Chet The Dog

Posts Tagged ‘Bernie’s mom’

No Post Today

Why not? Because we just found out Bernie’s mom is coming for Thanksgiving. Bernie’s mom is a piece of work. For one thing she’s bringing a new husband, name of Lenny. “How many husbands does that make?” Suzie said. Bernie didn’t know, so that means it must be a big number. Bernie’s real good with numbers, except when the numbers are about money.

Here’s another thing: She calls Bernie Kiddo! What’s up with that?

So now Bernie and I are searching the whole house for the pot that we deep fry the turkey in. “How can we have lost a big thing like that?” Bernie says. A good question, as humans say. But what does that mean, exactly? I’m not sure I like questions of any kind. But I do like Thanksgiving, my very favorite holiday. Is it tomorrow?

Envy (Part Two)

A big problem for me right now is that Bernie doesn’t wear bedroom slippers. Neither did Leda when she lived here. This was before the divorce. Now Leda’s gone, and so is Charlie, except for some weekends and holidays. Charlie’s Bernie’s kid and we miss him a lot, but he didn’t wear bedroom slippers either. Someone over at Iggy’s place wears them because he’s got one in his mouth right now and he’s shaking it in the window. The way he’s shaking it says to me one thing and one thing only: I’ve got a bedroom slipper and you don’t.

“Chet! Knock it off!”

Why doesn’t anyone in my life wear bedroom slippers? My only experience with bedroom slippers happened when Bernie’s mom came for a visit. She’s a piece of work! And that new husband! But the visit didn’t go well, and now that I remember it, bedroom slippers might have been part of the problem.

Admin’s World Series Picks: Red Sox vs. Twins

Envy

“He started spending more and more time up in Bakersfield,” Bernie said. Who was he talking about, again?

“Playing gigs?” said Colonel Bob.

“Yeah,” Bernie said. “He was pretty good. Afterwards my mother threw away all his stuff, but I found a tape of him just fooling around on an acoustic guitar, even singing a bit.”

“Afterwards meaning … ?” said Colonel Bob.

Hey! Was that Iggy at his window? Sure was! Hadn’t seen Iggy in ages. Iggy’s my buddy, although he never seems to come out any more. And he had something in his mouth. I went right up to our window for a better view. Was it a bedroom slipper? Looked like one. Iggy gave it a little shake. Yes, a bedroom slipper for sure. I wanted it real bad.

“Chet! Knock it off.”

I dialed down to this low rumble I have.

“This is a pretty amazing story,” Colonel Bob said. “What happened after that?”

Spence’s World Series pick: Tampa vs. Rockies

Mr. Singh: From Thereby Hangs A Tail

Last night we watched this movie called The Pawnbroker. It didn’t remind me of Mr. Singh at all. Also I didn’t understand it one bit, and afterward Bernie seemed depressed. So here’s Mr. Singh.

“Bernie! Chet!” said Mr. Singh. “How is our beautiful timepiece today?”

Bernie handed over his grandfather’s watch. His grandfather once owned a big ranch where Mesquite Road and our whole neighborhood was now, but lost everything, possibly because of a drinking problem, although the drinking problem might have come from some other story Bernie had told me, a story about another relative. But not Bernie’s father. Bernie never talked about his father, who’d been dead for a long time. Bernie’s mother was still around. I’d met her once: a piece of work. She lived somewhere far away with a new husband, or an even newer one. She called Bernie Kiddo! What was up with that? But I still shouldn’t have done what I did, a story perhaps for another time.

Mr. Singh held the watch in both hands, admiring it. “Do you know that only a dozen of these were made?” he said. “How I would love to take this on Antiques Roadshow.” Mr. Singh had a strange way of talking, almost like music. I could listen to him all day. “Did you ever find out how it came into his possession?” he said.

“No,” said Bernie.

“Thereby hangs a tale, I’m sure,” said Mr. Singh.

A tail? Was Mr. Singh saying Bernie’s grandfather’s watch had a tail? Fun to listen to, Mr. Singh, but hard to understand. We left, a big wad of cash in Bernie’s pocket and a bite or two of curried goat kebab in my mouth. I like ethnic food. So does Bernie. There are picky eaters out there, but not us.