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| "AMERICA'S FUNNIEST HUMOR"TM
SHOWCASE
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February
/ March 2006 Contest Results |
Barking Up The
Wrong Tree
By
Faith
Foyil, Florida
I managed to
distract my children when they first raised the sensitive question last
year. A few weeks later the subject somehow resurfaced.
“So, tell us again, Mom - why can’t we have a puppy?”
“You’d better hurry. You’ll be late for school,” I replied.
“You can’t avoid us forever.”
“I love animals, too,” I tried to explain. “But a puppy would feel
abandoned if we went on vacation and left it behind. Remember how weird
Brownie the Guinea Pig acted after the Russell family watched him for
us?”
“Brownie wasn’t acting weird, Mom. He was dead. Mrs. Russell thought he
was a deep sleeper.”
I understand my kids’ whining all too well. I begged my own parents for
a puppy. They finally gave in and purchased “Jacques,” a miniature,
white poodle with an extraordinary pedigree and an even greater ego.
Jacques held disdain for all ordinary folks, which included everyone
except his personal Chef de Cuisine, my mother, who cooked him hamburger
and rice to appease his delicate tummy. Jacques’ canine philosophy: Let
Them Eat Cake, (but, actually, I’d Prefer Steak).
From the safety of his guard house/urine depository under the living
room couch, Prince Jacques held doggy reign. At five months he refused
to perform his duty outside during inclement weather. At seven months he
christened the carpet when forced to endure dry puppy food. By the time
he was one he obviously annoyed the neighborhood dogs, evident by the
gaping wounds he’d slink home with, necessitating too frequent and
expensive emergency vet visits.
I worshipped that temperamental tyrant, and demonstrated my everlasting
devotion by feigning bathroom needs or sneaking off to watch TV at
feeding, grooming or mess clean-up time. Despite lots of “Of course I’ll
help” empty promises, I don’t think I honestly ever did anything to take
care of that dog. There’s a faint memory involving me opening a can at
mealtime. It was probably just tuna fish for my neighbor Mariena and me.
“You kids just THINK you want a puppy,” I continued. “Remember how you
begged for a little brother or a sister? How you thought your lives
would only be complete with a new baby to keep me so busy I’d forget to
nag you about homework?”
“We still don’t understand why you were so uncooperative,” said the
oldest child, aka Chief Canine Lobbyist. “Some weird excuse about how
you’ll soon be pausing for men.”
“That’s menopause, honey.”
“Whatever.”
“Listen, kids. I’ve met my Mandatory Maternal Mess quota. I changed over
9,000 diapers, wiped about 375 runny noses and scrubbed at least 39
toilet training accidents. I applied action-figure band aids to around
47 invisible boo-boos, mopped up approximately 760 orange, apple and
grape juice spillages and dug out a good 15 porch splinters. This is the
first time in 12 years we’ve had a TV room ‘throw rug’ that wouldn’t be
more appropriately called a ‘throw-up’ rug. Can you understand why I
might not want a puppy now?”
“But we need something to hug and chase.”
“Put your arms around me any time you want. Just try and catch me when
there’s only one chocolate brownie left.”
“Be serious, Mom.”
“Try to see this from my perspective,” I argued. “Puppies and babies are
a lot alike. They’ll look you blankly in the face while expelling
noxious fumes. They’ll whimper when you’re not playing with them. When
you pick them up they’ll accidentally scratch you in the face with nails
that, despite regular trimming, grow faster than Rapunzel’s hair.”
“They’ll slobber on your new designer blouse and will mosey around the
house with sauce on their chins in front of visitors. They’ll get real
excited over supermarket bags, dirty paper towels, plastic containers,
blow dryer cords and any other household objects you mistakenly leave in
their path. Worst yet, both puppies and babies can always be counted on
to provide a pre-dawn wake-up howl after parents have had a rare, late
night out.”
The kids looked dejected.
And confused.
“I’m sorry, guys, but we’re not getting a puppy now and, short of the
stork accidentally dropping a bundle down the chimney, we’re not getting
a little baby, either.”
A few days later the kids cornered me again.
“We can sort of understand why you don’t want another baby and might not
want a little puppy.”
Finally.
“So how about a full grown, BIG dog, instead?”
Who says you can’t reason with your children?
http://www.faithfoyil.com
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