Archive for August, 2009
August 30th, 2009 Posted 8:51 am
Guess what – we’re in the Porsche, Bernie at the wheel, me riding shotgun. Have I mentioned that this isn’t a fancy new Porsche but a real old one? Not the real old one from Dog On It – you know what happened to that – but the new real old one from Thereby Hangs A Tail. I like it just the same, although there have been glitches already. Glitches is a word Bernie has for when he has to pop the hood and go in there with the tools. The tow truck comes along pretty soon after that, every time.
But this isn’t about that. It’s about where we’re going: camping in the desert! We’ll be gone for a few days, back Thursday, Bernie says, whenever that is. I know Sunday on account of Elvis gospel, on the radio at this very moment. Do I love camping or what? We’ve got lots of supplies, including a chew strip I’m working on right now, beef-flavored from Rover and Co., perfection.
When we get back: Portia’s deal and a surprise from Bernie. But for now – zoom!
August 29th, 2009 Posted 9:06 am
Ivy? You wanted to know about the Hawaiian pants? Maybe that’s in Dog On It, or possibly Thereby Hangs A Tail. Bernie loves Hawaiian shirts – his favorite is the one with the martini glasses – and one day he suddenly snapped his fingers – I love that sound! So clear and sharp, like a tiny branch snapping off, really one of my favorite human sounds, maybe up there with Elmore James’s slide guitar on It Hurts Me Too, which Bernie’s been playing in the car over and over lately.
But this is about Hawaiian pants, right? One day Bernie snapped his fingers and said, “Chet, I’ve got an idea that’s going to make us rich. You know how people love Hawaiian shirts? How about Hawaiian pants?” We have thousands of them now – not sure what thousands are, but a big number, like out the yingyang – in a warehouse somewhere, and also Bernie gave some to a shelter but none of the guys would wear them, not even the ones with the martini glasses. Bernie himself wore a pair to a party, just once. Our finances have never been the same.
August 28th, 2009 Posted 7:49 am
“The kind of deal,” Portia said, “where I walk away.”
“Sounds good,” Bernie said. “In theory.”
“What the hell does that mean?” said Portia.
I was kind of with her on that. Plus at that moment my mind was wandering back to the time I got nipped by a duck. We’d been working on a divorce case – we hate divorce work, me and Bernie, but our finances were a mess back then, and still are. Those Hawaiian pants … Anyway, we were out at a ranch where they had a nice little pond. I love swimming! And it was a hot day, so I jumped in for a quick dip. After a while I realized I didn’t have the pond to myself. There was this duck drifting around. A duck is a kind of bird and I don’t like birds much, but ducks like swimming and so do I, so I swam over just to … I don’t know, give the duck a friendly little bump or something. But I never got the chance because all of a sudden the duck squawked, started flapping its wings and paddling hard with its weird feet, and then zoomed right at me, opened its mouth wide – no teeth, what’s with that? – and nipped me right on the nose. More like a bite, really, even with no teeth. I’ve got teeth, big and sharp, but the next thing I knew I was swimming backward, real fast, the only backward swimming I’ve ever done.
But where were we?
August 27th, 2009 Posted 11:23 am
“Sis?” said Bernie. “Meaning this gentleman – ” He pointed with his chin at Trimmer. Love when Bernie points with his chin. He has a very nice chin. Some humans have almost no chin at all. I never like the sight of that. “Meaning this gentleman,” he was saying, “is your brother?”
“He’s no gentleman,” said Portia. “I want to make a deal.”
“Portia, for God’s sake,” said Trimmer.
“Make a deal and it’s the last thing you ever do,” said Freddie Dancer.
Bernie’s face got hard. A minute or so later, Freddie Dancer had a strip of duct tape over his mouth. We can be tough, me and Bernie. Also duct tape has nothing to do with ducks; that confused me for a long time. Once a duck nipped at me, maybe a story for another time.
“What kind of deal?” Bernie said to Portia.