breathing seemed to help the people arrive a little sooner.
Suddenly, the door opened, and I saw steep stairs climbing into shadows, stars and brilliantly colored lights. It looked like a doorway to another universe and one of the strangest people, scratch that, creatures, I had ever seen walked through the door.
It said “We’ve been waiting for you. What has taken you so long?” The other creature did not walk through the door.
I stuttered “I..I..I..”, not knowing what to say and being dumbstruck to boot.
Luckily the creature took no notice of my lack of the most basic of linguistic skills. It looked like a wizard, but had a long snout, similar to that of a dog. And pointy
ears. It actually looked like the wolf dressed up as grandma. It had big teeth too, but it was smiling and it looked like a genuine smile. It was not scary, which is usually a good thing when you’re being offered the opportunity to pass into the realm of another universe and your guide looks like the wolf that ate grandma.
It took in the rest of the empty room and then looked at me “Well, are you ready to go?”
I said, “I have been ready to go for twenty-five years. Yes, I am ready.”
I wheeled my chair over to the doorway and it stared at me as though seeing a ghost. It just looked down at me sadly, stepped back and closed the door between us.
Copyright 2007 Antigone Lett. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed.
Thursday, June 14, 2007
The apex predator (that’s me) waited. It was the easiest part of the job. Just lie there in the swamp and wait for dinner to show up. It’s like a buffet on wings- and fins. What do I feel like tonight? I’m sorry for animals that actually have to go hunt down dinner every night. For the small number of us at the top of the food chain, dinner comes to you. Ideally.
It’s like seniority in the workplace. The longer you’ve survived out here, the more respect you accrue and, thus, the more people cater to you. Until they can hire two newbies for the price of your annual salary. Then the well-earned respect goes out the window, and so do you. I bet human ancestors thought that once they crawled out of the swamps and built a civilization, they could escape the daily battle of wits that is survival of the fittest. But no such luck. I guess, no matter who -or what- you are, you have to struggle every day to make it to the next.
I spent the day thinking it was like every other day. Well, as much as my ancient reptilian brain can think of one day versus another. I was lounging in the sun. Sometimes my jaws were open- when it got too hot and I needed to cool down via thermoregulation. Sometimes I would dip below the water and only a practiced eye could pick my eyes and snout out of the water amid the cattails.
After a few hours of such lounging, I started to get hungry. Well, it could have been boredom, actually, but the pea-sized brain would not allow for pondering such as that, so I went with hungry. Either way, it was time to eat.
The next big decision was what to have for dinner. Wood stork? Too stringy. Ibis is always a good option. Keep that open and watch for glossy ibis, they taste better than the pink ones. There’s always that nasty aftertaste whenever you eat anything pink or red- so much of the coloring goes into it, it leaves a terrible taste on the palette. A snake would be good, but not a venomous one. Maybe a brown snake? Common Moorhen? Ohh- A purple gallineau? Those are always so tasty. Those shimmery purple feathers just add something to the flavor. I can’t explain it.
What I’d really like is puppy dog, but those are hard to come by. That’s more of a special occasion meal and not something to count on being readily available. Too bad though, I’d eat them by the boatload if only I could find them in bulk somewhere. It’s probably for the best. I’m sure they’d go right to my tail. I’m a little self conscious about the size of my tail.
Time to head for the feeding grounds to make a final selection.
The apex predator waited. Waited for things to seem familiar. You would think my natural habitat would seem more natural to me. It doesn’t, it seems foreign. It even sounds like all of the birds are talking with funny accents. The plants are similar to what I’d expect, but different. I used to know exactly what plant housed what kind of dinner, but now I’m not sure what to expect. Just rest a moment, and maybe it’ll come back to me. Or, maybe I can make sense of things.
The cacophony of the great outdoors was coming back to me. The funny-sounding bird calls everywhere, the splashing of the water and the smell of plenty. That smell I remember. Well, it’s a little different, but the point is the same. Dinner is here and I just have to figure out what I want. Not knowing the language and local customs puts me at a disadvantage. I don’t know what they eat here, nor how they do it. I don’t want to display my ignorance of the local customs by making an ass of myself.
I will keep my eyes open and see what I can learn. Sooner than later, I will have to bite the bullet. Well, hopefully not a bullet, hopefully a nice juicy morsel or thirty. One nice big morsel would work, but that’s probably too much to hope for. I guess I’ll start smelling to see what I can whip up. And following my nose. Which is difficult, being I don’t technically have a nose. I guess I’ll just follow my sense of smell. That should do it.
Oooh … look at that. That looks like an all you can eat buffet. I haven’t eaten for a few months, so I hope that my eyes aren’t bigger than my stomach. No, I can do it. That would really hit the spot, eventually. I wonder what it’s called. It doesn’t look like anything I’ve swallowed before, but you have to try new foods when you travel. Even if I didn’t ask to travel from my homeland in Africa to a big glass box in some idiot’s garage for a few years and then on to this place, I may as well make the most of it. And make the most of that, whatever it is.
I snuck up behind it. I am stealthy and haven’t lost my touch, and the pea-brain had no idea that it was in trouble until it was too late. By then, I was already wrapped around it, starting to squeeze the breath out of it. Hey! Are those jaws? It’s biting me. It clamped those massive jaws down on my coils and it won’t let go. There’s a fair amount of pressure being exerted here and I do not like this at all. When I squeeze harder, the jaws clamp tighter and my flesh starts to rip open. I suspect this will be a very short lesson- for both of us.
Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose, and sometimes you both sink.
Copyright 2007 Antigone Lett. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed.
It’s like seniority in the workplace. The longer you’ve survived out here, the more respect you accrue and, thus, the more people cater to you. Until they can hire two newbies for the price of your annual salary. Then the well-earned respect goes out the window, and so do you. I bet human ancestors thought that once they crawled out of the swamps and built a civilization, they could escape the daily battle of wits that is survival of the fittest. But no such luck. I guess, no matter who -or what- you are, you have to struggle every day to make it to the next.
I spent the day thinking it was like every other day. Well, as much as my ancient reptilian brain can think of one day versus another. I was lounging in the sun. Sometimes my jaws were open- when it got too hot and I needed to cool down via thermoregulation. Sometimes I would dip below the water and only a practiced eye could pick my eyes and snout out of the water amid the cattails.
After a few hours of such lounging, I started to get hungry. Well, it could have been boredom, actually, but the pea-sized brain would not allow for pondering such as that, so I went with hungry. Either way, it was time to eat.
The next big decision was what to have for dinner. Wood stork? Too stringy. Ibis is always a good option. Keep that open and watch for glossy ibis, they taste better than the pink ones. There’s always that nasty aftertaste whenever you eat anything pink or red- so much of the coloring goes into it, it leaves a terrible taste on the palette. A snake would be good, but not a venomous one. Maybe a brown snake? Common Moorhen? Ohh- A purple gallineau? Those are always so tasty. Those shimmery purple feathers just add something to the flavor. I can’t explain it.
What I’d really like is puppy dog, but those are hard to come by. That’s more of a special occasion meal and not something to count on being readily available. Too bad though, I’d eat them by the boatload if only I could find them in bulk somewhere. It’s probably for the best. I’m sure they’d go right to my tail. I’m a little self conscious about the size of my tail.
Time to head for the feeding grounds to make a final selection.
The apex predator waited. Waited for things to seem familiar. You would think my natural habitat would seem more natural to me. It doesn’t, it seems foreign. It even sounds like all of the birds are talking with funny accents. The plants are similar to what I’d expect, but different. I used to know exactly what plant housed what kind of dinner, but now I’m not sure what to expect. Just rest a moment, and maybe it’ll come back to me. Or, maybe I can make sense of things.
The cacophony of the great outdoors was coming back to me. The funny-sounding bird calls everywhere, the splashing of the water and the smell of plenty. That smell I remember. Well, it’s a little different, but the point is the same. Dinner is here and I just have to figure out what I want. Not knowing the language and local customs puts me at a disadvantage. I don’t know what they eat here, nor how they do it. I don’t want to display my ignorance of the local customs by making an ass of myself.
I will keep my eyes open and see what I can learn. Sooner than later, I will have to bite the bullet. Well, hopefully not a bullet, hopefully a nice juicy morsel or thirty. One nice big morsel would work, but that’s probably too much to hope for. I guess I’ll start smelling to see what I can whip up. And following my nose. Which is difficult, being I don’t technically have a nose. I guess I’ll just follow my sense of smell. That should do it.
Oooh … look at that. That looks like an all you can eat buffet. I haven’t eaten for a few months, so I hope that my eyes aren’t bigger than my stomach. No, I can do it. That would really hit the spot, eventually. I wonder what it’s called. It doesn’t look like anything I’ve swallowed before, but you have to try new foods when you travel. Even if I didn’t ask to travel from my homeland in Africa to a big glass box in some idiot’s garage for a few years and then on to this place, I may as well make the most of it. And make the most of that, whatever it is.
I snuck up behind it. I am stealthy and haven’t lost my touch, and the pea-brain had no idea that it was in trouble until it was too late. By then, I was already wrapped around it, starting to squeeze the breath out of it. Hey! Are those jaws? It’s biting me. It clamped those massive jaws down on my coils and it won’t let go. There’s a fair amount of pressure being exerted here and I do not like this at all. When I squeeze harder, the jaws clamp tighter and my flesh starts to rip open. I suspect this will be a very short lesson- for both of us.
Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose, and sometimes you both sink.
Copyright 2007 Antigone Lett. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed.
Wednesday, June 6, 2007
Midnight Attack
My heart was thumping. It always hammered extra hard when the dog barked in the middle of the night. There’s just something about being startled out of a sound sleep, especially by the dog whose primary purpose is to alert to unusual activity. Well, that’s according to me. According to him it would be to alert to unusual food locations- that is what he was usually looking for. He may or may not notice someone breaking into the house in the dead of night, but leave a sandwich crust on a plate on the counter, or leave the bag of pretzels on the couch and he was on them like a monkey on crack.
He was not a big barker. Well, he was plenty big; he looked like he could be 130 pounds easily. It was mostly fluff though, and while we relied on his size and allegedly keener senses to patrol the house at night, we knew we were fooling ourselves. Luckily, he preferred to sleep on the rug in front of the door, so if someone should break in through the door, they would probably wake him up. I know for sure that he would wake up if they hit him with the door. If he was out of range of the door…I am not so sure. He would probably wake up. Then there would be hell to pay. The intruder would have to feed him in order to keep him from jumping in their arms and licking them. But when a one hundred-pounder jumps in your arms, it can be mighty disarming, trust me. You might be the one calling 911 to get him off you.
That's our alarm system. It works reasonable well. He has even caught a prowler in our old neighborhood. He barked incessantly in the middle of the night, so I got up to investigate and sure enough, there was some guy skulking around the neighbor’s house. I stood next to Ben (on his hind legs, we’re about the same height) and we watched the dude while I called 9-1-1. While he can speak on command, he’s pretty garbled- plus he’s very nervous on the phone, so we decided that I would make the call.
The police came and removed the guy. I don’t think he was up to any felonies, not even misdemeanors, as he was wearing a helmet and dragging a wagon. Really. I believe he was shopping for patio pavers, though I never figured out the helmet. But, that part of the story was irrelevant, especially when I heard from a neighbor a few days later that Ben was credited with the apprehension of the prowler. The more I thought about it, the better I liked that story. That is the ultimate security- that the neighborhood knows that you have a watchdog. And that the dog really watches- or at least inadvertently did it once, which happened to be enough to get a reputation for it.
But that was when he was a young punk, full of Benergy and trying to prove that he brought some kind of value to the family- trying to earn his spot in the pack. He’s older now. Tired. And he has concluded that after all these years of being cute, shedding, scarfing food, and chasing cats as his primary contributions, since we haven’t cut him loose yet, he’s here to stay. So the motivation to perform, or earn his keep has gone by the wayside. He has mastered that old saying “Work like a dog”. I think he took it to completely new levels. I have seen my dog ‘work’ and that’s an awesome gig if you can get it! I would like that gig.
So, the alarm- aka the dog- was going off on high alert. My heart was hammering in my chest. I got up and looked around. I see he's on his hind feet at the door- a door with windows- also part of our plan. When the resident dog is looking down at you through the window in the door, odds are you’re not going to want to find out if he’s friendly or not. Even if the door is unlocked.
Ben’s on his hind feet, barking his loudest bark- which is loud. His long jaws and big white teeth are snapping open and closed and the barks are reverberating through the floorboards at my feet. I stood next to him, trying to see in the darkness outside to see what he sees. His tail kept hitting me and I assumed that as he repositioned himself to better scare away the boogieman, he kept bumping me.
I was still trying to adjust to the light of the streetlight and the porch lights and to figure out what he was barking at. The barks were chilling and I was starting to get scared that there was someone out there. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw something weird; something caught in Ben’s teeth, or stuck in his lips and gums. I couldn’t make out what it was and it did not seem to be bothering him, but after we scared the intruder away, I wanted to take a good look at it. I thought it looked like green paper, but there wasn’t much light and it could well have been my imagination.
Suddenly, a noise. A car door closing. Was that in our driveway? It was hard to hear too much, as the barking continued. Mixed with howls. That was weird. I went to grab my cell phone, fearing I had waited too long. It wasn’t on the counter, but I saw it on the floor, reflecting light from the nightlight. It was open and when I picked it up, it felt sticky, wet even.
Phone in hand, I went back to the door where Ben’s attack stance now appeared to be more of a happy dance…tail wagging and all. Puzzled, I dialed 911, but before I could hit “send”, I saw the pizza delivery guy on the porch.
I hope he got extra sauce, because I’m not going back to sleep anytime soon. And I’m pretty sure that he knows that onions are bad for him.
Copyright Antigone Lett, 2007
He was not a big barker. Well, he was plenty big; he looked like he could be 130 pounds easily. It was mostly fluff though, and while we relied on his size and allegedly keener senses to patrol the house at night, we knew we were fooling ourselves. Luckily, he preferred to sleep on the rug in front of the door, so if someone should break in through the door, they would probably wake him up. I know for sure that he would wake up if they hit him with the door. If he was out of range of the door…I am not so sure. He would probably wake up. Then there would be hell to pay. The intruder would have to feed him in order to keep him from jumping in their arms and licking them. But when a one hundred-pounder jumps in your arms, it can be mighty disarming, trust me. You might be the one calling 911 to get him off you.
That's our alarm system. It works reasonable well. He has even caught a prowler in our old neighborhood. He barked incessantly in the middle of the night, so I got up to investigate and sure enough, there was some guy skulking around the neighbor’s house. I stood next to Ben (on his hind legs, we’re about the same height) and we watched the dude while I called 9-1-1. While he can speak on command, he’s pretty garbled- plus he’s very nervous on the phone, so we decided that I would make the call.
The police came and removed the guy. I don’t think he was up to any felonies, not even misdemeanors, as he was wearing a helmet and dragging a wagon. Really. I believe he was shopping for patio pavers, though I never figured out the helmet. But, that part of the story was irrelevant, especially when I heard from a neighbor a few days later that Ben was credited with the apprehension of the prowler. The more I thought about it, the better I liked that story. That is the ultimate security- that the neighborhood knows that you have a watchdog. And that the dog really watches- or at least inadvertently did it once, which happened to be enough to get a reputation for it.
But that was when he was a young punk, full of Benergy and trying to prove that he brought some kind of value to the family- trying to earn his spot in the pack. He’s older now. Tired. And he has concluded that after all these years of being cute, shedding, scarfing food, and chasing cats as his primary contributions, since we haven’t cut him loose yet, he’s here to stay. So the motivation to perform, or earn his keep has gone by the wayside. He has mastered that old saying “Work like a dog”. I think he took it to completely new levels. I have seen my dog ‘work’ and that’s an awesome gig if you can get it! I would like that gig.
So, the alarm- aka the dog- was going off on high alert. My heart was hammering in my chest. I got up and looked around. I see he's on his hind feet at the door- a door with windows- also part of our plan. When the resident dog is looking down at you through the window in the door, odds are you’re not going to want to find out if he’s friendly or not. Even if the door is unlocked.
Ben’s on his hind feet, barking his loudest bark- which is loud. His long jaws and big white teeth are snapping open and closed and the barks are reverberating through the floorboards at my feet. I stood next to him, trying to see in the darkness outside to see what he sees. His tail kept hitting me and I assumed that as he repositioned himself to better scare away the boogieman, he kept bumping me.
I was still trying to adjust to the light of the streetlight and the porch lights and to figure out what he was barking at. The barks were chilling and I was starting to get scared that there was someone out there. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw something weird; something caught in Ben’s teeth, or stuck in his lips and gums. I couldn’t make out what it was and it did not seem to be bothering him, but after we scared the intruder away, I wanted to take a good look at it. I thought it looked like green paper, but there wasn’t much light and it could well have been my imagination.
Suddenly, a noise. A car door closing. Was that in our driveway? It was hard to hear too much, as the barking continued. Mixed with howls. That was weird. I went to grab my cell phone, fearing I had waited too long. It wasn’t on the counter, but I saw it on the floor, reflecting light from the nightlight. It was open and when I picked it up, it felt sticky, wet even.
Phone in hand, I went back to the door where Ben’s attack stance now appeared to be more of a happy dance…tail wagging and all. Puzzled, I dialed 911, but before I could hit “send”, I saw the pizza delivery guy on the porch.
I hope he got extra sauce, because I’m not going back to sleep anytime soon. And I’m pretty sure that he knows that onions are bad for him.
Copyright Antigone Lett, 2007
Thursday, May 31, 2007
What the heck?
We were just moseying along through the woods when something flew fast and low over my head. It was screeching as it flew over. I felt the burst of air as it passed by, which gave me the willies. The whole incident did. The screeching was blood-curdling, especially as it was a few inches over my head. I would have stopped to ponder what had just happened and exactly where we were, but we saw - and heard - another one coming through. We heard it first, and by now Ben was paying rapt attention. He studied it as it came closer, though its flight was more like a Concorde than a biplane, so he didn’t have much time.
Maybe it was the same one, we had no idea, but it was definitely flying right at us, screeching again. We ducked, as it flew lower this time, but at least we had a chance to get a look at it. It was, without question, a flying monkey. Believe me, I know how bizarre that sounds. But you weren’t there. When, exactly, monkeys began to fly, and what else might dive-bomb us were questions I pondered for the very first time.
The monkey landed in the bushes twenty feet away. If I was not mistaken, it didn’t have wings. Instead, it had on a black cape. And I’m pretty sure that it was wearing a mask. Talk about bizarre. Again, I wondered just what kind of place was this? And why didn’t the monkey want to be recognized?
Ben wanted to chase it down, but I wouldn’t let him, as I thought staying together was a better plan. What was happening? Where were we? Suddenly I knew nothing.
I was about to loosen my grip on him and take a step when two of them came flying in from different directions. One skimmed my hair and I thought it was going to get tangled up and then bite me. They both screeched as they passed over, just like before. I was dry-heaving from the sheer panic of the thought of one of these monsters getting stuck in my hair. I was now officially at a loss. For words, for appropriate actions, you name it. This was definitely NOT in the brochure and I had no idea what to do. Getting out of there was the best that I could come up with.
Maybe it was my imagination, but as I looked around, I swore I could see the beady little eyes of flying monkeys in all of the trees and that their screeching had taken on a ominous sound. Their screeching was human-like. That made no sense, because I know for a fact that monkeys lack the components to emulate human sound. Of course, I was pretty sure monkeys couldn’t fly either…. So what sounded like 1,000 monkeys chanting “Beth, Beth, Beth, Beth, Beth” had to be something else. Something with a logical explanation like….well, I don’t know what, but it couldn’t possibly be screaming, flying monkeys chanting my name. Of that I was sure.
Ben didn’t seem so sure. He was craning his neck and looking all around to determine where the sound came from. It seemed to come from everywhere, all at once. And the smell. It was distinctive. It smelled of a pine forest, rather nice except for the association of the terrifying monkeys. I was expecting them to grab us both and take us to the witch.
Suddenly there must have been twenty or more monkeys in the air. This looked like a coordinated attack and while I wouldn’t have expected monkeys to be able to plan such a thing, here I was in the middle of it. They came from all directions, screaming and chanting my name all the while. This was starting to get really weird. Ben was about to go ballistic, and I struggled to help him stay calm, as I didn’t see what was to be gained by attacking one monkey out of an army of them. At least I had something to focus on aside from the surreal situation we were in.
I screamed when something touched my shoulder, expecting this was it- one of the monkeys finally had me - and I was about to learn my fate. It was a tree branch. What a relief. Now to grab Ben before he did something brave and stupid. Aren’t males pathetic? Always trying to be brave and save the day?
I latched on to him and we decided to make a run for it. How far to get out of the clearing? Maybe another thirty feet. We weren’t sure what getting into the bushes would get us, but it had to be better than being sitting ducks in the clearing. We were still surrounded by the screamers and the occasional monkey flew by, but we reached the edge of the clearing without too much difficulty. It was pure fight or flight at this point. And we had chosen flight. At least so far. We may have to fight yet, but so far fleeing was our best option. We had just gotten to the edge of the clearing when Ben snapped. I think one monkey too many had buzzed him and he turned around, snarling. He grabbed the monkey, it was still in the air. I was surprised at his reflexes. Rather cat- like, I’d say, which is just a bit ironic.
Now that he had a monkey he began to shake it wildly. The monkey went limp. It didn’t stop screaming, however. The third or fourth shake, one of its arms (paws?) went flying. He was actually dismembering the monkey. It was screaming the whole while. The flying mask went off in the opposite direction. Still screaming, the monkey’s innards started to fly. Except they weren’t bloody, they were white, cottony balls of fluff flying all over as Ben whipped his head back and forth.
Only then did I see the pack of fourth graders, Mrs. Meisenheimer’s class, leaving the clearing to head back to class, recess - and one of their toys - finished for the afternoon. Ben had scattered the pieces of the monkey all over the clearing. All that was left in his mouth was a plastic motion-activated voice box, still screeching. And then, even that flew out of his mouth, hit a tree and fell silent.
Copyright, Antigone Lett, 2007
Maybe it was the same one, we had no idea, but it was definitely flying right at us, screeching again. We ducked, as it flew lower this time, but at least we had a chance to get a look at it. It was, without question, a flying monkey. Believe me, I know how bizarre that sounds. But you weren’t there. When, exactly, monkeys began to fly, and what else might dive-bomb us were questions I pondered for the very first time.
The monkey landed in the bushes twenty feet away. If I was not mistaken, it didn’t have wings. Instead, it had on a black cape. And I’m pretty sure that it was wearing a mask. Talk about bizarre. Again, I wondered just what kind of place was this? And why didn’t the monkey want to be recognized?
Ben wanted to chase it down, but I wouldn’t let him, as I thought staying together was a better plan. What was happening? Where were we? Suddenly I knew nothing.
I was about to loosen my grip on him and take a step when two of them came flying in from different directions. One skimmed my hair and I thought it was going to get tangled up and then bite me. They both screeched as they passed over, just like before. I was dry-heaving from the sheer panic of the thought of one of these monsters getting stuck in my hair. I was now officially at a loss. For words, for appropriate actions, you name it. This was definitely NOT in the brochure and I had no idea what to do. Getting out of there was the best that I could come up with.
Maybe it was my imagination, but as I looked around, I swore I could see the beady little eyes of flying monkeys in all of the trees and that their screeching had taken on a ominous sound. Their screeching was human-like. That made no sense, because I know for a fact that monkeys lack the components to emulate human sound. Of course, I was pretty sure monkeys couldn’t fly either…. So what sounded like 1,000 monkeys chanting “Beth, Beth, Beth, Beth, Beth” had to be something else. Something with a logical explanation like….well, I don’t know what, but it couldn’t possibly be screaming, flying monkeys chanting my name. Of that I was sure.
Ben didn’t seem so sure. He was craning his neck and looking all around to determine where the sound came from. It seemed to come from everywhere, all at once. And the smell. It was distinctive. It smelled of a pine forest, rather nice except for the association of the terrifying monkeys. I was expecting them to grab us both and take us to the witch.
Suddenly there must have been twenty or more monkeys in the air. This looked like a coordinated attack and while I wouldn’t have expected monkeys to be able to plan such a thing, here I was in the middle of it. They came from all directions, screaming and chanting my name all the while. This was starting to get really weird. Ben was about to go ballistic, and I struggled to help him stay calm, as I didn’t see what was to be gained by attacking one monkey out of an army of them. At least I had something to focus on aside from the surreal situation we were in.
I screamed when something touched my shoulder, expecting this was it- one of the monkeys finally had me - and I was about to learn my fate. It was a tree branch. What a relief. Now to grab Ben before he did something brave and stupid. Aren’t males pathetic? Always trying to be brave and save the day?
I latched on to him and we decided to make a run for it. How far to get out of the clearing? Maybe another thirty feet. We weren’t sure what getting into the bushes would get us, but it had to be better than being sitting ducks in the clearing. We were still surrounded by the screamers and the occasional monkey flew by, but we reached the edge of the clearing without too much difficulty. It was pure fight or flight at this point. And we had chosen flight. At least so far. We may have to fight yet, but so far fleeing was our best option. We had just gotten to the edge of the clearing when Ben snapped. I think one monkey too many had buzzed him and he turned around, snarling. He grabbed the monkey, it was still in the air. I was surprised at his reflexes. Rather cat- like, I’d say, which is just a bit ironic.
Now that he had a monkey he began to shake it wildly. The monkey went limp. It didn’t stop screaming, however. The third or fourth shake, one of its arms (paws?) went flying. He was actually dismembering the monkey. It was screaming the whole while. The flying mask went off in the opposite direction. Still screaming, the monkey’s innards started to fly. Except they weren’t bloody, they were white, cottony balls of fluff flying all over as Ben whipped his head back and forth.
Only then did I see the pack of fourth graders, Mrs. Meisenheimer’s class, leaving the clearing to head back to class, recess - and one of their toys - finished for the afternoon. Ben had scattered the pieces of the monkey all over the clearing. All that was left in his mouth was a plastic motion-activated voice box, still screeching. And then, even that flew out of his mouth, hit a tree and fell silent.
Copyright, Antigone Lett, 2007
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Lewie the Hero
It was a dark and stormy night. It was so dark, and so stormy, that from his hiding spot underneath the coffin, he couldn’t even see the glow from his Indiglo watch. The light was sucked right out of the air, like a furball going into a Dyson vacuum cleaner. As he lay there waiting, he heard a faint noise coming from above.
The sound so startled him, and was so close, that he jumped and struck his head on the mahogany of the 350-pound coffin. That left a mark. On the coffin, too. At least now he could lie still, between the pounding in his head and the fear that threatened to liquefy his bowels, he was afraid to move.
He heard it again… a tiny, scratching sound. It seemed louder, but maybe that was amplification from his hearing aid being pressed against the coffin. He hoped. He hoped it was a mouse in the wall, but that’s not what it sounded like. It was definitely a creature trying to scratch through something. He decided to ignore the noise and finish his job. When you worked in funeral parlors, there were lots of creepy things about, and you just had to ignore them and carry on. Or you would never get any work done. You might not get too much sleep either.
Lewie Potts crawled out from under the casket. His hearing aid didn’t come with him. He realized that he was running very late and had to get to work so he could get home. Working alone at the funeral home, he didn’t really need his hearing aid anyway, as there was no one talking to him here. He fished the device out and stuffed it in his pocket.
Lewie took inventory. Four caskets to clear. That shouldn’t take too long. Three of them were sealed, those take the longest. He checked his watch under the light of the flashlight and saw how far behind he was.
The scratching was growing louder, more insistent. And there were ghostly vocalizations also. If Lewie could have heard them, he would have run for the door, but lost in his silent reverie of the previous evening’s dinner (crab- he loved crab), he was oblivious. In fact, he was salivating, just picturing the three sticks of melted butter and the mound of Alaska king crab legs.
Lewie pulled out his tools and got to work. It was the sealed caskets that interested him the most. Opening them after being sealed was truly an art and he was a master. It’s a tough skill to call out on a resume, however.
It was almost like finding buried treasure. Lewie never got over the thrill of discovery, even though he came up empty, or nearly so, at least half of the time. But the other half…well, it usually wasn’t that exciting, but it was the promise of the unknown that gave him that thrill again and again. Lewie truly felt badly for the rest of the schmucks of the world who didn’t love their jobs.
The first coffin yielded easily. He was in and out in thirty seconds. He thought that she looked good. Good for being dead and all. He now had a mental image to go with the phrase “death-warmed-over.” It changed with every coffin that he looted, however. She was old, maybe eighty-five, and likely wouldn’t have done her own makeup quite so heavily. At least he hoped not. There was no way that she would have chosen the mint green eyeshadow. In the light of the indiglo, Lewie decided that she was probably a looker once. Fifty years and about a million heartbeats ago, anyway.
There were eyeglasses, dentures, cheap rings (a family member must have swiped the good ones already), and a pair of mittens for reasons he couldn’t fathom. Lewie could write a book on the stuff people put in caskets. Maybe he would someday. But they all had some kind of value. To Lewie- not to the coffin resident. Well, they might have had value to them once too, but probably not anymore. Probably, because he didn’t know for sure what came next, and if they were still aware of what was happening on earth.
The scraping and crying from the coffin intensified. It was very hard to miss. Unless you were clinically deaf. Then you could probably miss it. It was loud enough that it seemed that the resident must be alive and that they heard Lewie moving around and were trying to get his attention.
It didn’t work. Lewie was oblivious to the fact that one of the coffins was livelier than the others, and was making all sorts of racket.
He moved on to his second coffin, running extremely late now. He froze for a few moments, picturing that pile of crab legs. However, he was a hard worker, and despite the distraction, he shook it off and unsealed the next coffin. This one was better sealed, and he had to work a lot harder to break the seal. He hated that. The blowtorch always lit the funeral parlor up like a Christmas tree. And left singe marks all around the coffin if he moved too slow. He was afraid that he had scratched the wood…no one would ever notice that- after tomorrow- that is. Damn!
He was peering at the scratch, trying to figure out how he could fix it when the coffin lid came flying up and a youngish woman rocketed out of the coffin screaming, with blood running down her arms and face. She smelled like burnt polyester.
Lewie stared at her. She seemed to be yelling at him, but he couldn’t understand a word. He realized that the hearing aid might come in handy, so he inserted it and then was able to fully understand her, excepting the hysteria.
Gloria was so grateful that he had set her free. She was convinced that he heard her from outside and came in to rescue her. He didn’t go out of his way to set the record straight, but did ask, ”Do you want to go to the hospital?”
Gloria said “No…I just want to get some food- I haven’t eaten for days in that box.”
Lewie said “Don’t you want to call your family to tell them you’re okay?”
She said “No, those bastards are the ones who put me in the box to begin with. Can you seal it back up? They’ll think I’m gone for good and I can finally be free. Hurry up and seal it so we can go get something to eat. I have to think about my future. I hope you have some money.”
Copyright Antigone Lett, 2007
The sound so startled him, and was so close, that he jumped and struck his head on the mahogany of the 350-pound coffin. That left a mark. On the coffin, too. At least now he could lie still, between the pounding in his head and the fear that threatened to liquefy his bowels, he was afraid to move.
He heard it again… a tiny, scratching sound. It seemed louder, but maybe that was amplification from his hearing aid being pressed against the coffin. He hoped. He hoped it was a mouse in the wall, but that’s not what it sounded like. It was definitely a creature trying to scratch through something. He decided to ignore the noise and finish his job. When you worked in funeral parlors, there were lots of creepy things about, and you just had to ignore them and carry on. Or you would never get any work done. You might not get too much sleep either.
Lewie Potts crawled out from under the casket. His hearing aid didn’t come with him. He realized that he was running very late and had to get to work so he could get home. Working alone at the funeral home, he didn’t really need his hearing aid anyway, as there was no one talking to him here. He fished the device out and stuffed it in his pocket.
Lewie took inventory. Four caskets to clear. That shouldn’t take too long. Three of them were sealed, those take the longest. He checked his watch under the light of the flashlight and saw how far behind he was.
The scratching was growing louder, more insistent. And there were ghostly vocalizations also. If Lewie could have heard them, he would have run for the door, but lost in his silent reverie of the previous evening’s dinner (crab- he loved crab), he was oblivious. In fact, he was salivating, just picturing the three sticks of melted butter and the mound of Alaska king crab legs.
Lewie pulled out his tools and got to work. It was the sealed caskets that interested him the most. Opening them after being sealed was truly an art and he was a master. It’s a tough skill to call out on a resume, however.
It was almost like finding buried treasure. Lewie never got over the thrill of discovery, even though he came up empty, or nearly so, at least half of the time. But the other half…well, it usually wasn’t that exciting, but it was the promise of the unknown that gave him that thrill again and again. Lewie truly felt badly for the rest of the schmucks of the world who didn’t love their jobs.
The first coffin yielded easily. He was in and out in thirty seconds. He thought that she looked good. Good for being dead and all. He now had a mental image to go with the phrase “death-warmed-over.” It changed with every coffin that he looted, however. She was old, maybe eighty-five, and likely wouldn’t have done her own makeup quite so heavily. At least he hoped not. There was no way that she would have chosen the mint green eyeshadow. In the light of the indiglo, Lewie decided that she was probably a looker once. Fifty years and about a million heartbeats ago, anyway.
There were eyeglasses, dentures, cheap rings (a family member must have swiped the good ones already), and a pair of mittens for reasons he couldn’t fathom. Lewie could write a book on the stuff people put in caskets. Maybe he would someday. But they all had some kind of value. To Lewie- not to the coffin resident. Well, they might have had value to them once too, but probably not anymore. Probably, because he didn’t know for sure what came next, and if they were still aware of what was happening on earth.
The scraping and crying from the coffin intensified. It was very hard to miss. Unless you were clinically deaf. Then you could probably miss it. It was loud enough that it seemed that the resident must be alive and that they heard Lewie moving around and were trying to get his attention.
It didn’t work. Lewie was oblivious to the fact that one of the coffins was livelier than the others, and was making all sorts of racket.
He moved on to his second coffin, running extremely late now. He froze for a few moments, picturing that pile of crab legs. However, he was a hard worker, and despite the distraction, he shook it off and unsealed the next coffin. This one was better sealed, and he had to work a lot harder to break the seal. He hated that. The blowtorch always lit the funeral parlor up like a Christmas tree. And left singe marks all around the coffin if he moved too slow. He was afraid that he had scratched the wood…no one would ever notice that- after tomorrow- that is. Damn!
He was peering at the scratch, trying to figure out how he could fix it when the coffin lid came flying up and a youngish woman rocketed out of the coffin screaming, with blood running down her arms and face. She smelled like burnt polyester.
Lewie stared at her. She seemed to be yelling at him, but he couldn’t understand a word. He realized that the hearing aid might come in handy, so he inserted it and then was able to fully understand her, excepting the hysteria.
Gloria was so grateful that he had set her free. She was convinced that he heard her from outside and came in to rescue her. He didn’t go out of his way to set the record straight, but did ask, ”Do you want to go to the hospital?”
Gloria said “No…I just want to get some food- I haven’t eaten for days in that box.”
Lewie said “Don’t you want to call your family to tell them you’re okay?”
She said “No, those bastards are the ones who put me in the box to begin with. Can you seal it back up? They’ll think I’m gone for good and I can finally be free. Hurry up and seal it so we can go get something to eat. I have to think about my future. I hope you have some money.”
Copyright Antigone Lett, 2007
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