“Let me smell your butt.”
“Aww, Daisy, come on!”
“No, you come on, Rex. Turn around.”
“You know, I am an adult. I’m almost eight years old!”
“Turn it, mister!”
Rex, who had top grades from obedience school, did as he was told.
“You didn’t use the Eau de Mud Puddle cologne like I told you.”
“Daisy, please! How are the Wilkerson’s gonna know it’s me if I smell like a freakin’ mud puddle!”
“But –”
“And, anyway, I don’t like it. It smells too…fruity.”
“Fine! Be a pig!”
Rex and Daisy McCall showed up in the alley near the Wilkinson’s home fashionably late. Martha Wilkinson greeted them warmly.
“Rex! Daisy! So good of you to come!”
“We brought something for you…Rex?”
Daisy nudged Rex, who offered Martha a dead rat.
“Oh, you shouldn’t have!” Martha enthused as she took the rat from Rex.
“It’s hickory smoked,” Daisy told her. Martha raised her eyebrows, impressed.
“Martha, you gonna keep our guests standing around at the entrance to the alley all night, or are you gonna invite them in!” George Wilkinson bellowed.
Martha rolled her eyes, but let Daisy and Rex pass.
“I love what you’ve done with the alley!” Daisy gushed. “It looks…I don’t know – roomier, somehow.”
Martha dropped the rat and grinned. “We put mirrors behind the dumpster. It really enhances your sense of space!”
Meanwhile, George daintily waddled up to Rex. “Hey, guy, how’s it hangin’?” he asked. They sniffed each other’s butts.
“What the…” Rex snorted. “Don’t tell me Martha has you using that Eau de Whatever cologne crap!”
“Like that’ll ever happen!” George roared. Then, a little embarrassed, he confided: “Actually, I had the operation a couple of days ago.”
“Really? But…but, you’re so young!”
“When the master says it’s time, it’s time.”
“And, that smell?”
“That’s just, uhh, lotion. Gotta rub it in three times a day to ease the, uhh, you know.” George hung his head for a moment, then lifted it again and roared, “Okay, who’s ready for a drink?” Everybody said they were.
“What have you got?” Daisy asked.
“Well, let’s just see. We got Hose Water…Gutter Water…Puddle Water and –”
“No, dear,” Martha corrected him, “we’re out of Puddle Water.”
George took it in stride. “Like I said. We got Hose Water, Gutter Water and Toilet Water.”
“You’ve got a toilet out here?” Rex asked. This time, Daisy rolled her eyes.
“It’s bottled water,” Martha explained. “Vitamin enriched and with the flavour of a different meat in each bottle.”
Rex’ eyes narrowed. “Is it any good?” he growled.
“At three bucks a bottle, it better be!” George expansively responded, adding: “Hey, is that a rat? Pass it over here and I’ll pop it on the heating grate!”
After dinner, the two couples lounged in the back of the alley, lapping the drinks in front of them. In a low voice, Martha confided: “George could have been the Dean’s dog.”
“Really?” Daisy replied, interested.
“Hardly,” George stated. “The Dean wasn’t in the pound the day I was adopted.”
“Yes, he was,” Martha insisted. “You just don’t want to remember. George never wanted the pressure of being the Dean’s dog.”
George, eager to change the subject, asked Rex, “Do you have any puppies?”
“We’ve been thinking about,” Daisy answered, getting a sharp look from Rex. “But the time just never seems right. You?”
“We had a litter,” George offhandedly remarked. Martha gave him the sharp look.
“They all died,” she hastily added.
Rex and Daisy looked at each other, shocked, not knowing what to say. “That…that’s really too bad,” Daisy sputtered.
“Oh, I don’t know,” George enthusiastically continued. “It got Martha into therapy, and she’s much better now.”
“George!” Martha hissed.
“I’ve always wondered if I should go into therapy,” Daisy, more than a little tipsy, mused. “I mean, we’re all just dogs – how complicated can our psychology be?”
“Oh, I think you’d be a perfect candidate for therapy,” Martha acidly told her.
“Really?” Daisy responded, her eyes widening, apparently unaware of the venom in Martha’s voice. Rex was getting increasingly uncomfortable with this line of discussion. “Uhh, it’s getting late. Maybe we should be going,” he suggested.
Daisy was reluctant to go, fearing she might miss something entertaining. But, Martha got increasingly bitchy as the evening wore on (no surprise there), as did George (maybe not so much of a surprise given the…uhh…operation), and Rex insisted. There followed a lot of exposition between Martha and George, but I know what you really want to hear…
George put a paw on Martha’s shoulder and asked, “Who’s afraid of Virginia Woof?”
In a small voice, Martha responded, “I am, George. I am.”