For like ten minutes, this is all I hear . . .
Barkbarkbarkbarkbarkbarkbark.
Someone’s dog is not happy.
Barkbarkbarkbarkbarkbarkbark.
Probably the neighbor’s tiny white fluffball something or other . . . Get your dog, stupid neighbor!
Barkbarkbarkbarkbarkbarkbark.
Weird that Jack’s not freaking out, because that is some persistent annoying-ass barking. That sort of thing usually sets him off. Awww . . . Jack is being a good dog! How cute is that?
BARK.
“Shut up, Persie! The neighbor’s dog can bark for no good reason if it wants to. Ignore it.”
Barkbarkbarkbarkbarkbarkbark.
BARK.
“Seriously, Persie? You are so annoying. Since when do you bark about nothing in particular?”
Barkbarkbarkbarkbarkbarkbark.
BARK.
“Shut up, dog. I don’t need help from you. Yes, the neighbor’s dog is barking. I hear it. Not my job to shut it up. Get over it.”
Barkbarkbarkbarkbarkbarkbark.
“You would think the neighbor would do something, though. Stupid little dog is going insane.”
BARK.
“Fine. What do you want to show me?”
I step out into the back yard with the Labrador.
BARK.
“Listen, dog . . . if you have lured me into the back yard so that I can be hacked apart by your new treat-bearing best friend the axe murderer? You are in some deep shit, my furry friend.”
Barkbarkbarkbarkbarkbarkbark.
ZZZZZZZZZZZ.
Barkbarkbarkbarkbarkbarkbark.
ZZZZZZZZZZZ.
Barkbarkbarkbarkbarkbarkbark.
ZZZZZZZZZZZ.
BARK.
“Persie, the neighbor is freaking out his dog with a weed-whacker. How is this my business? Where is Jack, anyway? Can’t believe he is missing all of this frenzied barking fun.”
BARK.
“Geez, Persie. Stop it.”
BARK.
ZZZZZZZZZ.
Barkbarkbarkbarkbarkbarkbark.
ZZZZZZZZZ.
Barkbarkbarkbarkbarkbarkbark.
Wait a minute.
Is that . . .
Crap.
“Jack, get your ass down here! Leave the neighbor alone! Damn it, Jack.”
Even if he could hear me, Jack would ignore me, but he cannot hear me, because I am speaking softly. Related? I am dressed in my robe despite the fact that it is about 5:00 pm, and I have no desire to discuss my sloth with my crazy weed-whacking neighbor.
The fence between our yards is high and wooden, and the view into one another’s yards is blocked.
Unless you come very close to the fence, when it becomes apparent that there are long vertical gaps in the overlapping fence boards through which you can see clearly into the next yard.
The neighbor is just on the other side of the fence.
Barkbarkbarkbarkbarkbarkbark.
I duck low and take a few steps toward Jack, “Get your fucking terrier ass down here or I am going to kill you.”
Empty threats and Jack knows it. He turns to glance at me for a moment, takes in my attire and my stealthy posture. No way am I going to kill a dog. No way.
Barkbarkbarkbarkbarkbarkbark.
Tucked low into the ivy and the shrubbery, I try to sneak up the hill to where Jack has his face pressed against a small gap in the fencing.
ZZZZZZZZZZZZZ.
Barbarkbarkbarkbarkbarkbark.
I hold out my arms in loving fashion, “Please, Jack?”
He ignores me.
ZZZZZZZZZZZZZ.
Barkbarkbarkbarkbarkbarkbark.
“Jack, I hope you manage to get your nose through the fence and then I hope he fucking whacks it right off your face.”
ZZZZZZZZZZZZ.
Barkbarkbarkbarkbarkbarkbark.
I am still speaking low and urgently, unwilling to take the final steps into the open to grab the dog. I do not want to talk to the neighbor . . . especially now that I have super-stealthily snuck up the hill. Maybe I could explain the robe, but how to explain that I am G. I. Joe?
“Please, Jack? Please come here? I don’t want you to be noseless. Please?”
ZZZZZZZZZZZZ.
Barkbarkbarkbarkbarkbarkbark.
“Fine. I will fucking teach you. You are not the boss of me. You will come to me, damn it. I will win.”
OK, and here’s where a sensible person would have G.I. robe-Joe’d back into the house, put some clothes on, and then come out and grabbed her stupid dog, making apologies to the neighbor as she did so.
But I have a better idea.
I instead grab two spoons and the large container of peanut butter.
“Come on, Persie . . . you can help me.”
The Labrador follows me out to the corner of the house at the bottom of the hill Jack has climbed.
ZZZZZZZZZZZ.
Barkbarkbarkbarkbarkbark.
I speak in conversational tones to Persie as I sit down on the walkway, “You know what’s nice, dog? Sharing a TREAT in the back yard. Here, have some peanut butter.”
I scoop a large spoonful of peanut butter and smack the spoon against the pavement in noisy fashion.
“Yes, a TREAT is lovely.”
ZZZZZZZZZZ.
Barkbarkbarkbarkbarkbark.
“You know what, Persie? I believe I will have a TREAT as well. TREATS are yummy!”
I scoop a spoonful of peanut butter and eat it noisily.
“Yum!”
At the top of the hill, Jack turns and cocks his head at us, Did they say treat?
ZZZZZZZZZZ.
Barkbarkbarkbarkbarkbark.
“Here, Persie, let me give you some more. More TREATS for you.”
“And then some more TREAT for me. Yum!”
ZZZZZZZZZZZ.
Barkbarkbarkbarkbarkbark.
“Here, Persie. TREAT for you. Yeah, I guess you can lick it off the spoon.”
“Yum! TREAT for me!”
“Here, Persie. TREAT for you.”
“Yum! TREAT for me.”
ZZZZZZZZZZ.
Barkbarkbarkbarkbarkbark.
“Another TREAT for you and then another TREAT for me.”
“Wait, Persie? Did we just share the same spoon? You better not give me worms, dog. I will kick your ass.”
ZZZZZZZZZZ.
Barkbarkbarkbarkbarkbark.
I wave the peanut butter jar in the air, “Too bad Jack isn’t here. I would so put some peanut butter on his nose.”
“Here, Persie! Another TREAT for you. What’s that, girl?”
“HA! You are so right. If Jack ends up noseless, I could just shove the peanut butter right up into his tiny terrier brain.”
“Another TREAT for me . . . damn it, did we just share a spoon again?”
“What? Do not speak to me of ass-licking, dog. I do not need that visual.”
“Fine, happy now? Now that’s all I can imagine. I am eating wormy, dog-assed peanut butter . . . but it is a TREAT!”
ZZZZZZZZZZZ.
Barkbarkbarkbark . . . and then Jack’s head suddenly turns skyward . . . sniff, sniff, sniff.
“Yeah, you smell it now, don’t you? Stupid untrained stubborn dog of satan.”
Jack turns and hurtles down the hill and into my lap . . . he had no IDEA I was calling him! Look, he is all good-doggish and heeling!
Wag, wag, wag.
I snuggle him close, “You are the most annoying fucking dog in the whole world. Here, have some peanut butter.”
I scoop a big spoonful of peanut butter and slather his nose, “I WIN! Stupid lesser life-form refusing to come when I call . . . who is dominating now, motherfucker?”
Jack is ecstatic and confused and prancy. He dances backward and sideways, desperately trying to get behind the peanut butter somehow. He goes up onto his hind legs, throwing his head back, licking desperately, and then crashes and falls sideways to the ground.
He lies on the pavement and swipes at his nose with his paws, licking the treat from his feet.
I raise my hands in triumph, “Yes! Victory is mine! I am god here! I am god and my dogs will fucking come when I call them.”
Jack rolls around in epileptic delight.
Persie eyes him with alarm.
I pat the Labrador on the head, “Jack is a strange little man, I know. You want one more bite of peanut butter, dog? One more bite before we go in.”
I hold out a spoonful for Persie as Jack rolls and flips and swipes and licks.
A treat seizure.
Snort.
I watch him as I scoop a last bit of peanut butter for myself.
I lick at the spoon as Persie eyes me sadly.
“Shit. This is your spoon again, isn’t it?”
ZZZZZZZZZZZZZ.
Barkbarkbarkbarkbarkbark.
Jack is off like a shot.
Damn it.
Yes . . . hello, neighbor.
Yes, my robe? Yeah, taking it easy today. My stomach has been bothering me.
Not even a lie, as it turns out.
Stupid peanut butter worms.
