A short comedic story I wrote to illustrate that you can write about anything at all as long as you invest yourself in it…

A short comedic story I wrote to illustrate that you can write about anything at all as long as you invest yourself in it…


DOGGY DAY AFTERNOON

IN THE SQUAD ROOM:

The detective set the open box of doughnuts down on the table, sighed, and then levered himself back into his cheap, plastic chair.

“Okay… Tell me about the dog…” He reached forward, snagged a doughnut, and began to chew, neatly catching a blob of jelly that burst from the side of the doughnut with one fat finger.

I thought for a moment… “Okay… It was like this…”

HOW MUCH IS THAT DOG CRAP ON THE SIDEWALK:

It was a clear, sunny day. The cracked sidewalk stretched out before me like a yellow bricked road that somehow had escaped coloring. I saw the dog crap on the sidewalk just before I saw the hunched over dog… Plop… Another missive joined the pile. The dog looked up at my widened eyes and grimaced, grunted, then growled.

“What the $%#@,” the dog said. “Never seen a dog take a crap?”

I was momentarily flummoxed. I knew dogs could talk, in fictional writings anyway, but I hadn’t realized that I would meet one on a city sidewalk in the middle of the day. The dog, a Pit Bull breed, straightened up, spun around and looked at the pile of crap, sniffed twice, and then looked  back up at me. I checked his collar. No license. In fact, no collar.

“Hey, Man,” I started. “I mean, Hey, Dog, you got to have a license,” I told him.

“You saying a dog needs a license to take a crap, Mo-Fo?” He walked towards me, stiff legged. I notice that as he talked he teeth seemed to wiggle in his jaw, his words were slightly slurred.

“Uh, well, no… I mean a dog license… A license for a dog.”

“So I need a friggin’ license to be a dog? I can’t just be a dog? Oh, you frickin’ people make me laugh. A damn license to be a dog…” He looked back up at me. He had looked away, shaking his head. “I don’t got no frickin’ license, Mo-…” His eyes flew open as he teeth clattered to the ground. “Fwuck,” he said as they plopped into the pile of crap, broke free and clattered to a stop. “Somawevabeesshh.”

“Ha, Ha ,Ha,” I said before I could think. “Your teeth fell in the…”

He stuffed the teeth back into his jaw, launched himself to his hind legs, and the next thing I knew I was staring down the barrel of a Nine mm pistol.

“Holy crap,” I managed as the dogs paws settled on my chest.

“Holy crap,” The dog mimicked in a high falsetto. He swatted my face with his free paw, and then shoved the gun halfway into my nose. ”Give me your wallet.” I fumbled in my pocket and fished out my wallet, the dog fumbled around, stretched one rear leg up to hold the wallet as the other skimmed through it. He fished my license out and began to look it over.

“Hey, Dog. That’s a drivers License. No good for a dog.” I tried a smile on my face.

“You know,” the dog said, “Smiling means a whole different thing to a dog. An ape, most animals in fact. It’s a sign of aggression.”

I quickly wiped the smile off my face…

HUNGER SPEAKS:

The detective broke in…

“You gonna eat that last doughnut,” he asked?

I looked down and noticed there was only one doughnut left in the box. “Uh, no… Go ahead,” I said.

He reached down and then motioned for me to continue with one white powdered finger.

“Uh.. Yeah… So…

DOGGY TOUGH GUY:

The dog looked over the license (Warning… Scene stolen from Good fellas) “Okay,” The dog said, “You may know who I am, but I know who you are… Where you live.” He looked at me and I nodded. He fished a twenty out of my wallet and handed it to me. “Go get me a license. I’ll be right here waiting.”

THE REST OF IT:

The detective interrupted, talking around the doughnut, bits of clumped up powdered sugar and doughnut flying as he spoke. I winced as I felt a piece hit my lower lip. “So,” he looked down at his notepad, “The City Clerk says you got a license for a Mixed Beagle dog.” He looked back up at me.

“Yeah… See, I figured that way you could find him easier… I mean, how many Pit Bulls are walking around with tags for a Beagle.”

“Uh huh,” The detective said. “Maybe he read it?”

“A dog that can read,” I asked? “That’s pretty hard to believe.”

The detective nodded again… “Okay, So…”

“Yeah, so…”

When I got back from the City Clerks office the dog was waiting. He took the license and the tags and then handed me my wallet back. He took another twenty though for crack. He was a crack-dog.

“Whoa, a Crack-dog,” The detective asked? “Why didn’t you mention that before? How do you know?”

“Um, because he said something like…. “Yo, Man. I need another twenty to buy two tens at the spot.”

The detective nodded and motioned with the now clean finger to go on.

“Well, that’s it. He gave me back my license and told me if I ever told he would come and poop on my lawn everyday… And he threatened to bite me…”

Did he bite you,” The detective asked?

“Well, no, but…”

The detective waved one chubby hand. “No Bite, can’t charge him.”

I looked at him incredulously. “Are you F *$#ing kidding me?”

He frowned. “Watch your goddamn mouth. We got kids around here.”

I looked, but could see no kids. I nodded anyway. “Well… He stole twenty bucks… No, forty bucks…”

The detective shook his head. “Look, how do I know that? You could be making the whole thing up… Dogs bite… You ain’t got no bite, do you?”

“No,” I agreed.

The detective shrugged.

“He pooped on the sidewalk… I saw him.”

“Uh huh, but then he’s a dog. Now if you catch a person doing that…” He shrugged again and looked down at the doughnut box. “Look, I got work to do…. Anything else?”

I shook my head, knowing I was defeated…

BACK IN IT:

As I left the police station I saw the dog two buildings down, standing in the shadows.

“I told you,” The dog yelled. “I warned you!”

As I turned to run, I reminded myself to pick up a poop scooper… And some bags… and some PoliGrip as a peace offering. It was a clear, blue skied day as I raced down the sidewalk running for home, the dog right behind me…



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Mufflers, Chevy’s and Cave Men

A few weeks back we were on the way home and the muffler fell off the car. It decided to hang on by the barest of thread and so it dragged all the way home and made a hell of a racket.

I consider myself a do-it-yourself guy. Sort of like a modern day cave man: Even if I can’t do it well, shouldn’t do it; been warned not to do it, I’m doing it. So I got on-line found the parts locally: Muffler and tail-pipe turn down piece and after nearly having to take a nitro over the price I looked on Amazon, where I buy everything, and found the same parts for less than a third of the local discount auto bargain fix-it-yourself guys price. I determined that since I have Prime and free shipping I could get the parts in two days and so I ordered them.

The parts came after much finger clicking and tapping and cat petting (I didn’t have to pet the cat the cat just wanted to be petted). I spent two hours on a piece of cardboard from a shipping box wrestling the parts into submission. Ye-Haw, I thought. I know, not very caveman like, but I am not sure exactly what a caveman would say since they didn’t have Chevy’s to work on. I believe back then all they had was Fords.

Mom drove the car into town… Well toward town… She made it a mile and then I heard one hell of a racket out front. I was in the back in my office. It sounded like someone started a lawn mower: One of those old ones that the muffler had rotted off of. Well, I was half right, it did have something to do with mufflers. Curiosity lead me to the front of the house where mom informed me the muffler had fallen off.

If you are a caveman you do not believe in this. Things you fix stay fixed. Bears sleep through winter. Naked bodies should have hair on them… So, I refused to believe this. I went outside and looked under the car and sure enough the muffler had fallen off. Impossible I said, yet there was the evidence in front of me. A new muffler all scraped up from being dragged home by the tailpipe hanger.

This is the part where I said some cuss words we have all never used and then I got out my trusty cardboard and crawled back under the car. Hmmm, I said. And hmmm again, and then I looked forward to see why the muffler had fallen off as it was obvious the muffler had been torn loose as the clamp was still attached. That was when I noticed that the entire exhaust was on the ground. All of it… All the way to the front of the car at the catalytic convertor.

They pay almost $550.00 scrap for a junk car now and I thought, well, ol’ Chevy you are dead meat. I had visions of Breaking Bad and Walter and Jessie crushing up the Bounder. Sigh. But then I went back on-line, skipped the local’s this time and priced that front section of pipe to the header pipe. I assumed it was two pieces, maybe three. In the old days it would be, but it was all one piece. I found the same pipe, called the Resonator pipe because it has a built in resonator and a long pipe that joins to the catalytic converter and then extends to the wheel well and then all the way to the back of the car, for wide variances in the prices: From a few hundred to fifty bucks. I used a few more carefully chosen expletives having to do with things I use expletives for and then bought the pipe, a pair of ramps to drive the car up onto so my fat butt could crawl under the car, some clamps and some cat treats because the cat was right there and had seen the treats on my frequently ordered list and meowed. No stupid cat is my Houdini.

Yesterday I am editing a story and the last parts arrived and so I went out at noon and dragged out my now crumpled and smelly cardboard (It was rained on, and I think a neighborhood dog wizzed on it too) and went to work. Two things here: One; I am out of shape barely getting back on my feet, so I told myself I would go slowly, ha ha ha. Two, rotted, rusty pieces of metal are not having any happy thoughts at all, and this pipe system was no exception. I ended up having to cut the bolts off of the Catalytic convertor where the resonator pipe joins to get it loose, that was after an hour of prep work, um, crawling around looking at this and that and wishing it would fall off. After I cut the pipe loose I realized there is a reason they do these things in a garage on a lift. How to get the pipe out? So I jacked one side of the car up and gained enough room to get the old pipe out and the new pipe in. I called that car so many names it turned from silver to red.

Anyway, in with the new pipe, back on with the muffler, all new hangers, bolts, clamps and voila a new system was in place. I went back into my cave with the other cave men and grunted with satisfaction. Tomorrow we are going hunting… er editing…


Take a look at my new book Star Dancer:

Star Dancer

Dell Sweet

This book is available for download with iBooks on your Mac or iOS device, and with iTunes on your computer. Books can be read with iBooks on your Mac or iOS device.

Description

Michael Watson is the captain of an inner galaxy cruiser: He Purchased Star Dancer right out of school and has spent the last twenty years running people and supplies to outposts within the confines of the Solar System and the established bases on the Moon, Mars and Saturn’s moons. The times are changing though and the big money is in the longer out of system runs. To do that he’ll need a crew and a bigger ship, but he has the ambition and the rest just might fall into place.
A new navigator, the beautiful Petra starts him thinking in a new direction and not just about Star Cruising. Maybe the next few flights for Star Dancer will be her last and he and Petra can set their sights on bigger adventures out beyond the stars…


Get it at iTunes