The Hancock-Henderson Quill, Inc.
by Sherryanne De La Boise
The Puppy Meets The Bear
By the time you read this, Mother will be back in her house and my utility bills will be heading back to normal. For, when she visits, the utility bills double. This visit has been no exception. Opening the envelope, our $150 per month came in at $440.
After picking himself up from a dead faint, my poor husband travelled the house, turning off lamps, unplugging electric space heaters, unplugging the coffee pot, the microwave, and my computer. "Why are you charging an already charged battery?"
Of course, the thermostat got turned down. Mother tends to prefer life in the Tropics, but my husband likes more bracing Winter weather.
With our bedroom a frosty 59, I wrapped myself in the covers, head to toe, not an inch of skin showing, a butterfly encased in her cocoon. There is no discussion of more heat, when my husband is on the warpath.
Half an hour before I would have wanted to wake, the new puppy pushed the door open, bringing his harness and leash. I heard him give my cocoon a good sniff, then drop the leash and harness beside my bed, before walking around to the other side. I had a good chuckle that he could not find me. I might get that extra bit of sleep.
At that time, my husband was sound asleep in what the yoga folks would call Savasana (aka Dead Man pose), flat on his back, arms at his side.
The puppy put his paw on top of my husband's arm and pressed down, as the puppy assumed Adho Mukha Svanasana (aka Upward-Facing Dog pose).
The puppy then proceeded to lick my husband's face and ear. I heard a “cut that out" and felt the bounce of the bed, as my husband tried to turn away into Fetus (aka onto his side pose).
I just had to peek out from my cocoon. Oh, did I laugh! For, there were two faces looking at me: The puppy's delighted face was resting right on top of my husband's head. My glaring husband's face showing, after all of the yoga poses, that he had not achieved Nirvana.
The rest of the story (my husband swiping all my covers to make certain that the puppy did not have any additional territory to lick) will have wait for a more adult forum, rather than the G-rated Quill.
This happened the morning of the Robert Burn's Day Dinner. Burns, the celebrated poet of Scotland with a birthday at the end of January, has given Scots around the world a reason to sing, dance, toast with Scotch, and recite the bard's immortal banter of praise to the Haggis.
Now, Haggis is a sheep's stomach filled with oatmeal, onions, herbs and the entrails and other bits of a sheep that one might not be so interested in eating. While I enjoy it, many folks require fortification with adult beverages before eating the wee-ist bit.
We usually celebrate at a fancy dress party with 60 other families. My son sings, Nancy's daughter dances, Gus praises the Haggis, The Greens do the toast of the Husband to Wife, Midlothian Pipe Band marches, we feast, and we dance traditional dances, before a live band appears. Then, we party like it's 1999.
With COVID, all of this was to be done online. Here's the link: https://youtu.be/4hIZHxU1Bc8 Highlights are:
3:55 Flower of Scotland, sung by my son;
14:26 Traditional dancing by Nancy's daughter;
20:25 Star of Robbie Burns (and salute to Dolly Tartan) again my son;
37:45 Modern Scottish dancing Nancy Strolle's dancing school;
41:01 Burn's own poem of praise to the Haggis by Gus.
We decided to join a Zoom cocktail party before the YouTube event. I do not want a bunch of strangers viewing inside my home. So, in the depths of the snow, we built a bonfire to be our background.
We decanted apple juice into an empty Scotch bottle to fill our glasses, so we could stand after all the toasts. We attired ourselves in fancy Scottish dress. For me, a long MacMillian tartan skirt. For my husband, his Jarhead kilt and snow boots.
It took Mother a bit longer to dress, so she arrived to the Zoom event fashionably late, in the beautiful mink she had been given in her 50th year.
And, for the first time, we all got to hear the puppy bark in his full man voice, as he haunched backwards and barked at her full throttle, very definitely announcing her arrival.
She was annoyed. Standing before the bonfire, for the entire Zoom audience, she glowered at the puppy and scolded, “I am NOT a Bear. This is NOT a bear skin coat!"
Mother turned towards the camera and indignantly related, “Someone saw me uptown Stronghurst in my beautiful mink coat and called the newspaper. They reported that they had seen a bear in town."
“Woof! Woof! Woof!" the puppy backed to the safety of the other side of the fire.
“I am NOT a Bear. This is NOT a Bear Skin Coat. This is a Fine Full-length MINK Coat!" And with that, Mother picked up her sniffer of faux Scotch, and surprised us all by reciting the first lines of a Robert Burn's poem:
Wee, sleekit, cow'rin, tim'rous beastie, O, what a panic's in thy breastie! Thou need na start awa sae hasty, Wi' bickering brattle!
With that, we muted our Zoom and let others introduce themselves. When we gather in the future, no one will remember the beautiful bonfire or the handsome husband in his military kilt. However, I am certain that Mother will be asked about her beautiful full length Bear skin coat.