From the Vaults of My Old Blog:
The room that Arthur has agreed to meet in is bordering on colonial opulence, as if it is the dream bedroom in a manic American Girl doll catalog. It is the only red and white themed room at the Potter Grace Bed and Breakfast, and it is the only room booked for a single occupant listed as Westley Familiaris. By the window in the corner, at the foot of an armchair, sits Arthur, dressed in white, breathing deeply, appearing so comfortable that it's almost zen-like. Outside, it's warm for a February afternoon in his part of the country, with fat blocks of yellow sunlight streaming through windows. Shannon is sitting on the bed at the other side of the room, running her fingers over stitches in the comforter.
"What made you choose a bed and breakfast?" she asks.
Arthur issues her his best deadpan expression. "You went straight to the point. That's refreshing. Learned it from me."
“You could have contacted me sooner, you know,” Shannon says. “I would have liked to give you a place to stay. Or Mom and Dad! Do you remember where their house is?”
“I do. Of course I do.”
“Well, please keep that in mind if there’s a next time.”
“This would be too jarring for Mom and Dad. You, though…were rather obsessed with me.”
The two stare at one another.
“Listen, freckles – “
“No, please, just a second. I’d like you to listen. I haven’t been on a walk in seven years. These legs are cramping, and I want to finish this meeting before I put in some time outside.”
“So you want us to take a walk?” Shannon raises her voice to a higher, unnatural level. “You wanna go for a walk, Arthur?”
He sits up straighter at that, tilting his head. “What, now? I’d lo--” Then he blinks. “Hey, no, what I meant to add was that my life changed because it had to. I didn’t want to leave home - I had it all, being the prince of a kingdom. I was head of the military police force for Balto's sake! Shannon, I had the life of a bad-ass, and leaving any percentage of my responsibilities to you was one of the scariest chances I’d ever taken.”
She sharply raises her eyebrows. “I hear that a lot.”
“You agreed to meet me here because you said you had updates on your mission.” He clears his throat. “ I trust that you’re ready to share.”
She retrieves her bag from its spot at the foot of the bed and rifles through it.
Arthur casts his gaze around the room as he waits. “Do you still subtly brush Cheerios onto the floor, as if no one would notice?”
He and Shannon both smirk.
“What for?” she says, her small smile reminiscent. “No one is next to the chair, waiting to eat my scraps.” With that, she takes a pocket-size spiral notebook from her bag and flips through it. “My most recent observation had another squirrel in the yard, scurrying up and down the tree closest to the house. I mean, he did it a lot in the span of thirty or thirty-five minutes. I found that strange because, of course, this happened in winter in the state of New York. Things are cold and hard, likely frozen, and yet…insane squirrel.”
“One more squirrel?” Arthur rolls his eyes. “You’re kidding. The property has really gone downhill since I died, then. The bushy-tailed bastards are supposed to steer clear of my land.”
“Our land, and besides, the general behavior of these animals is part of nature. Do you have any idea what nature is?”
“It is something that can be dealt with. You control parts of your territory like I did, and nature does the rest.”
“Be reasonable, fur face.”
Arthur sighs again, blinks a few times and lies down in a crescent shape. “I know exactly what I’m talking about, since protecting our territory was my job for…what…eleven years? I’m only the closest you will ever get to being in the presence of a safety expert.”
Shannon snorts. “Pardon the mocking, my late, half-terrier brother, but I recently heard a story about you encountering a buck while – “
“On a walk with Dad, yes, okay? It’s true. But you haven’t ever met a male deer. Not even when there were fifteen paces and a car windshield between the two of you.”
“You froze up and left Dad to scare the deer away.”
“I did not.”
She grins at her former pet. “You completely wimped out and I had to laugh when I first heard Dad talk about it.”
Arthur wriggles his small, black, pebbled nose. “You’re the worst little sister ever.”
“Little, when you’re the one who weighs twenty-five pounds. Look, I have other notes, okay?” She holds up her notebook. “I think the gray squirrel in the yard has been around a while. It shouldn’t be another five years before he dies.”
“Does he still like to throw acorn shells?”
She stares as Arthur licks his own nose.
“Yes, and he almost hit me with one last fall when I was reading not far from the tree he crashes in.”
“Did you write that one down, too; that reading day in the fall?”
“Of course, yes. I could find that section for you, if you like.”
“Don’t bother.” Arthur shrugs. “The whole point is to not let your home be overrun by anyone or anything. You know that.”
“I know that. But any defense like yours that is not enacted by you has been discouraged by Mom and Dad, and you should know that. Imagine me chasing every creature that crossed the yard, my palms embedded with marks from the grass. Could you see me barking at airplanes, mistaking very fat birds for squirrels? I’d be committed into an institution, as if I were so obsessed with you that I would want to become a canine.”
Arthur rests his head on his paws. “You’re a worse deputy than you are a dog.”
“Yeah, the two legs, dry nose and lack of fur put a damper on things.”
“I have much better aim when I pee.”
“You also used to occasionally sniff at other dog poop.”
“Why try to beat me in this back-and-forth, sis? I did that sniffing as a way of tracking who came through my space. I would even make those security checks while on my way to a neighborhood fire pit. I was always welcome to those. You know how attractive I am. After all, I was the most rugged of the suburban metro-sexuals.”
“Yes, you were the originator of the Always Sunny ocular pat-down." Shannon pauses, her eyes darting to the window a moment, "A lot has changed, but not my memories of your time with the family. I still have your collar...And I still love you.”
“I remember when you trapped me in your bedroom just long enough to dress me like a girl.” He replies.
She smiles widely, and in perfect timing, Arthur sneezes hard enough to make his head jerk.
“Your girl-dog name was Rebecca.”
“See? You are the worst.”
“That said, I would never give a dog a name with three syllables.”
“Ah, humiliation…”
"I loved your Lhasa ears and they were easy to put into a ponytail without causing you physical discomfort."
“Agreed, not physical, but I have plenty of emotional scarring.”
Shannon shrugs. “I wanted a resident victim to pick on and fuss over. May I pet you?”
“No.”
“I didn’t try to put clothes on you. At least it was just jewelry. I’m not cool enough to be like the blogger Steamy and put a wig on a dog.”
“You were such a child.”
“Hey, I was eight years old.”
The pair locked gazes.
“May I pet you now?”
Arthur sighs. “No. Now wake up.”
She blinks. “W-what’s this?” She leans back.
Arthur again fixes her with his large, dark eyes, though they wear a different expression now. "Sometimes I think of you. Good memories. Now wake up."
Arthur again fixes her with his large, dark eyes, though they wear a different expression now. "Sometimes I think of you. Good memories. Now wake up."
"Oh."
with love,
a slightly edited version of something written on February 18, 2012.
p.s. The idea for this post hit me when I was reading the Steam Me Up, Kid dog-interrogated post for the third time, and I remembered the fact that before Arthur was put down in '04, I would occasionally think that it'd be fun to have him speak my language for a day, which, inevitably, he would use a few minutes of to simply make fun of me and be a snobbish punk. A really cute snobbish punk. With freckles.
No comments:
Post a Comment