BOOGER TALES - Final segment (Scroll down for earlier segments)

    

 

      ...Hearing Booger whining, Mom came in and saw him looking up, staring at “Hamburger Heaven.”    

     “It looks like ‘responsible ownership’ has gone out the window,” Mom said. 

     “Yeah, I guess I should shut it before anymore tries to leave.” 

     I could sense impending doom.  It arrived sooner than I expected.  “After this hamburger returns to earth, you can get some soap and water, and clean the ceiling,” she continued.  “Then, since you love camping, you and Booger can trade places tonight.” 

     After scrubbing down the ceiling, I grabbed my sleeping bag and trudged out the door.  As I bedded down for a long, cold night, Booger was enjoying my warm bedroom.  He would occasionally look out the window with a big smile and wave.  I was too numb to wave back. 

     Booger quickly earned a reputation as a highly-skilled and discriminating retriever.  When I think of retrieving, I’m thinking birds.  Booger and I didn’t think alike.  He had no interest in birds.    

     I tried taking him duck hunting, but he was a lousy shot.  He did manage to round up a decoy, but I told him to leave them alone; they were too hard to clean. 

     Booger’s specialty was “Clothesline Clothes Removal.”  He would only go on point at the sight of clothes hanging from a clothesline.  I could throw a ball or a stick for him to fetch, and he would turn up his nose in contempt.  But someone across town could hang clothes out to dry in the middle of the night, and they would arrive at our doorstep before the morning paper.

     While I was at school, Booger was laying waste to the neighborhood.   I’m surprised he didn’t break out windows and set fire to homes.  Clotheslines were stripped of stockings, underclothes, pants, and any shirts that fit.  If there was a stray shoe on the porch, he would grab it.

     He found great delight in depositing his collection around the yard. He seemed to find particular joy in leaving all the undergarments on the front porch. 

     After several episodes, I was afraid to walk home from school.  Going home meant finding people sorting through clothes in our yard, looking for the right match, or knocking on our door, asking if Booger might have buried one of their dress shirts in the back yard.  For some reason, there seemed to be growing resentment toward Booger and his owner. 

     It was the only time in my life I hated to leave school.  The school dismissal bell sent shivers galloping down my spine.  That meant it was time to go home, and I didn’t want to go home.  I would have preferred being locked up in isolation with algebra.  Instead, I was locked out of school, with no protection.     

     Each passing day brought the increased risk of facing a hostile crowd, throwing rocks and chanting for their clothes. 

     Booger was looking more and more like a rental dog.

     Certainly, a hardened criminal on the run would have been an easier boarder.

     Everyone was Booger’s best friend.  Unfortunately, the reverse wasn’t true.  If you glanced at Booger out of the corner of your eye, you’d soon find yourself on the ground, with Booger sitting on you, and a big smile on his face.  Most who ever met Booger said they would have preferred being bitten.

     After broken knick-knacks, waiting for hamburger to return to earth, and finding more clothes in our yard than she had in her closet, mom said the experiment was over.  Besides, most of the clothes didn’t fit.  She also wanted her friends to return.

     Having an irresponsible dog was worse than having an irresponsible son.  The only thing Booger had taught me was to leave my clothes in the yard.

     Some suggested I leave Booger on someone’s doorstep, but I didn’t want to destroy another family.  It would take some time to calculate the damage to our own family.

     If you’ve never owned a dog, try renting one first.

 

 

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BOOGER TALES - Segment 4 (Scroll down for earlier segments)

     Now I had to uphold my end of the deal--Obedience Training School.  After one session, I was impressed!  “I should’ve brought Booger,” I thought to myself.  Within an hour, I had learned to “sit.”  Mom would be pleased.  The most difficult session was learning to come when I was called. (My wife says I’m still struggling with that concept).  Like I’ve told her, a dog biscuit is not my idea of a reward. 

     During the final session I learned heeling; walking nicely by Booger’s side.  Mom was getting more than her money’s worth.  I was already learning responsibility.

     Housebreaking Booger was my next goal.  But as soon as I let him in the house, he did the housebreaking.  His tail was a whirling dervish.  The living room became an arcade.  Judging from the WPS, (wags per second) he was determined to knock over as many knick-knacks as possible and win a stuffed bear. 

     After all the effort I had put forth to get a dog, Booger was not starting out on the right paw. 

     Trying to grab knick-knacks and his tail at the same time, I pictured both of us stuffed, hanging side by side over the mantle.     

     With winter fast approaching, our fortunes changed.  Mom said she had postponed our date with the taxidermist.  Booger and I breathed a sigh of relief.  Even though she questioned their existence, Mom hated to see any dog out in the cold.  I hoped for a long, cold winter.       

     It finally happened.  One cold night she said Booger could stay in my room.  Mom carefully guarded her knick-knacks as Booger loped through the living room, happily wagging his tail.    

     Booger hadn’t eaten so Mom gave me his bowl and some hamburger.  “You need to feed that thing,” she said.   I figured eating out of a bowl all the time had to be boring, so I decided to make it fun for Booger.  I rolled up some hamburger into a nice little ball and threw it into the air.  Booger jumped up and grabbed it.   I repeated the procedure.  Same result.  The third time I threw the hamburger too high and, to my amazement, it stuck to the ceiling.  I looked at the meat on the ceiling.   At the same time I thought I heard “responsible ownership” sneaking out the window.  I began throwing little balls of hamburger in the air until the ceiling looked like a meat market.  Hearing Booger whining, Mom came in and saw him looking up, staring at “Hamburger Heaven.”  

To be continued...check back soon  

    

BOOGER TALES - Segment 3 (Scroll down for earlier segments)

     I ran back home to continue my case.  I considered the “everyone has a dog” strategy, but I knew that wouldn’t work; I wasn’t under the Witness Protection Program, and I had witnessed too many dogs around the neighborhood that people were hiding from Mom. 

     Continuing to methodically lay out her reasons for not having a dog, Mom’s sound reason was taking a toll on me.  She had me pinned against a wall.  I decided to take a break and spend some time complaining loudly to friends.  Maybe they could give me some ideas to penetrate her iron-clad logic.

     After a couple of weeks rest, I continued my pursuit of man’s best friend and Mom’s worst enemy.  I strongly considered the floor flop approach.  This is where you fall to the floor, and flop and thrash around wildly, interspersed with moments of loud wailing, until your Mom says, “Okay, okay, you can have a dog.”  Although this approach is very popular, I decided against it.  My back was still too sore from being pinned against the wall.

     Looking for someone with tremendous wisdom and keen insight, I turned to Ernie’s dad for counsel.  “Owning a dog is a big responsibility,” he said. “It won’t be easy for someone who isn’t responsible.”  I didn’t realize Ernie’s dad was so irrational, so I ignored his out-of-place comment and forged ahead toward my goal. 

     Mom’s favorite words were “Scat,” “Shoo,” and “Get out of here,” but I refused to leave.  I was determined to stand my ground until victory was at hand.

     If I used a little sound reason of my own, I knew I could help mom overcome her blind spot and see the real joy of pet ownership.   

     I carefully explained how caring for a dog would teach me responsibility.  Mom was overcome with mirth.  “If you take care of him like you take care of the parakeets, he’ll starve to death,” she said. 

     Not being one to give in to absolute truth, I resorted to a little adolescent diplomacy…crying, carrying-on, and threatening to run away. Seeing my level-headed approach, Mom finally agreed to give it a try.  There was only one stipulation.  She insisted that Obedience Training School be a part of the deal.  I grudgingly accepted. 

     Soon I had a shiny, black, Labrador retriever.  I named him Booger.

To be continued...check back soon

    

RE-POST: First two chapters of "BOOGER TALES."

     Growing up, I desperately wanted a dog.  As an only child in our home, I yearned for the attention and companionship a dog could provide.  Mom didn’t share my desire.  Unlike most sensible dog lovers, she wasn’t impressed with shedding hair, disemboweled sofas, half a slipper, and lawn fudge.  “I would be perfectly willing to accept a girlfriend in place of a dog,” I told her.

     “You’re too young to be thinking about girls,” she answered adamantly.

     I knew I was too young to drive, but I had no idea there was an age limit on thinking about girls.  “How old do I have to be for a permit?” I asked.  

     “Don’t worry,” she answered.  “You’ll have plenty of time for girls when you’re 35 or 40.”     

     I would have to fight that battle later.  Right now I had to focus on getting a dog.  Trying to convince Mom that a dog was an absolute necessity would require some hand-wringing appeals, along with some possible blood-letting.   

     Before I could make my first emotional, hand-wringing appeal, Mom tried the appeasement trick.  “I’ve decided it would be good for you to have a pet,” she proclaimed one morning.

     My face lit up!  “Wow, does that mean a dog?”

     “Not at all,” she answered, “We’re getting two parakeets.” 

     My face darkened.  “Are parakeets going to flush out quail?”  I mumbled to myself.  No, of course not!  They’ll be informants!

     I checked the calendar for the opening of hunting season on parakeets.  There was none.  I went back to the strategy room.     

     While I was devising a plan to have a dog miraculously appear at our front door, mom was keeping a watchful eye for any dogs that might lose their way and stray into our yard.  Several dogs were arrested for encroachment. 

     Mom’s goal was to get canines added to the endangered species list; my goal was to own one before they became extinct.

     If I really wanted a dog I knew I would have to go on the offensive.  To achieve this goal would require cunning and perseverance, something that comes easily to most kids. 

     Since mom had a slight aversion to anything with four legs, I decided to try the modified approach.  “Okay,” I said.  “I’m willing to settle for a three-legged retriever.”  I don’t care if he limps.  He can chase decoys.  Mom would hear none of it.

     I proceeded to the guilt strategy.  “But Mom, Ernie has his own dog.”  I didn’t think it was necessary to add frivolous details like his dog’s dining habits: shoes, furniture, electrical cords…

     “Does Ernie’s dog clean up after himself?” Mom asked. 

     “I don’t recollect ever seeing a self-cleaning dog,” I answered. 

     “Exactly,” Mom went on.  “And who do you think would be cleaning up after your dog?”

     “Obviously it would be you,” I answered. 

     “That’s a good reason not to have a dog,” Mom went on.     

     “Okay,” I pleaded, “I’ll train him to go in the neighbor’s yard.  I promise.”

     Mom shot me a look of displeasure that glanced off my forehead, leaving me momentarily dazed.  Any more looks like that and I would have to hunker down behind some furniture.  It was my good fortune that she turned and walked away.     

     I could see this wasn’t going to be easy.  Mom’s clever wit and polished oral arguments would be hard to penetrate but, hopefully, my pouting, whimpering and whining would overcome sound reason. 

     As she continued presenting her logical reasons for not having a dog, I excused myself and high-tailed it for Ernie’s.  

     “Maybe you should ease your way in,” said Ernie.  “Why don’t you start out with a rental dog?”

     “Are you kidding?” I asked.

     “No, you could rent a dog for special occasions, like when you just need a companion for the day, or to chase away meter readers, tax assessors, or other vermin.”

     That wasn’t a bad idea, but I really didn’t want a rental.  I wanted my own dog.  I ran back home to continue my case. 

Segment 3 coming soon...

BOOGER TALES - Segment 2 (Scroll down for opening segment)


      Since mom had a slight aversion to anything with four legs, I decided to try the modified approach.  “Okay,” I said.  “I’m willing to settle for a three-legged retriever.”  I don’t care if he limps.  He can chase decoys.  Mom would hear none of it.

     I proceeded to the guilt strategy.  “But Mom, Ernie has his own dog.”  I didn’t think it was necessary to add frivolous details like his dog’s dining habits: shoes, furniture, electrical cords…

     “Does Ernie’s dog clean up after himself?” Mom asked. 

     “I don’t recollect ever seeing a self-cleaning dog,” I answered. 

     “Exactly,” Mom went on.  “And who do you think would be cleaning up after your dog?”

     “Obviously it would be you,” I answered. 

     “That’s a good reason not to have a dog,” Mom went on.   

  

     “Okay,” I pleaded, “I’ll train him to go in the neighbor’s yard.  I promise.”

     Mom shot me a look of displeasure that glanced off my forehead, leaving me momentarily dazed.  Any more looks like that and I would have to hunker down behind some furniture.  It was my good fortune that she turned and walked away.  

   

      I could see this wasn’t going to be easy.  Mom’s clever wit and polished oral arguments would be hard to penetrate but, hopefully, my pouting, whimpering and whining would overcome sound reason. 

     As she continued presenting her case for not having a dog, I excused myself and high-tailed it for Ernie’s.  

     “Maybe you should ease your way in,” said Ernie.  “Why don’t you start out with a rental dog?”

     “Are you kidding?” I asked.

     “No, you could rent a dog for special occasions, like when you just need a companion for the day, or to chase away meter readers, tax assessors, or other vermin.”

     That wasn’t a bad idea, but I really didn’t want a rental.  I wanted my own dog.  I ran back home to continue my case. 

To be continued...check back soon

    

BOOGER TALES - Opening segment (Scroll down for earlier chapters)


      Growing up, I desperately wanted a dog.  As an only child in our home, I yearned for the attention and companionship a dog could provide.  Mom didn’t share my desire.  Unlike most sensible dog lovers, she wasn’t impressed with shedding hair, disemboweled sofas, half a slipper, and lawn fudge.  “I would be perfectly willing to accept a girlfriend in place of a dog,” I told her.

     “You’re too young to be thinking about girls,” she answered adamantly.

    
     I knew I was too young to drive, but I had no idea

there was an age limit on thinking about girls.  “How old do I have to be for a permit?” I asked. 

 

     “Don’t worry,” she answered.  “You’ll have plenty of time for girls when you’re 35 or 40.” 

     I would have to fight that battle later.  Right now I had to focus on getting a dog.  Trying to convince Mom that a dog was an absolute necessity would require some hand-wringing appeals, along with some possible blood-letting.

     Before I could make my first emotional, hand-wringing appeal, Mom tried the appeasement trick.  “I’ve decided it would be good for you to have a pet,” she proclaimed one morning.

     My face lit up!  “Wow, does that mean a dog?”

     “Not at all,” she answered, “We’re getting two parakeets.”  

     My face darkened.  “Are parakeets going to flush out quail?”  I mumbled to myself.  No, of course not!  They’ll be informants!

     I checked the calendar for the opening of hunting season on parakeets.  There was none.  I went back to the strategy room.  

    

     While I was devising a plan to have a dog miraculously appear at our front door, mom was keeping a watchful eye for any dogs that might lose their way and stray into our yard.  Several dogs were arrested for encroachment. 

     Mom’s goal was to get canines added to the endangered species list; my goal was to own one before they became extinct.

     If I really wanted a dog I knew I would have to go on the offensive.  To achieve this goal would require cunning and perseverance, something that comes easily to most kids.  

To be continued...check back soon