Tag: books

Tucker: In Memoriam

~ gigicatchesair ~ Leave a comment

What can you say about a thirteen-year-old Maltese who died?

That he was beautiful. And quiet. That he loved going for walks. And suppertime. And my novelist. And me. One time when I was feeling particularly generous, I let him snuggle up on the chair I happened to be sharing with my novelist. I even let him lie to the left side of her whilst I, of course, lay on her lap. I am normally quite stingy when it comes to these things. But in retrospect I wish I had let him lie next to her more.  

On Saturday, the day Tucker passed away, my novelist could not stop crying. She was stronger on Sunday but on Monday I heard her sniffling and trying to hold back tears. Every so often she would look over at the chair he used to lie in, and a deep sadness would fill her eyes. She has his collar properly buckled and sitting near the door. Perhaps with the hope he will someday come home.

I too am adjusting to the loss of my companion. I found myself checking his empty bed and a couple of nights ago I ran over and barked at the beanbag chair hoping he might hop down and romp around with me. And then I realized he wasn’t there. I even checked under my novelist’s bed where he liked to hide, but my efforts were in vain.

Tucker was a rescue dog. His original owner was an elderly lady who passed away when he was three years old. My novelist had owned a chihuahua poodle mix who’d died in surgery several months prior. The woman who was fostering Tucker was my novelist’s groomer. The groomer agreed to part with Tucker and my novelist paid her and gave Tucker a home.

It took Tucker some time to adjust to living with my novelist. He did not know how to be carried at first. His elderly owner must not have picked him up much. My novelist tells me when she first started carrying him, he would lose balance and tilt in awkward ways. But after a while he got used to it. I dare say he enjoyed it. He was a Maltese and a lapdog after all. He loved curling up in her lap which I could not stand because I always wanted to curl up in her lap. Sometimes I just had to accept I needed to share. And I hate to share. I think for a long time Tucker missed his original owner. My novelist tells me it is very hard on a dog to lose their owner. What he went through was traumatic, she told me, and there was a small room inside his heart where he always kept her.

My novelist procured me from the same groomer. I was the groomer’s poodle’s puppy. My twin brother had already been sold and I was still for sale. I am a parti poodle, but my brother had pure black hair. My novelist purchased me, but I couldn’t go home with her at first. My brother and I were too young to leave our mother yet. And so, my novelist had to wait about a month before she brought me home to live with Tucker. Tucker was displeased with me the moment he saw me. But after a while he came to understand it was my abode and he was merely allowed to live there. My novelist disagreed with my philosophy and often scolded me or gave me a time-out when she thought I’d crossed a line. But it was only because she loved Tucker and wanted to protect him and keep him safe.

Some of the good times I remember included Tucker and I going on road trips with my novelist. We got to stay in some lovely Airbnb places together by the beach. There was one in a rather remote and quiet area which was quite wonderful. It was cavernous and my voice echoed magnificently throughout the house. We both enjoyed the sea air and exploring new places.

Tucker’s decline came upon us slowly. He started to bump into things and my novelist said his eyesight must be going. Others were skeptical but it turned out she was right. His eyesight indeed left him, and he was blind for the last portion of his life. Last year the vet noticed he had a heart murmur. I thought of his first owner. Perhaps she is the reason his heart started murmuring. The weight of the loss had finally broken him. 

Tucker died in my novelist’s lap. He just fell asleep and never woke up again. My novelist went out to the car a little later. She says she saw a small white butterfly flit around the passenger side window. Perhaps that was his way of saying goodbye.

Our home is much quieter now. I used to start barking and that would get Tucker barking, but I don’t feel the urge to bark much these days. A little here and there usually when UPS drives by. But not as much as I did. I go about my daily routine. I go for walks. I lie around the house. Mostly I just feel a little sad. I know things will get better with time and I know he will never be forgotten. I feel sorry about the way I treated him sometimes. But I guess there is something to be said about love meaning never having to say you’re sorry. And he loved me. And I loved him.

-Gigi the parti poodle

Certified Sadistic Accountant Chapter Eighteen

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Good afternoon. It is I Gigi the parti poodle here to introduce chapter eighteen of my story Certified Sadistic Accountant. I watched the Oscars last week and it was a most scrumptious event. I did miss the first part of the opening monologue because, as my novelist puts it, I was naughty. I was merely correcting Tucker the Maltese. He needed to know this was an auspicious event. He didn’t even dress for the occasion and yet I am the one who gets a timeout. After that, I was able to see all the awards. The food was delicious even if I was not allowed to have the chocolate. I must put in a request for white chocolate at these events so I can partake as well. But I was rather fond of the crackers that we had. My novelist picked seventeen of the Oscar categories correctly this year, which is not bad. She has never picked them all correctly, but she did well. We have not had the opportunity to view all the films, but we are hoping to see a few more soon. And on that note, here is chapter eighteen of my story Certified Sadistic Accountant.

Certified Sadistic Accountant

by

Gigi the parti poodle

Chapter Eighteen

Curtis snuck up the street near the Dupree residence. He was dressed all in black including a knit hat and leather gloves with the hopes that no one would notice him or catch him on surveillance. He had the ransom note carefully packed in a large Ziploc bag. He located the neat even row of mailboxes and found the one with the numbers which corresponded with the Dupree household. He took out his keychain which had a small black nano light attached to it and shined it on the numbers to locate the correct box. He found it rather quickly and reached for the knob.

Suddenly, a large racoon leaped onto the Dupree mailbox. The racoon leaned in and stared intensely at Curtis. Startled, Curtis yelped, jumped back and examined the masked intruder. He waved his hand at the animal. “Get out of here, stupid racoon.” The racoon hissed at him. A rare thing as racoons do tend to be non-aggressive animals. Curtis could not remember the last time he had seen such a sadistic looking racoon. “Go!” he half whispered at the thing swatting his hand in its face.

The racoon did not take kindly to the swatting and swatted back catching Curtis on the left cheek with its paw. Curtis grabbed his face and ducked as the racoon continued to claw at him. Curtis glanced down and noticed a half-full bottle of water lying on its side on the ground someone had carelessly discarded when they came out to retrieve their mail. Curtis reached down and grabbed it. Between ducking the racoon’s claws, he worked the cap off and hurled the contents in the animal’s face.

Curtis’s defense gave the racoon a good scare and it jumped off the mailbox and scurried into the night. Curtis grabbed the handle of the mailbox and opened the magnetic door. He carefully removed the ransom note from the plastic bag and attached it to the outgoing mail clip. Then he slowly closed the mailbox and hurried back to his Honda.

He’d parked the car a few blocks away with the hope no cameras would see him or suspect he had done something nefarious. He climbed inside, started the engine, slowly backed the car up, and turned down the quiet suburban road.

Curtis pulled into the driveway of his Aunt Odette’s cabin. He eased the Honda up to the garage, opened the door and parked. He had not turned the porch light on to deter attention and had to be careful traversing from the garage to the cabin. A tremendous wave of pride overcame him as he stepped inside. He had succeeded. He had managed to deliver the ransom note. Now all he had to do was make sure Fia was still secure in the attic.  

He retrieved his flashlight and bear mace and headed upstairs. “Fia,” he said as he knocked on the door. “I’m coming in.” He opened the door and posed in his policeman stance with his mace in one hand and his flashlight in the other ready for trouble. He scanned the room with the flashlight and found Fia standing near some of his aunt’s old dresses.

“I’ll bet you were close to your aunt when you were a kid,” she said.

Curtis flipped on the light switch with his shoulder. “Why do you say that?” he said.

“What did you do when you visited her here?”

“She didn’t always live here. She had a house in the suburbs. A brown rambler with a big back yard and a stone birdbath in the center.”

“What else was in the yard?”

“The fence had paintings on it.”

“She hung paintings on her fence?”

“No, she had a boyfriend named Arbor who painted murals on either side. I remember they were strange but beautiful. Kind of like watery dreams.”

“Did you play outside in the yard much?’

“Now and then. I remember catching bees. I had this jelly jar and I snuck up on a bee sitting on one of my aunt’s roses. I captured it quickly and screwed the lid on tight. The bee started bouncing up and down from the bottom of the jar to the lid. It went back and forth agitated and angry until finally it just gave up.”

“Is that what I am? A bee trapped in your jar?”

“No. No, not at all. There’s a reason, you see.”

“A reason? What reason?”

“The reason is none of your business.”

“It is my business, Curtis. It’s very much my business since you’ve decided to put my life on hold and locked me in an attic. Have you even thought this out, Curtis?”

“Yes, of course I’ve thought it out. I’ve already taken the next step.”

“What’s the next step?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“I need to use the bathroom.”

“Oh. Oh, yes. Of course. I’ll have to put a zip tie on you again.”

“How am I supposed to go to the bathroom with my wrists bound?’

“If you hadn’t tried to run off maybe I could trust you.”

“You cut the zip tie off so I could eat, and I didn’t try to escape then.”

Curtis studied her for a moment. “I’m still going to zip tie you,” he said.

“Fine,” she relented. “But I need my hands bound in the front.”

“Fair enough.”

Curtis took a zip tie out of his back pocket. “Put your hands out.” Fia put her hands out in front of her. Curtis put the zip tie on them. “Alright, let’s go.”

Curtis led Fia out of the room and down the stairs to the second floor where his Aunt Odette’s bedroom was. Curtis opened the door. All yours.”

“I don’t feel comfortable with you standing right outside,” she said.

“I have to make sure you don’t bolt.”

“I won’t. Just give me some privacy, will you.”

“I’ll stand right over there,” he said pointing to the staircase.

“Fine.”

Fia stepped inside and Curtis closed the door behind her. She took note of the window. She used the facilities and turned on the water. She quietly looked down. There was nothing near to climb on to. If she jumped, she would break her leg. She would need to find a way to lower herself down. Right now, she needed to get him to trust her. Fia washed her hands and turned off the water. She noticed his Aunt Odette had a matching hand lotion to go with the soap. It was lovely. Too bad she had to have Curtis for a nephew.

“I’m ready,” she called.

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: PAST LIVES (2023)-SHOWTIME

This week’s movie was one of the movies nominated for Best Original Screenplay this year for writer director Celine Song, and although it is not one of my most favorite scripts of the year it is still well penned, properly paced, thoughtful and honest, and well worth the watch. Especially if you are the type of filmgoer who enjoys romance and lean towards more emotional stories.

The story is about two children Nora (Seung-ah Moon) and (Seung-Min Yim). We can tell even at their tender ages there is a strong connection between the two. But Nora’s parents decide to emigrate to Canada where they feel they will have better opportunities.

Twelve years later we Nora (Greta Lee) is living in New York City pursuing her dreams to become a writer. She has become Americanized and is accustomed to living in the hustle and bustle of the western world. She finds that Hae Sung (Teo Yoo) has been trying to find her online. The two reconnect and spend hours conversing. But things become tense when Nora tries to persuade Hae Sung to come see her in New York and Hae Sung tries to persuade Nora to come back to see him in South Korea. Finally, after some time Hae Sung finally goes to New York and the two reconnect over the course of a weekend.

One of the strongest parts of the story is how the two characters don’t just represent human beings but lifestyles as well. Nora is a break from tradition that Hae Sung is apprehensive about taking a chance on and Hae Sung is a re-embracing of Korean culture that Nora is apprehensive about returning to. And these obstacles strain their relationship even though it is clear both are each other’s true love. John Magaro rounds out the cast as Arthur.

Certified Sadistic Accountant Chapter Six

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Good afternoon. It is I Gigi the parti poodle here to introduce chapter six of my story Certified Sadistic Accountant. This week has been most depressing. My novelist has fallen ill and has remained in her room for the last couple of days. The Maltese and I are being looked after by…Him. Him is a reluctant dogsitter. Him is under the impression we are spoiled. Spoiled indeed! It is not spoiled to want to go on walks. It is not spoiled to expect meals at a certain time. It is not spoiled to be able to sleep on my regular bed (although the bed I am borrowing is comfortable). And it is not spoiled to want my novelist back. I am heartbroken. I sit outside her door and whimper mournfully. My holiday season has come to a screeching halt. I am concerned Santa may not come. We still do not have our Christmas tree up. We have not hung our stockings. We have not decked our halls. Woe is me. Woe is me. Not only am I stuck with the Maltese I am stuck with…Him. I am hoping my precious novelist is on the mend and will reemerge tomorrow. Until then my heart is dourer. But being a professional I must power through. And so, dear reader, I bring you chapter six of Certified Sadistic Accountant and hope your holiday season has been jollier than mine.  

Certified Sadistic Accountant

by

Gigi the parti poodle

Chapter Six

Curtis entered the office Tuesday morning on time (his on time). The last thing he wanted to do this weekend was head up to his Aunt Odette’s cabin on Big Lake and take old dusty paintings down off a wall and put them in whatever packaging she had stored in her attic.

He headed into the breakroom to brew himself a cup of coffee to take to his desk and sulk. To his surprise he found Fia already there filling the tea chest.

“Good morning,” she said with a lilt in her voice.

“When did you get here?” he asked.

“Daddy and I got here at seven-fifteen.”

“Mr. Dupree is here?”

“He’s in his office.”

“I’m always the first one in.”

“I guess we beat you.”

“I guess.”

“How come you don’t stop at The Steamed Bean before you come to work like the other accountants?”

“I’m trying to save up some money.”

“Money for what?”

“My future.”

“How’s that going so far?”

“Well, acually.”

“Are you going to buy a new car or something?”

“No. Sometimes saving money isn’t about buying something.”

Just then, Dallas Dupree entered the break room.

“Good morning, Mr. Dupree,” Curtis said.

“Morning, Cook. My daughter is going to shadow Bexley today.”

“Oh, good.”

“Don’t get any fresh ideas.”

“Dad,” Fia said embarrassed.

“Sir, I…,” Curtis said equally embarrassed.

“Truth is her mother just wants to get her out of the house. I think our croissants just arrived.”

Curtis headed for the door, but Fia blocked him. “No, no, no,” she said. “I will let her in.” Fia glided over and opened the door. “Good morning! Welcome!”

“Who are you?” the girl asked, bringing in the pink cardboard box of fresh croissants.

“I’m Mr. Dupree’s daughter but today I’m the receptionist.”

“Groovy,” the girl said and handed the box of croissants to Fia.

“Dad, where do you want these?”

“In the breakroom,” Dallas Dupree said.

Fia took the box and headed into the breakroom. Dallas walked up to the delivery girl and handed her a tip, “Thank you, sport,” he said. “My daughter is going to be the receptionist while Bexley’s on vacation.”

“Cool,” sport said. “My sister went on spring break. She spent all her spring quarter tuition money.”

“I see.” Dallas was delighted he had never let his daughter go on spring break. Her internet shopping sprees were terrifying enough.

Fia returned from the break room and said, “I’m going to The Steamed Bean to get a skinny vanilla cappuccino with whipped cream and pastel sprinkles.”

“The coffee I have stocked here is excellent,” Dallas said. “I picked out a special brew just for the office.”

Fia looked at her father blankly.

“I drink it every day,” Curtis said holding up his cup. “And it’s a lot better than buying an overpriced cup of coffee that, over the course of a year, will cost you your total annual IRA contribution.”

“Fine,” Fia said, tension in her voice. “I’ll drink your coffee, daddy.” Then she headed back to the break room.

“Would you like a cup of coffee, sport?” Mr. Dupree asked the delivery girl.

“I’m not allowed to drink coffee,” she said. “My parents won’t let me.”

“Well…good for them. We’ll see you tomorrow, sport.”

“See you tomorrow, Mr. Dupree.”

“See you tomorrow, sport,” Curtis said cheerily.

The delivery girl looked at Curtis, grimaced, and left.

“Daddy,” Fia called from the break room. “Do you have any Italian syrups in here?”

“For coffee?” Dallas asked.

“Yes.”

“There’s refined sugar, raw sugar, fake sugar and local honey.”

“Yuck. Okay, well, I’ll figure it out.”

Dallas sighed and said to Curtis, “I can’t keep up with the changing trends these kids are into.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Dupree. “I know your coffee is excellent.”

“Thank you, Cook. But I think you and I are the only ones who drink it.”

Mr. Dupree headed upstairs to his office. A couple minutes later Bexley unlocked the front door and stomped inside. She tossed her skull patterned umbrella into the umbrella holder, threw up her hands and announced, “My bags are packed.”

“That’s so exciting,” Fia said jubilantly as she emerged from the break room holding her cup of coffee. “You’ll have so much fun.”

“Yes, I will. Maybe I’ll enjoy myself so much I won’t come back. Alright, let’s go over what you need to know.”

The two young women walked behind the receptionist’s desk.

“This is the phone,” Bexley said pointing to the phone. And these are the buttons. “If a call comes in you press this button, pick up the handset and say, “Dupree Tax Agency, Fia speaking. How may I direct your call?” And when they tell you whom they want to talk to you push the button again and then push the button of the person they want to talk to. I’ve got a chart here to show you which number corresponds to which accountant including your father.”

“Sounds easy enough,” Fia said.

“It is…until you get a second call. Then you push the second button and say, “Dupree Tax Agency, Fia speaking. May I put you on hold? Then you wait for them to say yes, push the second button again which puts the second caller on hold. You go back to the first caller by pushing the first button and say, “I’m going to transfer you now,” and then you push the first button again and then dial the corresponding number of the accountant they want to talk to and then you push the button of the second caller and say, “How may I direct your call?” Then you wait for them to say whom they want to be transferred to and then you push the second button, dial the number of the accountant they want to talk to and transfer them to that accountant.”

“What if there’s a third caller?”

“You do the whole thing except you have to say to the third caller, “Dupree Tax Agency, Fia speaking. May I put you on hold?” And then you wait for them to say you can put them on hold, push the third caller’s button, take care of the first caller, get back to the second caller and ask them who they want to be transferred to, push their button, then dial the accountant’s number, get back to the third caller, ask them which accountant they want to be transferred to, transfer them and then you take a big drink of coffee and go back to reading your book.”

“Wow.”

“It’s not as confusing as it sounds. You also greet clients as they come in and direct them to their accountant. Then you go back to reading your book. I’ve read a lot of books doing this job.”

“Is there anything else you do?”

“If I’m bored, I water the plants and if I’m really bored, I clean up the breakroom.”

“The breakroom always looks spotless.”

“I get really bored a lot.”

Fia turned and caught Curtis looking at Bexley and her. They stared at each other for a second before Curtis averted his eyes and focused on his computer screen.

Just then there was a knock on the front door and the two young women turned to see the four accountants standing there with pastel coffee cups in their hands. Fia walked around the receptionist desk to let them in. She glanced at Curtis. He did not look up at her. She unlocked the door and the accountants entered and headed for their desks.

“Hey, Cook the Books,” Lance said enroute to his chair.

“Good morning,” Curtis replied.

Lance looked at Curtis’s and noticed Curtis had a picture of Haven sitting there wearing a purple ribbon in her hair. “Still got that dog?”

“Yes,” Curtis said. He’d had the picture sitting on his desk for nearly a year and found it odd Lance asked about it now. “Why? Are you thinking about getting a dog?”

“Something like that.” He nodded his head at the receptionist desk. “Dupree’s daughter’s kind of cute, isn’t she?”

“Yeah, she’s pretty.”

“I’d do her.”

“I don’t think Mr. Dupree would appreciate that.”

“You’ve got to stop worrying about what the big guy thinks. Besides she’s of age.”

“It’s a good way to lose your job.” Curtis glanced at the receptionist desk. “Do you think Bexley’s going to find a boyfriend down there on spring break?”

Lance scoffed. “No.”

Curtis nodded.

“Besides, I’m going to ask her out when she gets back.”

“What? You can’t do that!”

“Why?”

“What’ll…what’ll Makenna say?”

Lance shrugged his shoulders and grinned. “I was just joking, dude. She’s never going to go out with you.”

Curtis felt his face flush. “I never said I liked her.”

“Didn’t have to.”

“You’re a douche, Lance.”

“Yeah, well you’re an easy target. And good luck with this year’s bonus award. You’re going to lose that too.”

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 KILLER (2023)-NETFLIX

This week’s pick is not for all tastes as it is not a redemptive story by any means. But it is a riveting one just the same. Similar in ways to Kill Bill and based on the French graphic novel series The Killer by Alexis “Matz” Nolent and illustrated by Luc Jacamon, the story is about a cold-blooded nameless hitman known only as The Killer (Michael Fassbender) who is methodical and unbending in his work. We watch him and listen to his thoughts as he prepares to take down the target he has been paid to assassinate. But even the best laid plans can go wrong. Knowing he is on the run he uses a series of aliases based on television characters to take varying flights. He finally returns to his compound in the Dominican Republic only to find it has been brutally invaded and his lady love Magdala (Sophie Charlotte) in the intensive care unit at the local hospital. Realizing his equally lethal peers have come crawling out of the woodwork to destroy him he decides he needs to deal with them the only way he knows how and promises Magdala’s brother Marcus (Emiliano Pernía) he will make things safe again. Thus, bringing us to the top of Chapter Two.

Rounding out the cast are Charles Parnell as The Lawyer, Hodges, Kerry O’Malley as Dolores, Claybourne’s office assistant, Arliss Howard as The Client, Claybourne, Sala Baker as The Brute and Tilda Swinton as The Expert. The characters in the story who are closer to humans tend to be the ones with names. The film is directed by the talented David Fincher.