Good afternoon. Gigi the parti poodle here to introduce chapter forty of my story Certified Sadistic Accountant. Today I was made to go back to the vet for a follow up visit post my dental cleaning. As was expected, I was a brilliant patient and am doing well. The downside, however, is my novelist was given the green light to schedule me a grooming appointment. It is true I am shaggy at present and have part of my left front leg shaved which would be a disastrous look on any runway. But I still detest going to the groomers…no matter how spectacular I look afterwards. Not only that but I was subjected to a bath yesterday prior to my appointment today. It is not cold weather or anything, so I wasn’t cold. Far from it. But it is most detestable just the same. What is it with humans? Always bathing and preening and dragging their owners to the vet? This is a philosophical conundrum I must discuss with Bernard D. Bunny over tea this weekend. Until then, please enjoy my fortieth chapter of Certified Sadistic Accountant. Vive la saleté!

Certified Sadistic Accountant

by

Gigi the parti poodle

Chapter Forty

Curtis stepped back from the door.

“I know you’re in there,” said the voice on the other side. “I can hear you.”

“Why…why are you here?”

“Open the door. Then I’ll tell you.”

Curtis put his hands on his hips. Nothing about this could be good. “Are the police out there?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

He took a deep breath, sighed and opened the door. Fia stood there glaring at him. “Come in.”

She stomped into the house, spun around, and looked him in the eye. “You owe me.”

“Why?”

“Because I didn’t turn you in. I told them I escaped and couldn’t identify my kidnapper because I was locked in a large attic.”

Curtis took a tentative step towards her and dug his hands in his pockets. “Why did you tell them that?”

“Because I want to understand why you kidnapped me. And if you don’t tell me I will go back to the police and tell them maybe, just maybe, there might have been a stream of light that came in the door when they brought food in for me, and I might have seen enough of the criminal’s face to give them an accurate description and pick you out of a lineup.”

Curtis carefully studied her face. Finally, he said, Because Makenna and Lance broke into my house and killed my Yorkshire Terrier, Haven.”

“How do you know they were the ones who broke into your house?”

“I had a surveillance system installed in my apartment.”

“Do you still have the video of them breaking into your place?”

“Yes. And while they were in there, Lance located the camera and spraypainted the lens.”

 “That doesn’t prove they were responsible for Haven escaping.”

“My landlord showed me his surveillance footage and it shows Haven scurrying out the front door and then Makenna and Lance running out after her. Haven stops at one point on the grass and looks at them, and then they begin moving towards her and she turns and runs out into the street just as a delivery truck is coming. The delivery truck screeches to a halt and Makenna and Lance stand there like they’ve just seen a flying saucer. Then they hurry towards the accident.”  

“Sounds like you have enough evidence to have them arrested.”

“They’ve harassed me ever since I started working there. This time they took it too far.”

“How does abducting me work into this picture?”

“Your father stood by day after day while Makenna, Lance, Irwin and Grady pulled annoying pranks on me.”

“Maybe. But that’s probably because he was a little jealous of you. You are a better accountant than he is. He’s as much as said so. And maybe part of him didn’t intervene because he’s trying to run a business.”

“Maybe he should have paid better attention to the actions of his employees.”

“Why didn’t you go to the police with the surveillance footage?”

“Killing Haven was the last straw. Pinning a kidnapping on them would make them suffer more than breaking and entering. “

“And so, I’m a pawn in this game?”

“More or less. I would have pinned it on Makenna and Lance. I’d still be stuck with Grady and Irwin but getting Makenna and Lance out of the way would have been enough.”

“What makes you think Grady and Irwin didn’t devise this scheme? “If Grady and Irwin helped plot it, they’re guilty too.”

“Oh, they were in on it. But Makenna was the mastermind and she and Lance were the ones who broke into my house and got Haven killed.”

“So, your plan was to put my father and I through distress and then pin the kidnapping on Makenna and Lance. And then you were going to coheres me to go along with it.”

“More or less.”

“Wow. Maybe I should have turned you in.”

“Honestly, I’m thankful you didn’t.”

“You’re going to have to be a little more than grateful, Curtis.”

“What do you want?”

“Since your clown show plan fell through, you will have to consider mine. And if you don’t, I will turn you into the police.”

Curtis hesitated for a moment. Then he said, “What is your plan?”

MY BOOKS

You can check out my books Chicane and all five installments of the Musicology book series Musicology: Volume One, Baby!, Musicology: Volume Two, Kid!, Musicology: Volume Three, Twist!, Musicology: Volume Four, Sweetie! and Musicology: The Epiquad on Amazon in Kindle and Paperback editions. You can also check out Musicology’s web site at www.musicologyrocks.com and vote for who you think will win Musicology!

STREAM OF THE WEEK: THE UPSIDE OF ANGER (2005) HBO MAX

Here is a terrific, smart, witty comedy that often gets overlooked. It was pure joy getting to see it again this week. It’s held up very well, has a shockingly stellar cast, and was brilliantly written and directed by Mike Binder with a terrific ending not many films are smart enough to have.

Terry Wolfmeyer (Joan Allen in what should have been an Oscar nominated performance) is angry. Very angry. She sits down one night to have dinner with her four daughters, eldest Hadley, (Alicia Witt) a college student, Andy, (Erika Christensen) who wants to work and not go to college, Emily, (Keri Russell) an aspiring ballerina, and youngest, Popeye, (Evan Rachel Wood) the literary phenom of the family. Terry, dressed in her lingerie, sets a strong drink on the table and announces her husband, their father, has left her for his Swedish secretary. This stuns the girls who each begin to deal with the breakup in their own way.

Meanwhile, next door neighbor and ex-major league baseball star Denny Davies (Kevin Costner) who has always had a crush on Terry, is both surprised and covertly delighted to find out her husband has disappeared. Between his daily radio show produced by his likeable but somewhat sleazy producer Adam “Shep” Goodman (Mike Binder) he slowly attempts to charm his way into Terry and her girl’s lives by offering to be Terry’s drinking partner. Terry, who is nobody’s fool, is skeptical at first since Denny and Shep want to buy her out and develop the rather large stretch of wooded land between Denny’s house and hers. But the daughters like Denny, and he is eventually invited to dinner, asked to stay and watch television, and become part of Terry and their lives. After a while Denny offers the anti-college Andy a job as an assistant on his radio show. But when middle-aged Shep takes a liking to Andy, Terry’s anger reaches a boiling point.

Look for Dane Christensen (Erika Christensen’s real-life brother) as Popeye’s classmate Gordon Reiner.

Good afternoon. It is I Gigi the parti poodle here to introduce chapter thirty-nine of my story Certified Sadistic Accountant. This week has been rather unpleasant. I am not allowed to have treats for three weeks because sealant was applied to my teeth. I am perpetually starving. One cannot live on poodle chow alone. I need my extra goodies to get me through the day. I have begged, demanded, whined and licked but still my novelist remains firm in this situation. All I am allowed to partake of is soft stuff that comes in a pouch. It is palatable enough, but it is not my usual treats, which are far superior. All I have been dreaming about for the past week are delicious soft chewy delectables. Yet all I have is mush. I try to imagine it is pâté but alas, pâté it is not. I am marking off the days on the calendar when mushy pouch treats are a thing of the past. Until then here is chapter thirty-nine of my story Certified Sadistic Accountant. Je ne mangerai pas cette bouillie mon ami. Je ne le mangerai pas, Sam je le suis!

Certified Sadistic Accountant

by

Gigi the parti poodle

Chapter Thirty-Nine

No, he realized. They were knocking, not opening the door. He froze. He had no idea who was at the door. He paused and thought for a moment. He checked himself in the mirror. He looked bedraggled. He grabbed his aunt’s hairbrush that was sitting on her vanity and fixed his hair. He tucked his rumpled shirt into his pants and tugged down on his shirt cuffs.

He headed downstairs to the door and looked through the peephole. He was surprised to see a delivery guy standing there with a large package. Curtis thought of all the movies where the delivery guy was just a cover for a cop. He remained calm, cleared his throat and opened the door.

“Yes?” he said.

“I have a package you need to sign for,” the delivery guy said and thrust an electronic pad and stylist at Curtis. Curtis looked at the pad and wondered if this was a way they were going to acquire his fingerprints and DNA. He sighed and signed the pad.

“Here you go,” the delivery guy said handing Curtis the large heavy package. Then he skipped down the porch steps and left.

Curtis stood there staring at the large heavy box in his hands. He headed back into the house and set the box down on an end table to investigate. The label showed the package was addressed to his Aunt Odette. He decided it was probably an art piece she’d had shipped to her which was odd with her being out of the country.

He waited, wondering when they were going to break down his door, but no one came. He sat down on the bookshelf chair and tried to decide what to do next. That was the problem with his plan. He hadn’t factored in the possibility of the kidnapped girl escaping. His plan was to get everyone in that office together and then…what did it matter now? What he had to do now was make a quick decision to either turn himself in or run. Time was running out. He’d have to change his name and take the accounting test again under a new identity. Then could go back to practicing as an account and not starve. And prison time sounded unappealing.

Maybe he could go back to his duplex and see if anyone was watching him. If he did that, he could pack a suitcase. He’d wait till it got dark then go. No, that was a terrible idea. Someone was watching the duplex. They had to be. And even if it wasn’t the police what if it was a neighbor looking to spot him and call the authorities. No, it would be better to gather up what he needed here and run. He’d head north…no south and start a new life. He could never see his family again. He didn’t like that idea but what other choice did he have?

He needed to go off the grid. He couldn’t be surfing the internet or making phone calls. He’d have to stay underground long enough to find somewhere to live and descent clothes to wear. He would need money. Cash not credit. If he remembered right, his aunt always kept cash around. She was a little odd about money. If she didn’t keep it in the form of art, she would keep a large stash hidden in the office.

He scurried into the office and unlocked the bottom drawer to her desk. Sure enough, he found the lockbox there and proceeded to open it with the small keys from the jewelry box. The lock popped open and when he lifted the lid Curtis found an out-of-date passport, a small manilla envelope with something sealed inside, and a large stack of bills. He ran over to the closet and pulled out a backpack she had stashed in there and stuck the money in it. He knew he would need to take one of her cars because they would be on the lookout for his Honda.

Then there was the matter of food. He would need to take as many non-perishable items as he could gather from his aunt’s cupboards. Curtis swung the backpack onto his shoulder and ran from the office to the kitchen and began to rummage around the cupboards while he pondered the dilemma of the vehicle. He found a package of whole wheat spaghetti, a can of Mandarin Oranges, a jar of French raspberry preserves, a jar of the good peanut butter you can order online, two boxes of Carr’s crackers and, of course, a couple cans of sardines. Aunt Odette was a big fan of sardines. He grabbed a grocery bag and packed up his bounty.

The only car parked in Aunt Odette’s garage right now was her small hot pink Smart Fortwo Electric Drive, the kind that can bounce off other cars in a wreck. She must have driven the metallic green dune buggy to the airport. It was either get the electric car charged or learn how to ride the Vespa parked on the side. He decided to charge the car. He set down his backpack and grocery bag and headed over to the side, grabbed the charger and proceeded to charge the Smart Fortwo. He adjusted the backpack on his shoulder and grabbed the groceries and headed back into the house. He tried to think of what else he could take with him. Soap, shampoo, and conditioner came to mind. He darted upstairs to the bathroom to procure the items. He looked in the cabinet on the opposite wall from the bathtub and located two large bars of bright red raspberry Pré De Provence French soap, a bottle of L’Occitane Rose Shampoo and conditioner. That would have to do. He gathered them up and took them with him. He hurried down the stairs and was about to head out to the garage when the doorbell rang again. He moved over to the door and looked through the peep hole. He was shocked at who he saw. It wasn’t a delivery person this time.

MY BOOKS

You can check out my books Chicane and all five installments of the Musicology book series Musicology: Volume One, Baby!, Musicology: Volume Two, Kid!, Musicology: Volume Three, Twist!, Musicology: Volume Four, Sweetie! and Musicology: The Epiquad on Amazon in Kindle and Paperback editions. You can also check out Musicology’s web site at www.musicologyrocks.com and vote for who you think will win Musicology!

STREAM OF THE WEEK: A WOMAN UNDER THE INFLUENCE (1974)- HBO MAX

This week I thought I would honor the fantastic actress Gena Rowlands by choosing a film with one of her finest roles. She and Peter Falk turn in landmark performances in this naturalistic film about a complicated woman trapped in both mental illness and the ignorance of her blue-collar world. Cassavetes rightly earned an Oscar nomination for his excellent direction here and his real-life wife Gena earned an Oscar nomination for her extraordinary work. It is a travesty that Peter Falk wasn’t also recognized for his outstanding performance as well.

Being a homemaker in the 1970’s straight out sucked. In fact, being a homemaker in just about any era sucks. Mabel Longhetti (Gena Rowlands) is imprisoned in that role. She is also imprisoned by the men in her life whether it be her father George (Fred Draper), her doctor Dr. Zepp (Eddie Shaw), or her hot-blooded husband Nick (Peter Falk) a construction foreman who loves her but is unaccepting of her mental illness and is sometimes downright violent. She is expected to raise three young children and “be herself” or rather her husband’s idea of what that is. It is clear Nick loves his wife but his expectations of her are absurd. The Longhetti’s have three young grade school children Mabel is trying to manage as well as her husband’s constant gregarious social demands. Nick is a man who always needs to be in control to the point of being threatening and control is the last thing Mabel has. She is suffering from mental illness and is on the verge of a mental breakdown. A fact Nick does not want to accept. He tells his friends his wife is unusual but not crazy. But day by painful day, things get worse and worse and Mabel’s actions get more and more careless until it puts their children in a compromising position.

One of the saddest and possibly the truest moment in the film is when Mabel asks her father to stand up for her as they sit around the dining room table with the rest of the family. He physically stands up claiming he has no idea what she means by stand up. The scene seems to point out that Mabel is not only under the influence of her mental illness but the influence of the patriarchal world in which she is trapped. No one is on her side.

This is not an easy film to watch. But it is a truthful one. Originally, Rowlands told Cassavetes she wanted to act in a play about the difficulties faced by contemporary women. Cassavetes wrote that play but Rowlands knew it would be utterly exhausting to try and keep up the necessary intensity performance after performance. The stage play was made into a screenplay, Peter Falk liked Cassavetes’s script so much he invested $500,000 of his own money to help produce it, and this was the triumphant result.

Good afternoon. Gigi the parti poodle here to introduce chapter thirty-eight of my story Certified Sadistic Accountant. I must tell you this has been a most dreadful week. My novelist ambushed me Tuesday morning and took me in to have my teeth cleaned. I feel horrible. I am still trying to come out of the spell they put me under. The whole world is slow and lethargic. I just want to lie on my pillow and cry. My teeth hurt and I feel like I am trotting through water. I cannot believe after having to suffer through being boarded for a week I am now being subjected to torture. Yes, of course, putting me under sedation made the whole experience more tolerable but when is getting one’s teeth cleaned ever tolerable? At least it only happens once a year. I know she’s planning on booking an appointment for me to see the groomer soon. That should be a barrel of monkeys and a bag of chips. At least I am writing my story again even if Tuesday was a “lost weekend” as it were. And so, groggy though I may be, here is chapter thirty-eight of Certified Sadistic Accountant. Je déteste aller chez le vétérinaire.

Certified Sadistic Accountant

by

Gigi the parti poodle

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Curtis faced away from the bars, squatted down and grabbed the bottom of the cage with both hands. He struggled at first because of the handcuffs and the awkward position but using his legs he slowly started to lift the cage off the floor. To his delight he found it was not as heavy as he first guessed, and he was able to lift it a foot off the ground before he had to let it drop pulling his hands away just in time.

He breathed deep and squatted back down into position. He grabbed the bottom of the cage until he was able to inch it up to his shoulders. Then the terrifying part: because his hands were cuffed together behind him, he couldn’t lift the cage over his head and drop it in front of him. But he could duck his head and try to slip it off that way. Or he could keep the cage balanced on his back, turn and face outwards and rush forwards. He decided to attempt the latter.

He started turning slowly. He felt the cage slip a little and started to worry he’d injure himself. But he continued to turn one slow notch at a time until he was a full 180° around and facing the opposite direction. Then he stopped and considered a different option. He could slowly rise instead of rushing forwards and let the cage slip down to his hands and lower it to the floor with the hope it didn’t miss his hands or drop too quickly. Easy, he told himself. Go easy. He began to straighten up and the bottom of the cage slid inch by inch…and then it dropped. He quickly opened his hands and caught it. It stung a little when it hit but he caught it. He stepped forwards, pulled his hands back, and let it go.

He breathed a sigh of relief. Now all he needed to do was get the handcuffs off. The easy part would be because he knew his Aunt Odette kept her keys in her jewelry box under the fake bottom. He’d had to retrieve a key from there once when he was in middle school. She didn’t keep all her spare keys in the jewelry box. Just the small ones. The only issue was he needed to be able to unlock the master bedroom door to get to the jewelry box. The problem was the key to his aunt’s bedroom was not in the hip pocket of his jeans. It was in the front. He would need to figure out how to get his handcuffed hands into the front pocket of his jeans.    

If he was flexible, he could step through his hands and reach his front pocket and get the key to the bedroom. Or did any of this matter at this point? Should he just run and try to find a way to survive as a fugitive which, if he was being honest, sounded terrible. Especially with handcuffs on his wrists.

So, then, how could he get rid of these handcuffs? How could he get the key out of his front pocket? He needed a way to cut the chain. And because his hands were locked behind him, he would have to do it without being able to see what he was doing. He tried to remember if his aunt had a pair of wire cutters or something similar that would do the job. Maintenance tools were not her forte. It wasn’t like they were a piece of art she collected. But there might be some oddball items in the garage. Curtis headed into the hall and down the stairs. When he reached the front door, he had an epiphany. If he could get his hands on a long flexible thin pole or stick, one of his hands could steady the end and he could press his hip into a corner of a wall and bend the pole around his hips and work the other end into his front pocket and lift out the keys. He tried to think of an object that would fit the description. Then he remembered somewhere in his aunt’s office was an old long metal shoehorn. He had no idea why she kept it in there instead of her bedroom, but it was in there.

Curtis dashed over to the office where he proceeded to turn around, grab the knob with both his hands, and turned it. He pressed the door open with his hip and then turned around and went inside.

Aunt Odette kept it in the bottom drawer of her desk. Luckily, Curtis had left that drawer unlocked. He squatted down, turned around, grabbed the handle and pulled the drawer forwards. Still squatting he tiptoed back around 180˚ and faced the drawer. Inside lay the long metal shoehorn with the flexible end. He knew if he pressed hard enough into the bar it would bend and then the flexible part could slide into his front pocket and dig out the keys. Curtis turned back around and stuck his hands into the drawer and grabbed ahold of the shoehorn. Using his knees he pushed himself up to stand. Then he walked over to the corner of the wall and positioned himself so that he was holding the end of the shoehorn with his bound hands and began to press his hip against the handle.

Bending it was not as easy as he first thought, and he started to work up a sweat. But little by little the bar gave way and started to bow. Finally, it bowed enough for Curtis to attempt to fish the keys out of his right front pocket. He began to finesse the end of the flexible shoehorn towards his pocket. But the end of the shoehorn flexed and did not go inside. Curtis leaned into the wall and tried again. This time he was able to slip the shoehorn into the pocket before the end bent and flipped out. Curtis staggered back and then gave it one more chance. He leaned his hip into the wall against the bar, then he lifted his hip to give the direction of the shoehorn an angle. He curved a little, so the back of the bendable end folded into the pocket. He held his breath as he heard the light clank of metal against metal. He worked the shoehorn under the keys and attempted to scoop them out. But they caught on the fabric and would not budge.

He slipped the shoehorn in his front pocket again and this time he was able to get it under the keys and slowly slide them to the top of his pocket and flip them out onto the floor. He bent down and picked them up and darted out of the office and up the stairs.

When he reached his aunt’s bedroom, he held the doorknob steady with one hand and with the other he worked the key into the lock. He turned the key and pushed. The door gave way, and he headed inside. He hurried over to the dresser. He leaned in and used his chin to scoot the jewelry box forwards. Once he got the jewelry box to the edge, he leaned forward and let the box drop onto his chest and lowered himself to the floor. He bent in and used his nose to lift the lid. Then he turned around and reached his hands in to lift the fake bottom up.

As soon as his fingers grasped the key to the handcuffs he began to sob. He worked the key into the cuffs and unlocked them. He put his hands to his face as tears streamed down his cheeks. Just then he heard a noise downstairs. Someone was unlocking the front door.

MY BOOKS

You can check out my books Chicane and all five installments of the Musicology book series Musicology: Volume One, Baby!, Musicology: Volume Two, Kid!, Musicology: Volume Three, Twist!, Musicology: Volume Four, Sweetie! and Musicology: The Epiquad on Amazon in Kindle and Paperback editions. You can also check out Musicology’s web site at www.musicologyrocks.com and vote for who you think will win Musicology!

STREAM OF THE WEEK: BABY DRIVER (2017)-NETFLIX

This week’s movie is a smart, fast-paced, edge of your seat action film that is as clever as it is visually stunning. After suffering a car wreck as a young child which left him with tinnitus, young talented Baby (Ansel Elgort) works or rather is forced to work for Doc (Kevin Spacey) as a getaway driver for his bank robber team who carry out his expertly designed plans. Baby’s hobby is remixing conversations he records and blending them with music. He is as frugal as he is brilliant at driving and has saved up a fortune in the floorboards of his apartment which he shares with a deaf foster father named Joseph (CJ Jones). Baby thinks his recent gig is his last and he is finally out of debt with Doc and strikes up a romance with a waitress named Debora (Lily James). But Doc pulls him in for one last job. And this crew is even more unstable than the last with a loose cannon named Bats (Jamie Foxx), a Wall Street banker gone criminal named Buddy (Jon Hamm) and his sultry wife Darling (Eiza González Reyna). When Baby drives the trio to a location to retrieve guns Bats suspects something is awry and things go horrifically wrong leaving Baby with not only his life in danger but Deborah’s as well.

Thursday: Good afternoon. Gigi the parti poodle here and I must tell you my novelist still hasn’t returned to take me back to my humble abode. Allie the dachshund went home today. It was a sad thing as I had grown rather fond of her. Twin German Shepherds came to stay with me. One is named Riley, and the other is Durbin. They are quite large, but I seem to get along with them well. They respect my apartment, and I respect their large size. That evening, per my suggestion, we all sat in the living room and watched Paul Blart: Mall Cop. It is a guilty pleasure of mine and the twins liked the romance. Who would have thought?

That night I dreamed of my pillow at home in my novelist’s office. My cozy little place by the window where I can watch the quiet street. Except of course when UPS comes by…or FedEx…or USPS…or even OnTrack. Then I get riled. I dreamed my novelist was sitting in the chair near me. But when I awoke, I was in my own room at this strange place. I wish it had not been a dream.

Friday: No new news from my novelist. It has been nearly a week since she abandoned me. I have officially begun to give up hope. I am considering going on another hunger strike. I think of my bunny friend Bernard and his little sister Belle. I miss them terribly. Have they wondered where I’ve gone? Have they forgotten our tea parties? Our philosophical conversations? I wonder if they have even forgotten my name. I want to go back and run on my plot of grass. I want to travers through the lush tomato plants and sparse blueberry bushes. I want to chase a squirrel. It is strange the things you miss once they have been taken from you.

I spend some of the morning out in the prison yard refereeing the twins as they play fetch. It is quaint enough. But when I finally get some time alone, I cannot find the inspiration to write. It is simply not my yard, and I find it difficult to focus when I am not in my own environment. Although with the way things are going perhaps the prison yard is my own environment. Maybe it is time for me to consider the possibility that not all dogs that come here get to go home. Perchance, this is a place for abandoned dogs. Conceivably this Canis lupis familiaris has been left behind. Perhaps, I am no longer the owner of a novelist. If that is the case, I need to abandon my current tale and start anew. Maybe I should write a story about a parti poodle who was left behind and her heartache and loneliness. I shall reacquaint myself with Call of the Wild by Jack London. That dog’s story started in the Pacific Northwest. Maybe mine has too. I sincerely hope I will not be required to pull a mushing sled.   

I withgo the hunger strike and nosh on my food throughout the day. I request a couple of treats from the man. He is kind enough to oblige. They tasted better when my novelist gave them to me, but treats are treats and they will do.

The twins join me in the prison yard again later in the afternoon. We all hear barking. Ripley says it is coming from large puppies down the street, likely owned by hobby breeders. At first the sound frightened me because I didn’t know if these puppies were heading our way. But I was relieved by Ripley’s analysis. Later that afternoon I read Anne of Green Gables. Her situation improved. The brother and sister gave her a home. One hopeful thought is perhaps a new novelist will allow me to adopt them. It breaks my heart because I want my old novelist back. A new novelist would be better than no novelist at all, but there is a small part of me that hopes she will soon return.

Saturday: It is warm and pleasant. I spent more time inside today however because of the smoky air. The twins’ owner comes to gather them, and I am the only dog left here now. I read more about Anne of Green Gables and her new life with the brother and sister. Afterwards, since I am alone in this place for the first time in a week, I attempt to explore my thoughts. I try to immerse myself in my imagination and come up with more ideas for my fictional stories. Nothing. I wait for the man to tell me my owner will be returning. No new news. I listen to the clock tick away the hours. They are long, empty, and fretful. I decided to take a nap until suppertime. It helped some. It was good to let go of reality for a while.

I dined alone this evening. Afterwards I sat on the couch and watched A Star Is Born. I felt depressed afterwards. I went to bed and looked up and watched the shadows move across the ceiling. I cried a little and then I fell asleep.

Sunday: I am awoken by the sound of chirping birds. I cannot remember my dreams. The man lets me outside and I take a lonely stroll in the yard. I sit on the grass and feel the sun on my face. He walks up to me, smiles, and says, “You’re a lucky dog today.” I must tell you I feel anything but lucky. I am anxious because I have no one to herd around or manage. Being in control is important to me and all there is to command is grass. Grass does not listen. However, after a while I start to sense something good. Something positive. I cannot put my paw on it at first, but I know something is on the horizon.

When it gets to be midafternoon and I am roaming the prison yard, I hear an automobile pull up onto the gravel in front of the gate. Ah, I think. Another dog or dogs have arrived. I will have herding to do soon. I must let them know to avoid my apartment and follow my instructions. The man brings my harness over to me, puts it on, and attaches my leash to it. He must be taking me out to greet them. We headed inside to my room where he retrieved my bed and blanket. He picks up my box with a couple of cans of my dog food still in it and we traverse out to the gate.

My heart leaps! I see my novelist approaching. I begin to bark loudly and uncontrollably. When she meets the man and me, she takes the leash, and I jump up and down in front of her. For a moment, terror overcomes me, and I worry she is only here to visit. But she thanks the man, leads me to the car and we leave.

I cannot contain myself. I am delirious. I bark excitedly and shiver all the way home. My novelist seems tired and worn. When we finally pulled up to our home and she took me outside I asked her why did you leave me? Where did you go? She replies, she had to go somewhere far away and dangerous, and I would not have been safe there. She tells me it is a place dogs can get kidnapped and used for practice for dog fighting. Others who get kidnapped are killed and used in rituals. The lucky ones get kidnapped and sold off as pets on the black market. I asked her if she was vacationing in Florida. She said no. She wanted to make sure I was in good hands. I plead with her to never leave me like that again. She tells me she cannot promise me she will not have to leave me again, but she can promise she will always do everything in her power to come back. Somehow, someway she will find a way back to me because she is my novelist, and she loves me. I am satisfied with her answer because it is logical, and I love her too. And now I must go rest so I can return to my writing and continue penning chapter thirty-eight of Certified Sadistic Accountant, which, dear reader, I will present to you next Thursday. Until then, I bid you adieu.

Good afternoon. Gigi the parti poodle here and I must tell you I am distressed. I have not been able to write much less sleep or eat. It all started on Friday, the day after my last post, when my novelist took me to this house with a small gate which I had never been to before. My novelist met a man there on the lawn. She followed him inside and before I knew it, she put Tucker’s old bed and my favorite blanket on this picnic table, handed the man my leash, turned around, walked out the gate, turn around again and waved at me and left!

I could hear this rambunctious cattle dog eerily scratching at the window of the door. His name is Wookie. Wookie mind you. Like the giant Wookie from those Star Wars films. I find myself trapped with a giant Wookie! The hair on my head is jet black. What if he mistakes my head for Darth Vader’s helmet? I do not even want to imagine the horrors!

Another dog arrived shortly after. A dachshund named Allie. She seemed reasonable enough though a bit spoiled if you can imagine that. They assigned the three of us our own rooms. I for one could not arrange my blanket in a comfortable position. I lay there in the dark terrified and discomforted. I missed my novelist terribly. I dare say I sobbed dramatically. I could hear the Wookie howling this horrible haunting howl. It was the most restless night of my life. When I finally did fall asleep, I had a nightmare. A pack of wild brown bunnies surround me all howling out the melodies of famous television shows.

In the morning, the man let the three of us out into the yard. It was a fine yard as far as prison yards go. I got into an altercation with Wookie. He kept barking and jumping around me as if he wanted to pew-pew the Darth Vader helmet-headed poodle. Terrified for my life, I snarled warningly at the beast. Wookie, taken aback, snarled at me. Cattle dogs do not take kindly to someone snarling at them. I gathered all my wits and prepared to whip out my proverbial light saber when Allie came between us.

“Stop it at once,” she demanded. “We are not enemies. We are puppies in arms. We must work together to survive this stay away from our owners.”

“I do not have an owner,” I replied. “I am the owner of a novelist.”

She gave me a strange look and said, “Be that as it may, I for one know that Wookie is a veteran of being left behind while his owner goes off on business trips and should know better than to be aggressive towards novice visitors.”

“But I’m lonely,” Wookie sobbed. “I get lonely and restless, and I want to play. To be honest I miss my mommy!”

“And Gigi,” this German wiener dog says to me, “you must make an effort to be less aloof.”

I am gob smacked. I can hardly believe she knows the word “aloof.” And for that matter, I take pride in being aloof. It is who I am. However, I do not know how long my incarceration will last so I must find a way to keep the peace.

“I apologize,” I say to Wookie. “I had no idea you and your owner have such frequent distance between you.”

“Don’t get me wrong,” Wookie sniffled. “My owner is wonderful and caring, but I miss her when she goes away, and she goes away too much.”

Wookie began to sob again, and I felt dreadful. But I am a little hopeful too because it implies that my novelist has not left me permanently. She will come back…someday.

Monday…it is Monday I believe, all three of us wish to sit on the couch while the man watches television. It is big enough, all three of us somehow manage to fit. Wookie being the largest gets the middle. Allie takes the right side and I the left. As we watch a vapid game show Wookie insists on, I begin to feel violently homesick. My heart sinks like an elevator that has had its cables cut. I put my head on my front paws and closed my eyes. I try to imagine my novelist snuggled against me. I try to envision her petting me as we watch an independent film. My ears strain to hear her voice. I try to imagine us discussing the pros and cons of the movie. And then I hear Wookie yell, “I can’t believe he sent her home!”

Later that night I lie alone in my room and dream I am in a beautiful garden. My novelist sets down a silver steel bowl of my favorite dog food. It tastes spectacular. Every morsel is a delight. My hunger stuns me. I eat ravenously. Then I run up and put my paws on her leg to let her know I want a dog treat. She gives me one and I swear I have never tasted such a delicious treat. I request another and then another. And then to my great disappointment I wake up alone and starving in my lone little room. It suddenly occurs to me that I have not eaten since my novelist dropped me off. I must agree to partake of sustenance today.

It was not till noon that I was fed. This I must confess was my own fault. I am certain my novelist told the man I eat early in the afternoon. This is the way I conduct my meal schedule. I promptly ended my hunger strike and demanded a snack directly after. After that, the man seemed fine just putting my food in a dish and letting me nosh throughout the day.

That afternoon I made an effort to play with Allie and Wookie. It is difficult but I struggle through. I usually take my afternoons to contemplate and consider my writing. But for the sake of keeping the pace I reluctantly romp around with Wookie and discuss film with Allie. Afterwards I chose a spot in the living room to call my own. It is a chair which does not face the television, so Wookie and Allie do not seem to care.

Tuesday comes and my novelist has still not returned. I worry and wonder if she will ever come back for me. I have not been left alone this long for quite a while. I do recall she came back the last time of course, but I am worried perhaps I have done something to upset her or make her not want to be my novelist anymore. I try to relax and get as much alone time as I am allowed. I have found a book to read, Anne of Green Gables. She is a poor orphan girl of middle school age desperate for a home in a region of Canada and she is mistakenly sent to live with a middle-aged brother and sister. They were expecting a boy, you see, to work on their property. But they quickly come to appreciate Anne and decide to keep her. She seems to come from good stock, perhaps her parents, though poor, exhibited an air of class. I find some similarities between myself and this Anne.

Later that afternoon, Wookie’s owner comes to pick him up. He is overjoyed. I am alone with Allie. This makes for a more peaceful evening, and I consent to watching television. We watch a romance on the Hallmark channel. All things considered; it is a step up. 

Wednesday morning arrives and I find myself still incarcerated. I continue to nosh my food and occasionally take treats. Allie and I take a walk about the yard. She tells me she is sad too. She does not like this time away from her owner. However, she says she was glad to have met me and that it is rare to meet someone of my character. I take this as a complement.

I spend the rest of the day feeling homesick. I miss going on my walks. I wonder if my novelist has found a younger, cuter parti poodle. A puppy perhaps. I would not think so, but one wonders if it is possible. Have I been put out to pasture? Is that why I am here?

This afternoon the man tells me my novelist has been in touch. My heart leaps. Is she coming back to get me? He simply says she asked if I was behaving myself. What is that supposed to mean? He tells me he told her I have been an angel and that I have staked out my own apartment as it were. Human humor I suppose. That evening, I sit on the couch with Allie and watch Pretty Woman. A much better choice of entertainment than Wookie is accustomed to.

Which brings us to today, Thursday. My usual blog day. I am left empty handed with no chapter to present you this week, dear reader. I am still without my novelist. I am still blue. She has not checked on my since yesterday. How long will this limbo last? I will keep journaling and let you know next Thursday.

Until then I bid you adieu.