I traveled to France because I wanted to climb Mt. Everest. When I got there, I didn’t see it so I asked a lady for directions. She took me to a nearby café with the name Mt. Everest. I expected it to be a lot bigger. There were just 5 steps to get to the top. I wasn’t impressed. A patron in the café told me about the Eiffel Tower. He said it was very tall. I asked him where it was. He said in Nepal. That’s next to China. I’m catching a plane in the morning.
I received a call from my Mother today. She always calls after she sets someone’s house on fire. She inquired if I had oatmeal for breakfast. I said maybe. I ate something but wasn’t sure what it was. It tasted like an orange but could have been oatmeal.
“My dog died,” she said.
“No!” he replied. “You loved that animal. How long did you have him?”
“About 15 years.”
“What will you do? Bury him in the backyard?”
“No. In a pet cemetery.”
“That’s nice,” he said.
“But I ran into problems.”
“It started at the wake.”
“I lit some candles and had a CD playing his favorite song, Elvis singing ‘Hound Dog’.”
“There must’ve been about 20 cats and dogs and a bunch of parakeets there. I tried training one parakeet to deliver the eulogy. My dog loved birds and I thought it would’ve been nice but the bird just kept saying, ‘You’re going to hell! You’re going to hell!’ It belonged to a minister.
“The next day I called the pet cemetery and made arrangements for burial but the place couldn’t accept delivery for 2 days. In the meantime, I wrapped my dog in aluminum foil and put him in the freezer. However, I forgot to tell my Mom.”
“That doesn’t sound good.”
“No, it wasn’t. She reached into the freezer and pulled him out thinking it was a steak all ready for the oven. Two hours later he was cooked. Luckily I stopped my Mom before she took a bite.”
“So I decided to put my dog in a safety deposit box in a bank. When Friday came and it was time to take him to the cemetery, I went to the bank to discover that the IRS had a court order to open up box 163 but mistakenly opened up 164, which was mine. Well, they were pretty surprised to find a cooked dog inside.
“The bank employees disposed of my dog by putting him into a trash compactor. I explained the situation and he was returned, but not before he had been squeezed down to half his former size.
“So I took my dog, put him in a bag, and returned to my car. When I got there a thief robbed me at gunpoint taking my wallet and the bag. I tried telling the thief that there was nothing but a dead dog inside but he didn’t believe me and took it anyway.
“After I got home the police called and said they got the thief and I could pickup my stuff. I rushed over, grabbed the bag with my dog and headed to the pet cemetery.
“The man at the cemetery asked me a lot of questions why the dog was cooked, compacted and wrapped in foil and I explained.”
“What did he say?”
“Nothing. Just gave me a look.”
“And the burial?” he asked.
“It was arranged for Sunday so I went home happy. However, on Saturday, I got a call from the manager of the cemetery. They had made a mistake and cremated my dog, but the mistake was discovered in time so only half the dog was cremated.
“When Sunday arrived, I was getting ready to leave for the burial service and I got another call from the manager. This time he said my dog had somehow got mixed in with some paper documents that were headed for an industrial shredder and, well, my dog had been shredded. At that point, I was in tears.”
“Why didn’t you call me?” he asked.
“I didn’t want to bother you.”
“Did they finally bury the dog?” she asked.
“Yes, in pieces. I never made it to the service. I was too grief stricken.”
The Chapter 7 opening in my book 5 Pumpkins & a Head.
(Off topic today. No “Good Morning….”)
Have always been a comic book guy.
Here’s my mutant superhero – “Super Fight”!
He’s a true mutant – a fist, a foot and 2 eyes.
He makes the X-Men look normal.
The other day I had a bad feeling but didn’t know what to do. A stranger offered me $100 for it. I sold it to him.