“But, Mom, wassa toof? Don’t know what toof is?” The puppy has great concerns now that I’ve had my wisdom tooth extracted, since I can’t talk well and she is, after all, adept at communication. Or considers herself to be.
“Sound it out, Mom. T---ooo---ffff? Sounds like tofu. I really enjoy a good tofu snack every now and then. A little Asian key-sine. We got any? Is it tofu you’re tryin’ to say? Speak up, Mom. Cat gotcha tongue?” A long-standing puppy joke of which my darling never tires. She rolls on the floor, chuckling her puppy-chuckle. “Hickety, hickety, hickety.” I am not amused.
“Ya know, Mom, all those nice folks who said nice things about me on the ‘puter screen, you gotta answer them. It’s been too long. They’re your friends. It’s not polite. I know these things. You’re lazy, lazy, lazy. People won’t like you.” The puppy raises her brows in condescension, pursing her lips, instilling guilt. She has morphed into Great Aunt Agnes! My brain is very, very fuzzy, and there is an insistent throbbing in my head despite the residual Lidocaine numbness.
“Miiieeee toooooffff hoooorts. Glumb. Glub.” At the moment I have a mouthful of rather bloody gauze packed into the side of my cheek and my own communication skills have been better. “Eiiieee goombbng taaa baaadddd. Glub.” Why in hell should I explain my condition to the puppy anyhow? All I want is a lovely pill and an even lovelier soft pillow, some mindless television and lights out.
“What ya got in your mouth, Mom? Ya look a little dumb, if you ask me. Like one of those singing chipmunks, ‘member? I’ll play ya some music. It’ll make ya feel better.” In a moment of holiday stupidity, last week I bought the puppy a singing Alvin doll which she, bless her clever little paws, can activate into singing hysteria with a mere flick of her wrist. Which she does often. Which she does now.
When last I glimpse her highness, she is whooping it up with Alvin, dancing the Puppy-Stomp, chortling along in a blackboard-fingernails falsetto, “Chreeeestmaaaas doon’t beeeee laaaate.” Me, at this point, I couldn’t give a rat’s ass. Ah, lovely Vicodin. Ah, sweet sleep.
And to all a good night.
Causes Mara Buck Supports
Kennebec Valley Humane Society, Amnesty International