kid who had been taught to mind its manners, though I knew my wild sister wouldn’t have had anything to do with that. The old lady who croaked trained him right. Even as much as I despise dogs, I felt a little sorry for this one. It wasn’t his fault that he got tangled up with Corene. He just got unlucky and had no choice, kind of like me being her sister and all. I could relate.
“Let’s get a comb going on that hair,” I said. It had relaxed some and was laying down flatter, more horizontal now instead of vertical like it was doing earlier. I hoped Corene would come back from her love trip before I had to give Rowdy another bath. Otherwise, I would have to buy some special combs and brushes. Or maybe just doggie hair-cutting scissors. He might look good in a burr.
That’s when I remembered that a lady I see at the Beauty Barn told me she was a dog clipper and had a new business down on the town square. If worse came to worst, I could always drop the little mutt off there. No sense in buying stuff I wouldn’t ever need again.
That thunder was something else, let me tell you. It rumbled and raged like the end of time. The munchkin shook all over just about the whole night, even after I wrapped him up in a nice warm towel I heated up in the microwave. I held him up close to me like a baby but he still nearly shook his little self to death. I’ll say this, I didn’t see one flea on him or any scabby places where he had been scratching. It didn’t look like he had any health problems now that he was clean. He was just a squirt. Not even hardly big enough to be called a dog.
I had just set the comb down when all of a sudden, boom. The electricity went out, like I figured it would. I reached over to the left real slow and clicked on my flashlight. The squirt shook.
“Don’t worry. It’s nothing,” I told him. “In ancient times, they didn’t have any lights at all, and lived in the dark. That’s why they named it the Dark Ages. They survived, and we’ll survive. We don’t need a TV or an oven. For now.”
I wished I hadn’t said that. Thinking about the oven made me hungry. Rowdy whimpered a little bit and nudged his cold nose against my face and then licked me. “Look here. What did we decide about that already? Now you just quit that right now,” I said, though, to tell the truth, it wasn’t so bad and actually kind of sweet, like he was trying to make me feel better.
“Hey, I’ve got an idea. You hungry?”
He wouldn’t have been able to hear me if he hadn’t been so close to my mouth because outside that rain was flat beating the roof. The whole inside of the house lit up from the lightning flashing outside, on and off, one right after another like you see in war movies when the soldiers are down in the trenches waiting for the bombs to stop.
I’m into war movies. I used to just like action adventure types, like the Stallone I watched this afternoon. But here lately, I have been getting into war. For two reasons. One, because I bought my guns and because Jane and I got into a somewhat war situation ourselves not too long ago. So my mentality has flipped. Two, they’ve started showing a new program on TV where this retired sergeant, real life I’m talking about, not an actor, gets on there and talks about military stuff. My favorite part is when he tests out different guns and other weapons like bows and arrows, and he uses watermelons for targets. What a great idea. The man is a genius. Next summer when the watermelons come in, I fully intend to buy up a truckload and do some target practice.
What an inspiration Jane has been to me. I feel like I’m a new person, now that I’m armed. It has opened my eyes. It’s a little weird. She has enough guns in her house to arm the military of a small nation, but does she care? Not really. She doesn’t give a flip about those guns. Her husband collected them all through his life and, from the looks of them, never sold or traded a one. I know
“Let’s get a comb going on that hair,” I said. It had relaxed some and was laying down flatter, more horizontal now instead of vertical like it was doing earlier. I hoped Corene would come back from her love trip before I had to give Rowdy another bath. Otherwise, I would have to buy some special combs and brushes. Or maybe just doggie hair-cutting scissors. He might look good in a burr.
That’s when I remembered that a lady I see at the Beauty Barn told me she was a dog clipper and had a new business down on the town square. If worse came to worst, I could always drop the little mutt off there. No sense in buying stuff I wouldn’t ever need again.
That thunder was something else, let me tell you. It rumbled and raged like the end of time. The munchkin shook all over just about the whole night, even after I wrapped him up in a nice warm towel I heated up in the microwave. I held him up close to me like a baby but he still nearly shook his little self to death. I’ll say this, I didn’t see one flea on him or any scabby places where he had been scratching. It didn’t look like he had any health problems now that he was clean. He was just a squirt. Not even hardly big enough to be called a dog.
I had just set the comb down when all of a sudden, boom. The electricity went out, like I figured it would. I reached over to the left real slow and clicked on my flashlight. The squirt shook.
“Don’t worry. It’s nothing,” I told him. “In ancient times, they didn’t have any lights at all, and lived in the dark. That’s why they named it the Dark Ages. They survived, and we’ll survive. We don’t need a TV or an oven. For now.”
I wished I hadn’t said that. Thinking about the oven made me hungry. Rowdy whimpered a little bit and nudged his cold nose against my face and then licked me. “Look here. What did we decide about that already? Now you just quit that right now,” I said, though, to tell the truth, it wasn’t so bad and actually kind of sweet, like he was trying to make me feel better.
“Hey, I’ve got an idea. You hungry?”
He wouldn’t have been able to hear me if he hadn’t been so close to my mouth because outside that rain was flat beating the roof. The whole inside of the house lit up from the lightning flashing outside, on and off, one right after another like you see in war movies when the soldiers are down in the trenches waiting for the bombs to stop.
I’m into war movies. I used to just like action adventure types, like the Stallone I watched this afternoon. But here lately, I have been getting into war. For two reasons. One, because I bought my guns and because Jane and I got into a somewhat war situation ourselves not too long ago. So my mentality has flipped. Two, they’ve started showing a new program on TV where this retired sergeant, real life I’m talking about, not an actor, gets on there and talks about military stuff. My favorite part is when he tests out different guns and other weapons like bows and arrows, and he uses watermelons for targets. What a great idea. The man is a genius. Next summer when the watermelons come in, I fully intend to buy up a truckload and do some target practice.
What an inspiration Jane has been to me. I feel like I’m a new person, now that I’m armed. It has opened my eyes. It’s a little weird. She has enough guns in her house to arm the military of a small nation, but does she care? Not really. She doesn’t give a flip about those guns. Her husband collected them all through his life and, from the looks of them, never sold or traded a one. I know
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