I HAVE CHOSEN TO WRITE MY TERM PAPER ON THE Play “Othello”, written by William Shakespeare.
I want to discuss honesty and the problem of drink that run through this play and have a direct effect on the outcome of this tragedy.
Fact: Othello seems unable to see the fact that Cassio has a drinking problem.
Fact: Cassio at first does not want to admit to his need for drink. Cassio protests over and over again that he is not drunk in Act II. Scene 3, by saying “I am not drunk now. I can stand well enough, and I speak well enough.” The gentlemen he is with reply “Excellent well!” to which Cassio replies “Why, very well then, you must not think then that I am drunk.
Then later in this same scene you find Iago and Montano discussing Cassio, and Othello’s belief in Cassio, seeming that Othello is oblivious to Cassio’s problem with drink, Iago is worried about the fact that he fears the trust Othello places in Cassio, seemingly oblivious to his infirmity (drink).
One can see how Iago is encouraging Cassio to have one more drink, that it is a night to revel, that the gallants desire it. At first Cassio says no to the idea, but Iago talks him into it; after he goes out the door Cassio, in an aside, “If I can fasten but one cup upon him, with that which he hath drunk tonight already, he will be as full of quarrel and offense…” further indicating his intentions to get Cassio into major difficulty.
Because of the fact that Cassio fought Montano, Othello then states that though he loves Cassio, he will never be officer of his again.
Iago and Cassio now have dialogue about the fight he had had with Montano, while he was drunk. Cassio is bemoaning the loss of his reputation. Iago makes the statement that Reputation is an idle and most false imposition, oft got without merit and lost without deserving. That Cassio had lost no reputation at all unless he reputes himself a loser. Cassio becomes concerned that he has lost his reputation after the fight with Montano, that he has lost the immortal part of himself and what remains is bestial, in other words, he gave away his reputation, when being drunk, he chose to fight, something he would not have done had he been sober.
Iago asks of Cassio the day after the fight, “Why, but you are now well enough. How came you thus recovered? Iago then further encourages Cassio to drink, saying that good wine is a good familiar creature if it be well used, exclaim no more against it; knowing full well that Cassio has a definite problem with alcohol.
In Act III, one finds Cassio requesting one of the Clowns to see if the gentlewoman that attends the General’s wife (Desdemona) is stirring, and if she is to notify unto her that he (Cassio) desires speech with her.
Cassio replies “It hath pleased the devil drunkenness to give place to the devil wrath. One imperfection shows me another, to make me frankly despise myself. It would appear that Cassio is aware of his problem, but not enough to do something about it, like quit drinking.
As the play continues, one finds Iago saying that he “loves Cassio well and would do much to cure him of this evil (the drink).
What is also of interest is the fact that Cassio encouraged and championed Othello’s wooing of Desdemona. Cassio when not drinking was obviously different from the Cassio who in his cups, would say anything?
Iago is talking with Othello, and admits to having overheard Cassio, while dreaming, curse the fate that gave Desdemona to Othello, and how they need to hide their love. Iago speaks further about the “handkerchief” that he saw Cassio wipe his beard with, the one that which had been Othello’s first gift to his fair Desdemona. Giving Othello more ammunition to use against her, that being the act of infidelity. Ultimately giving him the proof he needed to suffocate his wife Desdemona for her dishonesty to him.
Then Othello meets with Desdemona and Emilia, and in an aside to the audience admits that he now knows that Desdemona is not being honest with him, that he must as yet dissemble to her.
When Othello asks to see the handkerchief that he had given to Desdemona, she refuses to get it when he asks her to; they argue and Othello exits, leaving her and Emilia alone. Emilia asks is not Othello jealous, to which she replies that she has never before seen Othello behave the way he just did. Cassio asks about her progress with getting him back in Othello’s good graces, to which she replies that that what she can do she will and will do more for him than for herself.
Dishonesty continues and Iago informs Othello that Cassio talked about lying with her, that is to say lie on her, not as in dishonest lie but rather to be on top of …
Iago is a major part of the lies that permeates this play. He is manipulating both Othello and Cassio. This action shows up in many scenes of the play, one in particular shows him saying “My medicine works thus credulous fools are caught, and many worthy and chaste dames even thus, All guiltless, meet reproach.” Iago keeps feeding Othello’s jealous concern about Desdemona’s fidelity by bringing up the missing handkerchief. It does appear that Cassio is also dishonest about his feelings for Desdemona when he laughs at the thought of marrying Desdemona, and speaking about her throwing herself at him.
Iago plays both sides of the fence with Othello and Cassio, causing Othello to lose trust in Cassio by the tales that he tells. Then he counsels Othello to patience, to listen as he, Iago, has Cassio tell the tale of when he and Desdemona were together. Cassio tells Iago that he believes that she loves him, but laughs when Iago asks him if they will marry, showing his lack of concern for the “Fair Desdemona”, just another lie.
I first read the play “Othello” a few short weeks ago, having been assigned to do a Term paper for school on a play and I chose “Othello”. Since that time I have become aware as to how much alcoholic thinking and the truth seemed to have a bad time of it in this play. Thus I chose to address the concept of how truth and drinking did not mix well, using examples from the play to illustrate this. I hope that you enjoy what I have written and leave this page with a different perspective of the play than that with which you arrived.
My so-called friends tell me that I should not write about dying. That it is morbid. But you know what I say? I say fuck it. I want to die. I want to go on to the next adventure.
We are not our bodies, we cannot be harmed. I have lived many lives in the physical. When off the physical I am God. I am not male or female, I have no body. I am God! I am a part of God as we all are. And as a part of God . . . as God himself, I can deign who lives and who dies.
Mister Finn has to die. Mister Finn has lived far too long. Mister Finn is an abomination . . . Mister Finn has to die.
Mister Finn took my sister. Mister Finn defiled her. Mister Finn will die this night . . . as I will.
I await him with the knife in my hand. I await the warm blood that will be let loose . . . that will flow onto me. I wait with death in my soul, in my being. And in my hand. I will dispatch Mister Finn . . . sweet death this night. Sweet death for us both.
His throat is slit. He is bleeding out his life.
Now me.
Now it is time to rejoin the Godhead.
I am God!
The destroyer of words. A destroyer of men! I am God . . . I am God!
My name is Tommy and I have something to say. I am nineteen and I am in love for the very first time. I want to tell you about it.
My parents were killed in an automobile accident when I was five. And seeing that I had no other family, I was placed in foster care. I went through many families. Some cared and some did not. Some were in it for the money, some thought they were doing good, but they all had one thing in common. Never, not once, since my parents died did I ever feel loved.
Two weeks before my eighteenth birthday I walked out of the house of my latest foster family. As far as foster families went they weren’t so bad, but still there was no love. I put out my thumb and was going to head to Montana; I thought I might get a job on a ranch and become a modern day cowboy. But I got sided-tracked along the way.
I was outside of Kansas City, Kansas, just west on Highway 80. The sun was sinking fast and turning the western sky a rich pink. I remember thinking that God at least got his sunsets and sunrises right. Yes, at that time, at that moment, I thought God still had some work to do, and maybe He does. But as I was standing there looking westward and contemplating the good and bad of God, He changed my life. I can tell you this much, God has one hell of a sense of humor.
A lemon yellow 1973 Ford Mustang screeched to a halt and the man driving leaned over and said, “I’m heading to San Francisco, that do you any good? I nodded and opened the door. Not only the door of the car, I opened a door onto a new life.
His name was Bryant. He was a few years older than me and he told me he made his living doing something with computers. I don’t know much about computers because I’ve never owned one. The only time I fooled with them was at the high school and then only for a few minutes at a time.
Within minutes the sun was below the horizon and the stars were starting to make their nightly appearance. We did not speak as we sped across the prairie. Well, not at first, but then Bryant started a conversation that lasted until we hit Colorado. We talked about everything under the sun. Religion, politics, women, sports, death and taxes. By the time we hit the Colorado state line I had decided to continue on with Bryant all the way to San Francisco. Fuck Montana.
We came into Boulder well after midnight. He pulled into the parking lot of a cheap motel and said, “I’m getting a room and you are welcome to share it. If not, I’ll be leaving at first light and if you are on the road, I’ll pick you up.”
Half way out of the car he stopped and sat back down. “How stupid of me,” he said. “You must be hungry. Let’s rustle us up some food then you can do what you want.”
He was right I was hungry. I had not eaten all day. We found a diner still opened and he bought me the best meal I ever had.
Now this next part is kind of dicey . . . kind of private, but it is germane to the story so here goes. At school, and in my life, I had never been attracted to girls. Like computers, they were foreign to me. They were just there, part of the landscape. I was never aroused by a well-rounded ass in tight pants. Tits did nothing for me, and a smile from a pretty girl did not start my heart a racing. However, at gym class and in the showers, I thought that the male body was so much more beautiful than a female’s. But I did not dwell on it. I wasn’t a fucking faggot.
After we had our greasy hamburgers and fries, we went back to the motel and Bryant got himself a room. As I was getting my bag out of his car he said, “Up to you kid. You want to sleep outside or inside?”
I chose inside.
There was only one bed, so I figured I’d sleep on the floor.
After the lights were out, and Bryant was in bed and I was on the floor he said, “There is plenty of room over here. If you want you can share the bed.”
I wanted to share the bed with him. I was attracted to him, but I was no faggot. Or was I?
I got myself up, slid beneath the sheets, and felt his warm body. He did not make a move toward me. He did not touch me. I found myself getting hard, and I reached out and touched his face. He took my face in his hands and drew me to him. We kissed; it was my first kiss ever. His tongue probed, he was gentle.
What happened next is no concern of yours. Today, at nineteen, I am married to the most loving man in the world. He does his computer thing and I take care of the house. And at nineteen, I got love. I give love and I get love. Amen.
I’ve had some harrowing tales to tell you folks in days gone by. There was the time I fought it out with an alligator. The time I defeated thirty pirates trying to board our boat in the middle of the night, and the time I met up with that poisonous toad; just to mention a few of my adventures. But they were naught compared to what I am about to convey. If not for my fortitude, my endurance, my character and my all around strength, I don’t know if I could have endured.
Hello, I am Danny the Dog, hero to all canines of the world, and a few females of the human persuasion. I live with my human on our boat in Fort Lauderdale Florida. His name is Andrew, and as you will soon see, he is the villain of this piece.
It all started on a warm and sunny autumn day (today). I wanted to go and visit my friend Beth who lives a few boats over. She is always so nice to me. Always puts out a bowl of water for me. Always finds something in the fridge to for me. The last time it was turkey. The time before that it was shrimp salad. The shrimp were good, I just spit out the lettuce and the other healthy stuff. But I digress, on with the horror.
I was sitting on the dock, giving reign over my domain. I had given my one bark command to Andrew to come up out of the boat and take me to Beth’s. I would have gone myself, but Andrew keeps me tethered with a leash, a rope in actuality. He is so cruel!
Well, Andrew came up alright, but I didn’t like the fact that he had dish soap in his hand. I think the brand name was Joy, but there was no joy in my heart when I saw it, for it could only portend one thing, BATH TIME!
I know that some dogs like water and that’s up to them. However, I am more sophisticated. If the Great Being wanted us dogs to fool around with water he would have given us gills to breathe through. And seeing as how He didn’t, I’ll keep my paws dry if you don’t mind. I mean if you humans had not shown up in the evolutionary scheme of things, how many baths do you think us dogs would have given ourselves over the course of a lifetime? Give up? Then I’ll tell you . . . zero, nada, none. We surely would have rolled in the carcass of a dead animal, but no baths. Thankfully, Andrew is a minimalist. He thinks as I do about baths, both for him and me. But every once in a while he bathes and then that means I have to also.
In a situation like I found myself in, it is important to show no fear. Humans can sense fear, so I stared at Andrew with a look that said, “One more step with that soap buddy, and I might just chomp down on your leg!” It did no good, onward he came. Onward came the soap.
Andrew took my harness off and said the biggest cliché in the world, “This going to hurt me a lot more than you.” It took all my will power not to bite him right then and there. Not trusting me, he kept a hold of my fur with one hand as he turned on the hose with the other. Then he wet me! Drenched me in aqua! I swear, if I didn’t depend on him for food, I would have bit him. It’s a good thing for Andrew I did not remember about Beth. She will always feed me. And Andrew might be missing a hand right about now.
So the indignity was complete. Then soap was administered to my being. I’ll forgo telling of the other ignominies I suffered. Let the record show that I am now a clean dog, albeit against my will.
As soon as I finish typing this, I have to hurry over to Beth’s. I’ve been invited for dinner and maybe a sleep over. Andrew wasn’t invited. He didn’t take a bath today.
From REDEMPTION: The Further Adventures of Huck Finn and Tom Sawyer
The next morning we were up, ate a cold breakfast and were on the trail before the sun made its way over the horizon.
Their tracks were easy to follow; there was only one trail up the mountain. About ten o’clock the hairs on the back of my neck stood up and did a little dance. They were bristling something awful. Jed was in the lead and I called for him to hold up. When I got up to him, I slid from my horse and told him to do the same.
We drank from our canteens and filled our hats so that the horses could have a drink. We were getting low on water, but there were many streams in the mountains so we had no fear on that count. But I did have a fear on another count; I felt someone was watching us.
Jed agreed and said that the trail we were on was the perfect place for an ambush. I asked him how they would do it. He said if it was him running things, he’d leave a man behind to get us on the trail and then meet up with the other two later.
“Well Jed, there’s nothing for it but to go on. We’re the law in Redemption. If we let these geezers get away with robbing our bank and killing our citizens, then every no-good saddle tramp in the territory will be comin’ there and tryin’ their hand at bank robbery or anything else they thought they could get away with.”
“Reckon that you’re right,” said Jed, “I’ll take point.”
“Sorry Jed, I’m marshal and that’s my job. But if they get me, you keep going. You don’t have to bring them back if they’re dead, only if they surrender. But either way, bring their guns and horses back, sell ‘em and give the money to Missus Baxter. I reckon she could use it now with her husband gone.”
With nothing else to say, we got back on our horses. Jed tied the mule’s lead-line to the horn of his saddle so as to keep his hands free. With our Winchesters out and lying across the bows of our saddles, we proceeded on.
We hadn’t gone far when a bullet smashed into a boulder I was riding by, splashing up bits of rock. A second later, I heard the sound of the shot. That meant that whoever shot at us was a ways off.
We both hit the ground at the same time and smacked our horse on their rumps to get them going and get them out of the line of fire. Seeing as how the mule was tethered to Jed’s horse, he wisely followed along.
We were lying among some boulders and Jed asked me where I reckoned the shooter was.
“He’s gotta be ‘bout two hundred yards up that slope,” I said pointing off to the left. “It’s a good thing the sun was to our backs. I think it must have got in his eyes, elsewise he’s a lousy shot.”
Jed was smiling as he checked his Colts to make sure they were loaded. They were always loaded. I think it was just a nervous habit with him. I had me a Smith and Wesson Schofield I had picked up a year back. Our guns, including the Winchesters, all took .45 cartridges, which made things a mite easier.
When Jed had his guns back in their holsters he said, “Alright Huck, how we gonna play this? You wanna charge up the hill at the sonavabitches or do it Indian style and come up from behind ‘em?”
“Well Jed, there was only the one shot, so I reckon you called it when you said they’d leave one man behind to finish us off. They must have seen there were only two of us around the fire last night. Probably figured one man in ambush could take care of a couple of jaspers like us. But I don’t like the idea of chargin’ up the hill. One of us is bound to take a bullet or two. No, instead you stay and keep him busy with your Winchester. I’ll circle round and get above him. I’m gonna stand now and draw his fire, you see where the muzzle flash comes from.”
Jed grabbed my arm and said, “That ain’t too smart Huck.”
“Don’t worry. We know he’s not a good shot and I’ll move fast and give him a very little target. You just see where the shot comes from.”
When I was back down among the rocks, Jed pointed out where our friend was. I nodded and told him that he should count to three hundred because that’s when I expected to be behind and above him. “Then hold your fire because it might be me you hit and that would be kinda embarrassin’ for both of us.”
I got up to where I wanted to be just before I hit three hundred, and I saw our man. His horse knew I was there before he did. When his horse whinnied, the man spun around in a panic. He didn’t see me, so I had the chance to take him alive. “Throw down your gun and put your hands up if you wanna see the sun come up tomorrow,” I yelled down to him.
But as Jed said, these weren’t the brightest boys in the choir. He did a half turn and fired where he thought my voice came from. I sighed and shot him just above the heart and a little to the center. I was aiming for his heart, but he moved on me. He was now on his knees and raising his gun for another shot. I knew he was as good as dead and I didn’t want to put another bullet into him if I didn’t have to. I wanted to let him say his last words, and maybe give him a little water.
“You’re shot bad partner and you’re gonna die, but do you wanna die alone? Throw down your gun and I’ll come to you.” He must have been hurting pretty bad because he dropped the gun and fell over backwards. I walked down and kicked his gun a little farther away from his hand. Then I called to Jed and told him to bring up a canteen.
While I waited for Jed, I knelt down on one knee and asked him his name. But he wasn’t talking; he turned his head away. I could tell he was in bad pain and he was breathing rough. It made me wish I had killed him outright to spare him that. He was young, about Jed’s age.
Jed walked up and handed me the canteen without saying anything. Losing blood makes you thirsty and when he saw the canteen, he ran his tongue over his lips. I uncorked it, raised his head a little and put it to his lips. After he drank his fill, I saw a red froth coming from his mouth. That meant he was shot in the lungs or at least one of them.
I eased his head back down and asked him his name.
“It’s Samuel,” he said.
“Well Samuel, you got any kin folk we can contact for you?”
He told me there was no one that cared a hoot if he lived or died. Then he tried to smile, but couldn’t quite make it and said, “Maybe a whore down Sonora way, if she’s still alive.”
I smiled at him and asked, “Who were the men with you, and where are they headed?”
“I cain’t peach on my friends mister.”
So I asked him if he was the one who shot Baxter.
“No, there was to be no shootin’. But that Frank, he’s a crazy one. When he shot that man, Ben and me couldn’t believe it.” Then Samuel asked if he could have some more water. But before I could get the cork out of the canteen, he died.
They were three men, three men who did not matter.
It was late last night and I had a thirst. I was out for beer.
All I wanted was to slake my thirst. Instead, I took three lives.
Do you think I set out to kill?
As I came out of the store, they surrounded me. One had a knife . . . one told me to empty my pockets.
Sometimes I get weary . . . and last night I got very weary.
Someone was going to die in the next few minutes. And I didn’t care if it was me.
All I wanted was some fucking beer. But death might be just as sweet. I am tired . . . tired of living.
Her name was Josie … it’s been a while. She visits me in the night. I cannot live with her specter no more. I loved her so much.
The big one made a move. Then I made a move. Before he knew it, I had the knife out of his hand and into his throat. Then I got pissed off. The other two died quickly.
No beer for me this night.
The cops are coming.
Josie, open the gates for me. I miss you so much.
The first cop car arrives. I stand and point my hand at him.
Nobody knows . . . nobody sees . . . nobody knows but me.
Ten years ago, I saw her for the first time. She was tall . . . she was the most beautiful thing I have even seen. She was blond. She was all female. She was to be my destruction.
Now I know you guys ain’t gonna believe this one, but I’ve got to tell it just the same. This all happened in 1984, long before the Internet, cell phones and Lady Gaga. And please when you’ve finished reading it, no emails, no phone calls and no damn letters telling me I’m nuts. Because I already know it, and what I’m about to tell ya just goes to prove the point.
My friend Rick and I were traveling through the mountains of Pennsylvania when it happened. We were heading to Colorado; he’s got his law practice out there. Me? I was just the along for the ride. The day before, Rick had called and asked me to go along with him. Help out with the driving and that kind of stuff. Or as he put it, “What else you got to do? Tag along, I’ll put the top down and the wind will blow the stink off ya." I mean how could anyone turn down and invitation like that?
So here’s the scene. We had left the Interstate and were on a small county road. It was about; no it was exactly, a quarter to four in the morning. I remember because I looked over at the clock. We’re in some kind of valley because the mountains are on both sides of the road. And there’s a fog coming up. Coming up from where? I don’t know, but this fog wasn’t descending like a good, descent fog should. No, this fog was coming up from the ground. It was weird. But now that I think about it, I believe it came from hell itself. However, at the time I was oblivious, as was Rick.
Just when the fog appeared, we hit a ghost town. Yeah … I know, ghost towns are supposed to be in the west. Well excuse me … this ghost town was somewhere (and don’t ask me where) in Pennsylvania. I’m sitting in the passenger seat looking at the buildings as they passed. Man, were they spooky. Oh, I forgot to mention, it was a full moon, or damn close to it. Anyway, with nothing else to do (Rick isn’t the best conversationalist in the world) I’m looking out the window at this town. All the buildings seem to have been constructed of wood and most of the wood had rotted away, so that I could see right through them and see the moonlight and trees on the other side. It went on like that for mile after mile. Actually the buildings looked burnt, but I figured it was just a trick of my imagination considering the fog and moonlight. Then after a while, I couldn’t see anything but the goddamn fog. When it really closed in, Rick slowed down, turned to me and said, “Where the hell are we?”
And I shot back, “You’re drivin’ pal, if you don’t know, then we’re lost.” Now Rick may not be much of a conversationalist, but he’s hell-on-wheels when it comes to a quick come back. His retort: “Screw you!”
It was just about then that he saw it. I didn’t see it, but thank God that he did, or you would not be reading these words. Right there in the middle of the road was a large, a very large, pine tree. Now I mean really! What the hell is a pine tree, or any kind of tree for that matter, doing in the middle of a road that good, God-fearin’ people have to traverse? I’m not sayin’ Rick and I were God-fearin’, but you know what I mean.
As I’ve said, it was a good thing ‘ol Rick was at the wheel because if I had been, we would have plowed into the damn thing. So Rick stops in time and we look at each other and before either one of us can utter a word. A voice rings out, “WELCOME TO PERDITION!” And when I say a voice rang out, well … boomed out might be closer to the truth.
Turning to Rick, I shouted, “Let’s get the hell outta here!” And I didn’t have to tell him twice. Before the reverberation of the sound of my voice was dissipated into the mist, Rick slammed the car in reverse and was burning rubber backwards. We were both looking out the rear window. Rick because he had to see where he was driving. And me? Because what else was I going to do?
We were moving at a fairly good clip considering we were going backwards, and in the fog the backup lights didn’t illuminate much. So intent were we on peering into the white darkness that we didn’t see the obstacle in the road. It was another damn tree, though this one was a bit smaller, and we were on it before we knew it. I mean we were literally on it. The two back wheels bumped over it, but the front wheels didn’t make it. So there we were, the car’s chassis resting on the trunk of a pine tree in the early morning hours in the mountains of Pennsylvania with a sinister fog closing in.
If that wasn’t bad enough, then the shapes appeared. They were dark and they oozed out of the fog. They had the shape of men, but because of the fog we could not make out any discernible features, like eyes and noses, you know, that kind thing.
Now, I must admit I was scared shitless. But at that moment my friend Rick brought me back to my senses, at least for a minute. He said, “Fuck this!” and got out of the car and played a wonderful bluff. He stood by his opened door with his arms on the roof of the car and said in a loud voice, “I am an officer of the court. You are interfering in official business and there will be repercussions if you do not remove the blockage of a state highway and allow us to proceed on our way.” As I said, it was a good bluff and it fortified me … for a moment. But when two of the dark forms enveloped him, and then he was gone, well … I went right back to being scared shitless. Then I felt a sharp pain at the back of my head, then a blackness overcame me and I lost consciousness.
I came out of my stupor slowly, and as I became more cognizant, I perceived my surroundings. I was lying on a hard earthen floor in what looked like a log cabin. There were no windows, but moonlight was seeping in from the spaces between the logs. There was a table against the far wall. On another wall three chairs hung from hooks, and on still another wall was Rick. He was hanging by his arms, trussed up like a Christmas turkey. His hands and feet were tied and he hung from a wooden peg.
I was still a little slow on the uptake and I asked him if he was all right. His answer was a muffled mmm … ummm … umm! That’s when I noticed the gag over his mouth. Standing, I went to him and started to untie the rag covering his mouth while Rick shook his head back and forth. Ignoring him, I removed the gag so that we could converse like normal people. And that just goes to show you, some people can be down right unappreciative. Instead of saying, “Thank you,” I was met with, “You idiot! Why do you think I was shaking my head? Screw the gag, get me down. My arms are killing me?”
Grasping him around the waist, I lifted him a few inches so that he could slide his tied hands off the peg, which he did. When I had him back on terra firma and let go, he toppled to the ground. I heard an exasperated sigh, followed by the words, “Will you please untie me so that if I feel so inclined I can stand up without falling over!”
“Sorry pal, I didn’t realize.” Then I got to my knees and fumbled with the ropes in the dim moonlight until I had my friend freed. Well, freed may not be the right word. We were still in the cabin.
As Rick massaged his wrist, I asked him what happened.
“You want to know what happened? Well you’re asking the wrong guy. This is all I know. I was standing there one minute and the next minute I hand a hand over my mouth and two brutes were half carrying me and half dragging me into the fog. They were both massive and when they got me into this cabin, one of them hit me and the next thing I knew I was hanging up like a side of beef. Then I saw you on the floor grabbin’ forty winks, and it took you forever to come around. And that’s about all I know. What’s your story?”
I took a moment to marshal my thoughts and then I said, “I was knocked out at the car and came to on the floor. That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it. But why are we still here? Let’s get the hell outta here before they come back.”
Rick, he was now rubbing his ankles, said, “Go ahead and try the door. I don’t think you’ll be able to open it.”
I saw no lock, so I stood and pulled on the handle. Nothing. So I gave it a good yank. Still nothing. As I was gearing up for a third try Rick interjected, “It opens outward. Before they muscled me into this damn place I saw one of them remove what looked like a 4” x 4” sitting in slots across the door. Go ahead and try to push the door open and see what happens.” I did as asked and nothing happened.
“You see,” said Rick “this is a jail cell and I don’t think we are the first to inhabit it.”
About then the moonlight was changing to daylight, and it wasn’t long before we heard someone at the door. We both got to our feet and waited for whoever it was to make their entrance, and we did not have long to wait.
The door creaked outward and the small space within the cabin was flooded with sunlight. Both Rick and I were momentarily blinded, and then the shapes appeared again. However, now we could see them for what they were. At first there was only one, he entered the cabin and stood to the right of the door. Then the other one came in and took a position to the left.
They were only men, albeit, big men; very big men. They each stood about six feet, six inches tall. And they were well muscled, no fat on either one of them. I figured they weighed two fifty if they weighed an ounce. They wore black suits, but not the kind your friendly neighborhood undertaker would wear. No, these looked to be right out of the late 19th century. Kind of what a preacher would have worn.
At this point Rick and I looked at one another and Rick cocked an eyebrow in my direction as if to ask, “What the hell?” And speaking of preachers, that is exactly what turned up next. After the two behemoths were ensconced on either side of the door, the star of the show appeared. He, in contrast to his minions, was a scrawny little guy. He was also dressed in the same archaic manner. He was about sixty-years old and stood about five and a half feet tall. Rail thin with a few days growth of gray beard stubble, grizzled hair that looked greasy and was unkempt, which hung down almost to his shoulders. And unlike the other two, he wore a hat. It had a wide, circular brim just like the preachers’ of old. He did not come in, but stayed framed in the doorway.
Without preamble, without introductions all the way around, without even a by-your-leave, he started right in. In a loud voice that would have been better suited to the two brutes on either side of the door he boomed, “REPENT YE SINNERS! REPENT WHILST YE STILL MAY DO SO FOR THE JUDGEMENT OF THE LORD IS AT HAND!” Then he raised his right hand over his head, and in it was a Bible. At least it looked like a Bible, and any thinking man would assume it a Bible. But I digress.
So they we all stood, the monsters, the preacher, Rick and I. No one said a word, no one said a thing. Finally I turned to Rick and said, “I want to hire you to act as my lawyer and I want you to sue that son of a bitch for everything he’s worth. Which probably isn’t much more then the clothes he’s standing in.”
Replied Rick: “I’ll take the case and if we win I want his hat as my fee.”
However, The Preacher, as Rick and I took to calling him, forestalled further attorney-client consultation by loudly intoning, “AT THE FULL OF THE MOON THE SACRIFICIAL LAMBS WILL BE OFFERED UP TO JEHOVAH. THEIR BLOOD WILL WASH AWAY THEIR SINS AND ALLOW THEM TO ENTER THE KINGDOM OF HEAVEN.”
Now, my first thought upon hearing the above was, “I wish he’d turn it down a notch. I’m getting a headache.” Then all of a sudden it hit me. “Did he say ‘sacrificial’ and ‘blood’?” And I think it hit Rick about the same time because he looked over to me and his smirk was completely gone, as I’m sure mine was. Up till then we thought it was just some yahoo trying to save our eternal souls. However, after hearing his plans for us and looking at the non-smiling apes, we got the picture.
Before I could think of anything to say, like “Who the hell do you think you are?” Or something to that effect, Rick said, “You gotta be kidding me. Come on Billy let’s book.” Then he took a step toward the door. And that’s when ape number one moved to block Rick’s egress. Rick in turn tried to push pass him, but to no avail. Then The Preacher put in his two cents. “MY SONS ISAAC AND AARON WILL BRING YOU TO THE ALTER OF PURIFICATION AT THE APPOINTED HOUR. TILL THEN MAKE YOUR PEACE WITH YOUR MAKER.” And abruptly he was gone. I mean in a flash he was gone. I didn’t even see him move a muscle. It was as though he went up in a puff of smoke. Then the apes left, but in a more conventional manner, they walked out, shutting the door behind them.
Rick and I were left standing there like the two idiots we were. We should have tried to get out while the getting was good despite the apes. But we didn’t, so now we were locked in a small log cabin waiting for the moon to rise so that we could be killed by three psychos.
Finally Rick said, “Well, if that doesn’t beat all!”
“It sure as hell does pal, but there was something weird about that little guy.”
“No shit Sherlock.” “
No, I mean I was standing right in front of him with the sun to his back and I could swear that at times he was transparent. But when he talked, he filled in. I know it doesn’t make any sense, but that’s what I saw.”
Rick walked over to me and gently said, “It’s been a rough night for both of us. We’re tired and I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry as hell. So don’t worry about it, let’s just figure a way out of here.”
He was right, so I asked him, “You got any ideas?”
Rick for all his high sounding lawyer talk had no ready answer. Then I suggested that we might dig under the logs and squirm our way out.
Rick told me that if I looked around the cabin I’d see shallow depressions around the edges that looked like others had tried to dig their way out. And he was right. But that didn’t stop us from giving it the good old college try.
We found that the damn place had been built on a slab of granite, and a few inches under the dirt was solid rock. So there was no getting out that way. And after an hour of going around the cabin looking for a weak spot that we could use to our advantage we discovered nothing. Hence Rick, being the practical one, said that we should take two chairs down from the wall and hold a council of war. I agreed, and we did so.
I’ll spare you the details of all the stupid ideas we came up with. I think we discussed everything except having Buck Rogers descend in his spaceship to rescue us. However, in the end the only avenue of escape open to us was run like hell when given the chance.
So this was the deal we came up with. When they came back for us and we heard them outside we’d get ready. And then when the door was cracked an inch, we’d both push with all our might (as feeble as that might be) and rush past the giants and haul ass down the mountain.
Because he was conscience when brought to our place of incarceration, Rick knew that we were about two thousand yards above the road we had been taken from. So we figured that all we had to do was run as fast as we could and the man-mountains wouldn’t be able to catch us. After all, it would be down hill all the way. It was a simple plan formed by simple minds. They say that the simple plans are the best. Well, I’m here to tell that is not necessarily so. This is what happened.
We sat in that damn cabin all day and watched the sunlight coming through the cracks move across the floor. Then the light got dim and then it got downright black, we couldn’t see anything. While we sat there in the dark we spoke of food. Not our salvation, no, we talked of charred steaks smothered in onions. Of grilled hamburgers with melted cheese with a side order of French fries. Surprisingly enough salads did not enter into the conversation, but hell, we were macho guys, no sissy food for us. Maybe I shouldn’t say that because we were scared and scared good. And all that long day I felt like the biggest sissy that ever that ever came down the pike.
After what seemed like a lifetime, the moon made its appearance. Its light slowly seeped into the cabin and we prepared ourselves. Rick and I, standing shoulder to shoulder, placed our hands flat on the door. The minute we heard the wooden bar being lifted we were going to push for all we were worth.
And that is just what we did, and we did it with such force that the goons, Isaac and Aaron, were caught off guard. Rick and I were through the door before they knew what was happening. Next we started our sprint for freedom. Rick was a few feet in front of me because we had decided that he would lead the way seeing as how he had a better sense of where we were in relation to the road. We were maybe a hundred feet out of the cabin and they still hadn’t moved. Things were looking up. That is until a line from a Robert Burn’s poem came into play. “The best-laid schemes ‘o mice and men often go awry.”
I took a step and tripped over a root or something and I fell flat on my face. Rick heard me take the tumble, stopped and started back. However, we didn’t have time for any heroics. I couldn’t see them, but I could feel the gruesome twins bearing down on me. So I did the only thing I could. I yelled at Rick, “Get your ass outta here!” And with a quick nod, he did just that.
Now I don’t want you folks to think I was being a hero or anything like that. No, I was just being smart. I knew if Rick slowed down for me then the Bobbsey Twins would have us both. At least this way he could come back with some help.
Rick was gone and I was picked up by my arms, one goon on each arm. Then daddy appeared out of nowhere. He didn’t seem concerned that Rick was no longer with us. He just instructed the boys to tie me tight with a rope and then bring me to the Altar of Purification.
One of the monsters, it may have been Isaac, but I couldn’t tell the sons of bitches apart, held me while the other went to get a rope. And when he returned the rope was wrapped around me and tied, pinning my arms to my side.
After that it was my turn to be treated like a slab of beef. One of the guys hefted me as though I was a sack of potatoes and slung me over his shoulder. As we made our way to wherever the damn altar was, I had a good view of the ground seeing as how the top half of me was hanging down Aaron’s back or it might have been Isaac’s back. Anyway, what I’m trying to say is that is when I noticed the fog coming up from the ground; it was the same kind of white mist as the night before. And by the time we got to where we were going it was well over the head of whoever was carrying me. Speaking about where we were going. It was a rock ledge, almost perfectly flat, about four feet off the ground and few hundred yards from the cabin. And I was unceremoniously dumped upon said ledge, also known as the Altar of Purification.
So there I was, flat on my back and helpless. Then out of the mist came The Preacher. In one hand he held his Bible and in the other the biggest damn knife I’ve ever seen. The blade was a foot long, the handle six inches. It looked more a sword than a knife, at least to me lying in my precarious position.
He stood looking down at me with his sons, one on either side of him. Next he raised his hands over his head, the Bible in one, the knife in the other, and started to pray. Well, I don’t mind telling you I said a few prayers of my own right about then. And in between praying, I was grateful for the fact the Rick had gotten away because I knew with certainty that it wasn’t going to be too long before that knife made a swift descent and was imbedded in yours truly.
Then time slowed down, it almost came to a halt. It seemed to me that we were all frozen in some weird tableau. My eyes were fixated on the knife and it became the only thing in the world to me. I prayed for the nightmare to be over and that I’d awake in the car seat next to Rick with us barreling down the highway. And all the while the mist rose and swirled around us.
Finally, I decided it would probably be better to close my eyes and wait for the inevitable. But before I could wrench my gaze from the knife, two things happened simultaneously. The knife flew out of The Preacher’s hand and I heard a gunshot.
As soon as the knife left The Preacher’s hand, I closed my eyes and rolled to my left. I just knew the damn thing was going to get me. But it clattered harmlessly onto the rock, barely missing my head. And when I opened my eyes the three creeps were gone and Rick was standing over me looking concerned.
Breathing hard, as though he was out of breath, he asked, “Are you all right?”
I answered, “I am now.” And then I asked, “Where the hell did you come from, and is that a gun in your hand?” But before he could say anything I added, “Untie me; get these goddamn ropes off of me!” And as he untied the rope, the mist lightened and seemed to be seeping into the ground. However, that did not make an impression on me at the time. It wasn’t until much later that that fact hit home.
When I was free I looked at the gun. But before I could say anything, Rick said it would behoove us to get out of there before our “friends” came back. With that, I had to agree. So following Rick, we made our way down the mountain. It wasn’t too hard because the mist was almost all gone and we had a full moon.
We made the road in no time flat and Rick turned left and I followed. I was about to start peppering him with questions when up ahead I saw his car. It was sitting on the side of the road just as pretty as you please. And there was no sign of the tree it was sitting on the last time I saw it. It was then that I hit him with my thousand questions.
I’ll save you the back and forth of our conversation and just tell you what I learned. First of all we got into the car and Rick said we should go back to the last town we passed and report our little mishap to the local law. Him being a lawyer would suggest that. Personally I was for hightailing it out of that country and the sooner the better, but I said nothing.
As we rode this is what I learned.
When I fell and told him to keep going, Rick did so only because he knew he’d need some fire power against the two giants if he was to affect my rescue. It turned out that he kept a gun, a pistol, in the trunk of his car. When he got to the highway he was as amazed as I had been to see his car off the tree and on the shoulder of the road. His only concern was about the keys. If they weren’t there, he didn’t know how he’d get into the trunk. But they were and he did.
The rest was pretty straight forward. He went back up the mountain, found the cabin and was led to where I was by The Preacher’s loud voice as he prayed over me. And when he saw the knife he took a bead and knocked it out of The Preacher’s hand. I told him that that was pretty good shooting, but he informed me that he was aiming for the son of a bitch’s heart but the gun recoiled and hit the knife instead.
There was one thing that we didn’t understand. Well, there were a lot of things we didn’t understand, but one thing in particular baffled us. Where had the bad guys gone? If you remember, I had my eyes closed when they vamoosed; I thought they had just run away. But Rick was only twenty or so yards from the action when he fired the gun and he told me it looked to him as though they had vanished in a puff of smoke. But we didn’t dwell on it.
We got to the town; it was about eight miles from the scene of the crime. But it did us no good. Initially that is. The place was a one-horse town if I’ve ever seen a one-horse, and I have. The sheriff’s office was closed up tight, so we made our way to an all night dinner. We were informed that the sheriff or his deputy would be in about eight o’clock in the morning and there was nothing we could do until then. Rick asked the counterman who had supplied us with the info what the town folks did if there was an emergency in the middle of the night.
His answer: “There hasn’t been one so far.”
So, seeing that there was nothing we could do until the appointed time, and as we were hungry as hell, we ordered about everything on the menu (which wasn’t much) and killed time until the local constabulary deigned to make an appearance.
When eight o’clock rolled around we finished the last of our coffee and went to the counter to pay our bill. As we were collecting our change the big man himself walked in. His name, we were to learn was John Brown, Sheriff John Brown. He was thin with gray hair and I figured him for about sixty years old. We approached him, and Rick started to tell him our tale of woe. But after a few words the sheriff held up a hand and said, “Unless there is imminent danger of grievous bodily harm or someone is lying dying then let’s adjourn to my office. I’m just no good in the morning until I’ve had my first cup of joe.”
What else could we do? We waited for him to get his Styrofoam cup of coffee and then the three us walked to his office. Once he was comfortably seated behind his desk and contently slurping his coffee, and us seated in the two chairs before the desk, Rick laid out our story.
When Rick had concluded his account of the previous night’s adventures, Sheriff Brown didn’t say a word. He swiveled in his chair and hit the switch to the two-way radio on the stand next to him. And then speaking into the mic he said, “You there Abe?” When an affirmative answer came forth, he went on, “I have to take a run out on the county road and I need you to hold down the fort. If I need you I’ll call.” Having taken care of business, he flipped the switch to the off position and said, “Let’s go.”
With Rick in the front seat of the sheriff’s car and me in the back we headed out. On the way Sheriff Brown asked a few pertinent questions which we answered. One of the questions was what happened to the knife? When we heard that, Rick and I just looked at one another and felt stupid. We had been in such a hurry to get away we didn’t think to take the knife. The last time I saw it, it was lying where it had fallen when shot out of The Preacher’s hand. Then the sheriff asked where exactly along the road did we encounter the pine trees. Rick hesitated, and then he said things looked different in the daylight and he wasn’t quite sure.
Then, feeling brilliant, I said, ‘We came upon the first tree right after the ghost town.”
Said the sheriff: “What ghost town?”
Said I: “You know the one along here somewhere, on the north side of the road.”
Said the sheriff: “There ain’t no ghost town in this neck of the woods.”
Said I: “Yes there is, I saw it last night. It runs for a couple of miles”
Then hoping to get confirmation, I asked Rick, “You saw it, right?”
Rick wasn’t much help. He informed me that with the fog coming up he kept his eyes on the road. Or to put it in his words, “I didn’t have time for sightseeing.”
To no one in particular I stuttered, ‘But … but I know what I saw.”
Then I heard from the sheriff. “This is my county boy, and if there was a ghost town in these parts I’d know it. Now if you boys can point out to me where the alleged abductions took place I can start my investigation.”
“Alleged abductions!”
Well, to make a long, sad story short, we never did find the place we hit the trees. In fact there were no cut trees, pine or otherwise, along the road. So, no trees, no ghost town, no nothing! We just couldn’t pinpoint where all the shit took place. And if we couldn’t do that then there was no way we’d ever find the cabin.
On the way back to town the sheriff made what for me was a startling statement. “You know, all this talk of a ghost town reminded me of Jasper.”
Rick beat me to the punch. “Jasper? Who the hell is Jasper?”
“Jasper,” said the sheriff “isn’t a who, it’s a what. And what Jasper is, or was, is town that was burnt down about a hundred years ago. Some crazy preacher took a torch to it. When I was growing up us kids told spook stories about it. And it was always claimed that the spirit of the preacher was seen on the nights of the full moon roaming the hills over there.” As he said that he pointed to the north.
Once again, Rick and I looked at one another. We didn’t have to speak. The thought was there. “Crazy preacher!” But before we could say anything the sheriff said, “Yeah, I know what you’re thinking, and I don’t want to hear about no ghost preacher snatching you out of your car! Are you boys foolin’ with the law? Because if you are, I won’t take kindly to it.”
Rick slouched in his seat, folded his arms and put on his lawyer face. I did the opposite. I leaned forward and said to the sheriff, “Everything we told you was the truth. And we don’t believe in ghost. Maybe it was some local nut that knows the story of the crazed preacher and gets his jollies kidnapping and murdering people in that vein.” And then as an afterthought I added, “You ever have a missing person report where the person was last seen along this stretch of road?”
After thinking for a moment he answered. “No we haven’t. Well, at least not recently. But when I took over as sheriff, I was handed a file by my predecessor. He told me it was the only unsolved case of his career, it goes back to 1934. There was a car found abandoned somewhere out here. It belonged to an out-of-state gent like you fellas. He never was found. But it could not have anything to do with your boy, it was fifty years ago.”
“I think I speak for my friend as well as myself when I say that we’re getting out of this state just as fast as we can. But before we go I’d like to know a little something about the firebug preacher. Is there any place in town that might have some more information on him and the town of Jasper?”
“You’ll be wanting to speak with Miss Wells. She’s our town librarian and the town’s unofficial historian. I can drop you off there and then I’ve got to attack a stack of paperwork back at my office that’s been staring at me for a week.”
So, we drove on in silence. Rick hadn’t said a word since the sheriff accused us of making up the whole sordid tale. Then just before we hit the outskirts of town I thought entered my cranium. I asked the sheriff if he knew what date the car was found in 1934. He said that he didn’t, but that when he got back to his office he’s check the file and call us at the library. I think he was feeling a little guilty for not being able to help us.
Sheriff Brown brought us to the library and introduced us to Miss Wells. She was in her fifties and wasn’t a bad looker. I wondered why it was “Miss” Wells. Rick, well he was still sulking and mumbled in my ear, “Let’s blow this pop stand. I’ve got a law practice waiting for me in Denver.” I informed him that it was his idea to go to Johnny Law, and now all I wanted was to get a few salient facts about the original preacher. Just something to comfort me in my dotage when I thought about what we went through. He shrugged his shoulders and said, “Lay on McDuff.”
I told Miss Wells we were looking for any information on the fire that destroyed Jasper and of the perpetrator that started said fire.
She gave me a dazzling smile (I still wondered why “Miss” Wells) and she told me that off the top of her head she knew that the preacher’s name was Jeremiah Stone, that he was a fire (no pun intended) and brimstone type. But she said that was par for the course in that day and age. Then she blew me away when she said, “You can read an account of the fire that was printed in the local paper on the one year anniversary. And I believe there is a picture of Parson Stone.”
I told her that I would indeed like to read anything she had.
Walking to a file cabinet, she opened the top drawer and withdrew a small box about three inches by three inches. She then led us to a viewing machine while telling us that the relevant newspaper story was on film. “The Clarion Dispatch,” she said, “was our local paper; however it went out of business years ago, but we have all their editions on film.”
When we got to the machine she inserted the reel and started fast forwarding the tape, stopping every once in awhile to peruse the date, finally she came to April 23, 1884. And there he was, The Preacher, staring out at us from the past. It was an old time photograph; they used to call them “family portraits.” Seated on a small couch, next to a woman, sat our tormentor, hat in hand. And standing on either side of the two were the boys, Isaac and Aaron.
Miss Wells missed the look that passed between Rick and me. She simply said, “This is the article. When you are finished leave the tape in the machine, I’ll rewind it. Then she left us to our own devices.
The first thing I said to Rick after the lovely Miss Wells had departed was, “Look at the date.”
You know, I never put much stock in lawyers, and Rick just reinforced that image when he said, “Yeah, I see it. So what?”
“So what! I’ll tell you so what! Today is April the 23rd. That article said the fire was set “yesterday,” which would mean April the 22nd. Don’t you get it? That crazy son of a bitch burned down his town exactly one hundred years ago to the day that he grabbed us. Look at that picture. You know it the same asshole.”
Rick’s reply: “I don’t believe in ghost.”
My response: “Neither did I until two minutes ago.”
But rather than continue arguing with my pal. I started to read the article. I was seated in a chair and Rick read over my shoulder. This is the gist of the story.
Jeremiah Stone had been the pastor of Jasper for a number of years and was well liked by the town folk. He was married with two sons. The sons were “touched” or “pixilated,” or as we would say today, mildly retarded. Then in the autumn of 1883 his wife died and Stone went into seclusion with his sons. When he emerged a month later he was a different man. His sermons were of redemption by purification; he started talking of blood sacrifices to appease an angry God and of fire as a means of purification.
Then in the early morning hours of April 22nd, fire broke out in the town of Jasper. It seemed to be jumping from house to house, from building to building. The town’s people gathered on the main street, the men forming a bucket brigade, the woman and children huddled together.
The fire was too well advanced to put out, and it was while the people stood in the street watching their homes and businesses burn that three men ran up and said that they had witnessed Pastor Stone and his sons at the other end of town setting fire to the few remaining houses not all ready engulfed in flames. Everyone ran to that section of town and arrived just as Stone and his sons were entering the church, the only building in town not on fire.
Two men, town leaders, said that they’d go in and speak with the preacher and see what this was all about. But when they started for the church the crowd followed. They had a stake in the catastrophe and wanted answers. So, instead the town’s people stood at the front of the church and yelled for the preacher to show himself, which presently he did. Holding his Bible over his held (as I’d seen him do) he told his flock that they were now purified and ready for the Kingdom of Heaven. That’s when the first torch was thrown. It landed at the preacher’s feet, then another and another. The preacher retreated into the church. And then someone ran to the front door and poured lantern oil onto the small flames of the torches. The fire quickly spread and soon the church was ablaze. As the roof fell in, the people heard over the roar of the fire these words, “I AND MINE ARE CLEANSED! TODAY WE SHALL BE WITH YOU IN HEAVEN.”
The people stayed until the church was no more. Then they slowly filed away to search the ruins of their homes for anything left of value. The town was abandoned and never rebuilt.
As we finished reading the article, Miss Wells walked up and said she had a message for us from the sheriff. “He said to tell you that he checked the file and the car was found on April 23nd, 1934.”
We thanked Miss Wells for her help and left the library. While walking back to Rick’s car I said to him, “That crazy son of a bitch took someone out on the fiftieth anniversary of the fire and then he tried to do the same to us on the hundredth.”
Rick only said, “You know we haven’t slept in forty-eight hours and I’m not one bit tired. I think I’ll drive straight through to Denver. Let’s get out of this goddamn part of the country.”
And you know, I could only agree and wholeheartedly concur with my friend.
From that moment on Rick was a changed man. He didn’t mind some nut job trying to kill us. He could handle something like that. In fact he did. He saved my life! But when it came to the supernatural that was something else.
We didn’t speak much during the rest of the trip, and Rick refused to discuss The Preacher or anything concerned with what we went through. He seemed somehow embarrassed about something. When we got to Denver, I caught a plane back to New York. And it’s now been more than thirty years since that night, and Rick and I have not spoken since.
I didn’t lose my life that night, but I think I lost something much more dear to me than my miserable life. In the twinkling of an eye, I lost a good friend. DAMN YOU PREACHER STONE!
Howdy folks, it’s been a while since we’ve talked and I have a lot to tell you. My human and I have been having some fine ‘ol adventures. Well, maybe fine is not the exact word I’m looking for. But we have been keeping busy. I’m Danny the Dog and my human is called Andrew. A silly name I know, not as cool as Danny, but he’s okay for a human.
I’ll start with the light stuff first. As I said, Andrew is okay for a human, but he does leave a lot to be desired. Do you know he hasn’t bought me a chew toy in years? I’m talking about those rawhide things. Yummy! Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not a toy type of dog, but I do like a good chew just like everyone else.
Anyway, we were out walking around the marina about a week and a half ago when we happened upon Chloe. She’s my friend, a chocolate lab. She’s only a year old and very playful. Sometimes I will deign to acknowledge her existence, but most of the time I just ignore her. She’s a mite too rambunctious for me, like most females of my acquaintance.
So while she’s bouncing around me and nudging me with her snoot, trying to get me to play with her, I noticed a piece of rawhide lying on the dock. It was half chewed and it was oh so inviting. Of course, I went over and started to sniff it. Chloe followed me over and put her snoot down to it also. That’s when I had to assert myself. I gave a short bark and little growl to tell her it was now my chew thing. Then I grabbed it with my mouth and it was officially mine. But I guess Andrew didn’t get the memo. He tried to take it from me while telling me stealing was not a good thing. Lucky for Andrew that Chloe’s human was there or he would have lost a finger or two. Chloe’s human, whose name is Jeff, told Andrew that it was all right for me to have the treasure. We went home and I sat out on the dock and chewed the thing until it was no more. All in all, it was a very good day. However, the next day, as you shall soon see, was a day that will live in infamy.
At the moment, I’m torn between telling you of my harrowing escape from the jaws of death or to tell you about Andrew’s slight little run in with mortality. I guess I’ll save the best for last. Here’s what happened to Andrew.
I was out walking him a few evenings ago and I was doing my usual sniffing. I caught the scent of a chicken bone or two in the vicinity and went on alert. Unfortunately, Andrew did also. The place we were walking is infamous for chicken bones, so Andrew was watching me quite closely. And because he was looking at me, and not where he was walking, he slipped on an exposed root. His foot went into a small depression and we both heard a loud SNAP! His only comment was, “Let’s go home while I can still walk.” He knew the pain and the swelling would soon set in and he wanted to be on the boat when that happened. He wanted to be near his pain medicine … I think humans call it Vodka. Well long story short, Andrew broke something in his ankle, but we don’t know what. He has a doctor friend, who offered to x-ray it for him, but the idiot said, and I quote, “We know something is broken, so the x-ray will only tell us what we already know.” I reckon I can’t argue with that.
Now to the important news, me, and what happened to me last Saturday. Andrew is not the only wounded member of this household.
As I’ve told you all before, Saturday is the day the male humans escape their females and come to the Tiki hut to drink beer and talk of manly things. Andrew is not a guy type of guy; he’s kind of a sissy, so he doesn’t hang out with the other males. Me, I like them and I am always happy to spend some time with them. But this Saturday Andrew had some business to discuss with his friend Don. I like Don a lot, he’s the nicest human I know, much nicer than Andrew is.
Andrew, for some reason, doesn’t trust me, so I’m always on the damn leash. After Don and the other males made a big show of welcoming me, Andrew tied me to a tree and then forgot all about me. But I didn’t mind, there was a new scent on the ground and I was in heaven.
I followed the scent over to a log. The scent was getting stronger … oh joy! There was a crevasse at the middle of the log and I poked my snoot into it. That’s when I got the surprise of my life. Out came a crab. But I was undaunted … his pincher claw did not faze me at all, no sir re bob it did not!
This was going to be fun. I barked at him and backed him up a bit. Then he raised his claw over his head in a defensive position. That is when my world was turned upside down. He clamped his big ‘ol claw right on my beautiful nose! Yeow and double yeow. I let out with a cry that sent Andrew scurrying over, bad foot and all. When he saw what had happened he had the temerity to laugh at me.
Now we sit on the boat. Andrew has ice on his ankle and I have ice on my nose. We are just two old males wishing for better times. And I’m not about to forget his laughter during my darkest moment. As I write this, I am plotting my revenge.
