Pixie
and My Momma’s Yarn
If anyone
has ever had a dachshund, then you’re probably aware of their gluttonous
behavior. A dachshund will eat virtually anything. For instance, Pixie consumed
plastic soldiers, Legos, yarn, pennies, a loaf of bread, a dozen herring, and
half the State of Washington. Well, perhaps not Washington. Oh, just in case
you’re wondering, the yarn is the finale.
When you
were a kid, do you remember the Little Green Army Men? If my memory serves me
right, the package consisted of 10 or more soldiers. I believe each bag came
with a machine gunner, a binocular dude, a mortarman, a captain, and most
importantly, “Bazooka Man!” bazooka man was the bomb! It was on rare occasion
to run across a bazooka man in the packaging, so this soldier was dear to any
youthful mind. Also, did I mention Pixie, the gluttonous Wienerschnitzel? Well,
she was also a kleptomaniac. Meaning, she stole every toy she could get her
gums and teeth around. Yep, you guessed it! Little Green Army Men were a
regular part of her diet. Hence, I learned quickly that my toys were in grave
danger when Pixie patrolled the floor of my bedroom.
It was a
Saturday morning, no school, and Mom and Dad sleeping in. I had the kitchen,
living room, and my bedroom all to myself. This meant a big bowl of Corn
flakes, my dog, and war on the floor! I know, “War on the floor.” What the heck
is that? First of all, when I was in my mid-twenties, war on the floor was
popular. I got down on my hands and knees and set up dioramas of Little Green
Army Men fighting and dying on the battlefield. Hello!! I was eight or nine
years old, not my twenties! Hmmm… As I kneeled on the floor and took my toy
soldiers out of the bag; one by one, something was terribly wrong! Everyone was
accounted for, except bazooka man. Where did he go? I searched my room from top
to bottom and one end to the other, and no bazooka man! Eventually, I managed to
get distracted with other activities, so the search and rescue efforts were
scheduled for another time.
Although it
was Saturday, I still had chores to do, and one of those chores was scooping
the poop. Yay! This was my favorite chore of all! Not!! Yet, I knew what would
happen if I neglected to scoop the poop. Do you remember the old push mowers
with the horizontal blades that turned with the rotation of the wheels? Do you
also remember where the grass went when you pushed the mower? If you’re unfamiliar
with this type of mower, there wasn’t a grass catch, at least not ours. The
grass ended up just below the knee. In the 70’s, cuffing your jeans was not
uncommon, and my father happened to be a big fan of cuffing. Do you see where
this is going? If not, you soon will. Remember the pooper scooping chore that I
knew not to forget. Well, this is why. My father can be a very stubborn man;
and I too, inherited some of that stubbornness, but this was beyond stubborn.
Saturday, often was the day that my father mowed the lawn, and guess what, I
didn’t scoop the poop. I also wasn’t around to fix my mistake, so my father
mowed the lawn anyway, and to prove a point, he didn’t scoop the poop. This was
supposed to be an object lesson. Although to this day, I’m still trying to
figure out who the object lesson was for? I arrived home to find my father at
the front door. He was wearing his grass covered pants, and something else
lodged in the cuffs of those pants. You guessed it, poop!! He had poop all over
the lower half of his legs and more poop in the perfect catchall of his cuffs.
I laughed then, and I still laugh now. Really, who mows the lawn while they
watch poop fly into the air and onto their clothes? Seriously, I still don’t
understand the lesson here. Of course, I didn’t laugh out loud because he was
quite furious at the time. So furious that he gave my dog to the neighbor and
made me believe I’d never get her back. Thankfully, all I had to do was ask the
neighbor for my dog back, and remember to pooper scoop every morning.
What goes
in, must come out! While I pooper scooped, I noticed something green protruding
from one of Pixie’s monuments, so I knelt down to take a closer look. No way!
Pixie had eaten bazooka man! As I slowly excavated bazooka man from the mire of
dog feces, it was evident that he received a barrage of fatal wounds. His legs
managed to remain intact, but his shoulder, arm, and head were partially
missing. Carefully, I picked bazooka man up by the tip of the bazooka and
carried him to the hose, and I wondered why my fingers smelled like poop the
rest of the day, sheesh! Anyway, as I washed bazooka man off, I realized he was
much more valuable because of his battle scares. None of my friends had a
bazooka man like mine! He was one of a kind. So much so, that all my friends
wanted my bazooka man. On another note, I have always questioned the resilience
of Pixie’s digestive tract. Somehow, she managed to pass a two-inch plastic
soldier with a bazooka jutting from its arms, and never missed a beat. Ouch!!
As much as
you may think my day was over, it had just begun. After a long hard morning of
scooping poop and saving bazooka man, I sat in my bean bag chair eating
PB&J, while watching Pixie stroll across the living room floor. As she
strutted her stuff and patrolled the carpet for remnants of food, I noticed
something unusual about her posterior end. Not only was she walking funny but
something was hanging from her pooper, approximately two to three inches from
her pooper. At first, I thought it was a bad case of diarrhea, but the color
didn’t jive if you know what I mean. I got up from my bean bag chair and called
Pixie, but she appeared to ignore me. It was as though she knew what I was up
to; thus, trying to avoid my pursuit. Eventually, I caught up with her and
managed to lock her between my knees as I crouched over her. As I crouched over
her and lifted her tail, I saw a blue piece of yarn protruding from her anus. I
couldn’t believe my eyes; she had eaten some of my mamma’s yarn! So, as curiosity
overwhelmed the cat; well, it overwhelmed me. Without thinking, I grabbed the
yarn. Pixie shot from underneath me at Mach 2 and yipping from the living room
to the kitchen. I can still hear her today, yipe, yipe, yipe…As she tried to
get away, the yarn kept coming out. “Tried,” that’s right, the yarn was still
attached to her bum! Much like fishing, I caught a whopper, and it wasn’t
getting away. A good twenty feet of yarn exited her poop shoot before the end
came free. That poor dog probably thought I had a hold on her insides and would
never let go. I was so amazed by the event that I placed the yarn in a small
jewelry box for safe keeping. Several years later, while cleaning my room, I
came across the box. Let’s just say, when I opened the box; what had grown,
died, and grown and died again, was beyond anything words could describe! So,
I’ll leave that to the imagination.
