Chapter Eleven
What’s Your Name?
Earl and I started hanging out in our free time. He loved his new position at Woodland and swore he was eternally grateful (which in Earlism’s is “eternally grapefruit”) to me for making it happen. He lived close to Asheville in a modest one bedroom apartment. While his apartment was not infused with the aroma of industrial chemicals like his new friend’s place, it did have a certain canine tinge to it. Earl shared his abode with his best friend, a sweet sixty-five pound golden retriever named Dawg.
“You’re dog’s name is Dawg?”
“Yeah, I never could come up with a name for him. He doesn’t really answer to ‘Dawg.’ I’d like to rename him something clever. Got any ideas?”
“Umm, I would go rock but Bruce or Zappa don’t seem to fit. What is one of his distinguishing characteristics?”
“Huh? I’m just a dumb country boy. Can you use words with fewer syllables?”
“Don’t give me that country hick act. I know you well enough to know you’re sharper than ninety-nine percent of the tacks around here. So, what does Dawg do that makes him different?”
“Dawg can do some pretty amazing Dawg doo when Dawg wants to do doo.”
Told you he was pretty sharp. Not necessarily funny, but sharp.
“But one thing about him is his curiosity. He wanders off a lot. He always comes back but I wonder where he’s been. And he won’t tell me.”
“It’s a good thing that you don’t hear your dog talk to you, Earl. I have a thought. Why don’t you call him the Wander Dog? In fact, name him Bread the Wander Dog.”
“Hmmm – I’ll think about it. I’m not sure you can throw an old dog new sticks…”
It turns out that Dawg seemed to love the name Bread. I was back at Earl’s a few days later and could tell he was itching to show me something.
“Watch this, Mick. Hey Dawg, come!”
Dawg raised his head, looked at Earl and promptly fell back on the floor.
“Hey Bread, come!”
Dawg, a.k.a. Bread, sprang up and shot at ninety next to nothing towards Earl.
“Bread, sit.”
Bread (screw Dawg) screeched to a halt, plopped down hard on his rear and wagged his tail mightily.
Earl picked up what looked like a wad of duct tape rolled up into a softball sized mass. He threw it across the room. Bread tracked it but didn’t budge until Earl said, “Bread, ball!” Bread flew like a heat seeking missile after the ball of tape. He grabbed it in his teeth and proceeded to shake his head and chew it to pieces.
“Earl, you do know that you can buy a pretty sturdy dog ball at the pet store?”
“Yeah, Mick, but he loves that shiny sticky shit and goes through a lot of it. Richard Winterville in procurement brings a couple of cases of it to my office when they have a surplus. Of course, I pay him for it!”
“Of course you do Earl. You are the type to pay for a company pencil if you accidently take one home.”
“Aw, Mick.”
Bread looked up at us with strands of tape hanging out of his jowls.
“Whatever. It looks you have a new name for your dog. But as smart as he is, I think I would revise it a bit to Bread the Wonder Dog.”
“Thanks, Mick. When it comes to being clever, you are the cat’s bow wow.”
I often crashed on Earl’s sofa after our nights of partying. It was also good to get away from the pipe sweat and plant smells occasionally. Of course, most nights Bread would crowd onto the sofa with me. You might say I felt sandwiched there. Or you might not.
MBA - Moron$ Ba$ and A$$ Page 12
