Author: SAMSON A SPENCER
Chapter 6 The Return of the Gemini
Guess who’s back in town? The gruesome twosome; the deadly duo; the fastest farts alive. None other than good ole Romy and Remy. Guess where they are staying? At my house. Can you believe it? Has Mamoo lost her mind? The first thing they did was to relieve themselves on Mamoo’s sofa leg. I also sleep there when she isn’t looking so they spoiled my afternoon nap.
You have never heard such baloney as they laid on me. “We live high in the air and go up and down in a little box which takes our breath away,” said Remy. “We go to a huge park across the street from where we live and it has a big lake made of concrete. Not like the little concrete pond at the farm, but a big one little boys sail boats on.”
“And there are people who play music and throw away lots of candy wrappers and chicken boxes,” added Romy.
“Our place is filled with silver chairs and golden dishes, and Miss Brunell takes us everywhere with her in her Rolls Royce automobile,” Remy put in, still the snob.
Knowing those two, I imagined the place where they live is filled with ugly, yellow places, because they don’t care where they lift their legs. Although after my warning, they didn’t try it again here.
Mamoo is very strict about the sofa and is constantly yelling at me about it. When I am tired and looking for a soft, comfy place, I forget easily. She put big, heavy books on top of the cushions and suddenly it wasn’t desirable any more. Not true with the gruesome-twosome. They were sneaky and sly. When her back was turned, they pushed off the books and settled down to quarreling among the feathers.
One morning, they reached the height of maliciousness during a walk through the neighborhood. For some reason, Boss Lady Brunell always refuses to take them on a leash, even though law requires it when you live in the city.
Well, this morning I’ll bet she wished she had. The whippets ran way ahead of her and got into trouble before she had a chance to stop them. They saw poor old Elmira, our neighbor’s 16-year-old cat, sitting on her front stoop where she sits every single day. They attacked, killing her instantly, and tore her apart while fighting over the remains. I decided they had to go before I got blamed for everything they did. Being quite a bit smarter than those two hounds, I came up with an idea to make them look bad enough to shoot. Fortunately this was not hard.
I am trusted to leave things on tables where they are because I am well educated and do not poke my nose into what isn’t my business. However, I know all dogs are not the same, especially willful, arrogant dogs like the creeps visiting me. It didn’t take a lot of convincing for them to investigate the open jar of honey on the kitchen table. I watched with great anticipation.
Remy is a good jumper. He wound up on the table and, clumsy as he is, he knocked over the honey jar. I let nature take its course. Romy wanted the honey too and they had a proper row to see who was going to get the most.
“Don’t give him any, Remy,” I egged them on. “There isn’t enough for all of us. Watch out, you’re going to spill it.”
“Give it here you piggy, pig, pig,” snarled Remy. “I’m going to bite your tail off if you don’t get outta my way.” What clowns.
Before you could burp, there was honey everywhere and sticky, gooey paw prints ran through the dining room, into the room with the fireplace and onto Mamoo’s sofa, which no one is allowed to sit on. Romy and Remy don’t get a bath very often, and their nails are not clipped regularly. Those sharp talons slid through the sofa cushions like butter. There were feathers everywhere!
I learned a very important fact: feathers seem to have an affinity for honey. They stuck to the honey that coated Romy and Remy. I have never seen such a sight as those two chicken dogs sitting in front of the fireplace licking off honey-coated feathers. If I closed my eyes a little, I could see them sitting in the pound behind bars licking and licking and licking until their tongues fell off.
You never heard such screaming and moaning in your life when Mamoo and Boss Lady Brunell came home. Mamoo must know all about preaching because she called on God a lot. Mad Dog must have taught her because I had heard some of the same expressions from him when he missed a shot.
“Oh my God! I will kill them! What have you all done to me? Brunell, I want them outta here, NOW!” Mamoo’s face was purple. Boss Lady Brunell stood there speechless.
After the mess was cleaned up, I spent a peaceful night alone with Mamoo feeding me chicken livers and telling me what a saint I was. I lay back and enjoyed it. Sometimes I wonder if humans know we can understand everything they say. I wish they could understand us as well. Language barriers are hard to take.
Of course, as things would have it, I had one more run-in with the dreadful dopes. For some reason, Mamoo had to go back to my old stomping grounds. I hoped it wasn’t to live there again, because I really was enjoying my retirement and didn’t want to go back to the way things were.
I could smell the way back there: the cows, the horses, fresh paint, water from the ground, fresh-cut grass, and all the inhabitants of the field and forests around the farm. But the farm itself was deserted. The grass had grown high and the fences were leaning backwards. The concrete pond was covered with algae and the garage roof had peeling paint. There weren’t any flowers in the pots where my food bowl used to be. It was full of algae and rust. Mamoo thought to bring my traveling one from home.
I went to see if the old haunts were still there. They were. Romy hadn’t had a chance to scare away the rodent enclaves. The old owl (I forget his name) seemed to be happy to see me, although we used to go after the same game. Old What’s His Name, the owl, could see in the dark like a cat. He would swoop down out of a pitch-black sky, grab a mouse by the neck and, buddy, that was all she wrote for the mouse.
Anyway, on with the story. After I checked out the surroundings, I went to my old bed in the garage. It was colder than I remembered. The heating machine had gone and there was no blanket or pillow like I had at Mamoo’s. I really hoped this wasn’t going to be permanent.
Mamoo came to get me. “Come on, Sam, you belong in the big house now," she laughed. “You are no longer an employee. You are a guest, or a guest of a guest.”
She was right! I had a beautiful, new leather collar with my name and telephone number engraved on it. I also had a license tag that meant I would never go to the pound. I was loved, and I loved in return.
I could finally satisfy my curiosity with what all the “to-do” about the big house was: the place where Bubba carried wood every morning; where all the visitors stayed; where the food came from; where Maudie and the children of the house slept. After all, I had guarded it for a long time and had, until now, never been allowed inside.
I walked in the back door and wow! The whole house had a slick floor. The kitchen was the first room I saw, and it was a slide all the way to the dining room. The floor changed from black and white squares into wood but was still as slick as the kitchen. I don't know how they stood up on it. I had to walk very carefully on the pads of my paws, not full-footed as I did outside.
After sliding through the dining room, I came to a long hall, which turned into a big room with a sofa in it. Surrounding the sofa were many dirt piles. I could not believe it. I have been outside all my life - not to the manner born - and I certainly know where to put my dirt. So much for breeding. I wonder if it is that way with humans?
I could tell Mamoo was really put out with the mess. She took me upstairs right away and showed me where to sleep. She had brought my favorite blanket to lie on and I felt right at home. Do I have her trained or what!
After navigating the stairs down (they went on forever), I sidestepped the piles of poop and situated myself lengthwise across the only sofa in the big room. Romy and Remy, the devil dogs, came at me from the bedroom, their nails tap dancing on the hardwood floors. They slipped and scruffled in their hurry to attack. Boss Lady sat there in a big leather chair and let them test me. I was ëking of the mountain’ now and I curled up and ignored them. Nothing they said or did moved me off that sofa.
Mamoo said it wasn’t polite to get up on the furniture but Boss Lady Brunell said I could do as I pleased. (I think she was embarrassed because of the twins.) They didn’t like to have me there, but they didn’t mess with me after they saw I was the favorite dog around.
We stayed out there for a few days and took long walks. I took Mamoo to the pond where we could see frogs. We walked to all my fun places and when I got through, she was panting as hard as I do on a hot day.
“OK Sam. (pant pant) I’ve had enough. Let’s go back. I’m all in. Cummon Sweetie I’m all in, bushed.” Mamoo can nag a bit.
When we left and we saw them standing there - the two dogs and ex-Boss Lady, waving - I knew I would never be back. The first part of my life was over.
I stored all I could in my memory so I could “visit” when I wanted. I had many a happy and fruitful day working at the security job I loved. I was good at it too. There really is something to be said for enjoying your career. I think of all those silly dogs who dress up in little pink bows and sleep on silky pillows with ladies who ooh and goo all over them. No wonder they are nervous and high strung. Not me, I want action, a bowl of something delicious and new people, places, and adventures. I have a feeling Mamoo and I will make history.
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