Thursday, December 10, 2009

Part 1 - We meet Mavis, George and Imogene

Mavis had skinny legs. In fact they were more than skinny. Skinny connotes that there was once a bit of leg there, but now there is some extra skin. But Mavis’ legs were just little chicken bones with a thin covering. About the size of a thick pencil. Maybe a carpenter’s pencil.

Mavis was nervous. She was shaking all over. Her dark eyes bugged out of her head, like marbles. She nervously ran into the kitchen. She nervously ran to look out the window. She flopped down on the couch. That didn’t seem comfortable. She flopped down on the floor. Then up on the couch, and then looking out the window again. She stood as tall as she could and scanned the tree lined yard, but there was no sign of Sybil. No sign of Sybil. She went back to bed. She sighed.

--

George was overweight. He didn’t know and didn’t care. He noticed, sometimes, that it was harder for him to fit into small spaces, but he didn’t really attribute it to his weight problem. He didn’t get tired that easily, so the extra pounds didn’t bother him at all. He walked around in the back yard, striking a pose now and then, for the neighbors who occasionally glanced out the window to see him. He carried a few small boards from behind the shed to near the house. He worked for a while on the holes that he had started by the big pine tree, but it was in a halfhearted way. He just scratched at them a little. Then he scratched at himself. Then he had lunch again.

--

“He has legs but they aren’t too long, Singin’ the puppy dog song,
He doesn’t wipe his butt, but is that so wrong?
Singin’ the puppy dog song,
I rub his tummy and he eats my hand,
He’s the new lead singer in a punk pup band,
He’s the bestest puppy in the doggone land
Oh, singing the puppy dog song…”

“Well, that’s nothing too special,” thought Imogene, “but it works.”

She stopped rubbing Ricky’s belly, and the dog grin that was plastered on his face froze for a minute. He wriggled like a turtle turned on its shell before getting upright again.

Imogene went to take the tea kettle off the burner and Ricky followed her from a distance of about 4 inches. She didn’t need to look to know that he was there. She could hear him breathing, like a small handsaw, pant, pant, pant, pant, pant.

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