Sassafras by Brett Matthew West Farmhouse writing prompt entry Artwork by MKFlood at FanArtReview.com |
"BARK!!!" That's my word for greetings.
My name is Sassafras. I'm a harlequin Great Dane. You know, all big and goofy and white with brown patches smathered all over me. Now, don't be alarmed by a yakkity dog who likes to blabber. But, if I was to ever chomp down that's when you best be concerned. Because then you would have pissed me off royally. Right at this moment, I'm sprawled out across this comfy king-sized bed in my humans' sleeping chambers. I watched them get ready for another busy day. Dad's struggled to put a tie on. Has something to do with, oh what's that word? Yeah that's right, arthritis. If you asked me he should have worn a clip-on. But, my opinion was not sought so I kept my otherwise large trap shut. Soon, he'll get flustered, like he always did, and Mom will have to help Dad get all dolled up for the office. "The six o' clock weather report said it's supposed to storm next Thursday," I heard Mom tell him. Dad scoffed, "This is Seattle, Joan. Everyone knows it rains here at least one hundred and fifty days a year. If not more. What did you expect?" "Guess I'll call Ida Mae Johnson and invite her to the party," Mom replied. My first thought was do you hafta? Inside, I laughed at the notion of my humans, and their outside party, being rained heavy on. The sight is comical. Think a little thunder kaboomer would stop me if I were in their place? Not a chance this party animal would cave in. See, it's gotten real close to Christmas, and Mom and Dad's yearly get-togethers with their friends to celebrate the festive occasion. I remembered four years ago when a tornado ripped right through Old Man Johnson's bungalow down the street from us. The storm didn't touch nothing around the neighborhood. But, that twister plowed his home clear to the ground like Legos fell apart. Good thing Mr. Johnson wasn't home. That would have been the end of some of my better ear scratchings, not to mention my eyeballing his pretty little Yorky, Cindy. The spinster, Ida Mae Miller lived two doors east on Pickles Street from us. Not hard to tell we're not fond of each other. She never had a single complimentary utterance for me. After Mom's done tying Dad's tie around his neck, I followed her to the living room. Nice to have free run of our house. Mom picked up her cell phone and pressed some buttons. Wish I could, but I don't have any fingers, only these over-grown paws. Ida Mae answered with a curt, "Hello!" "Ida Mae, this is Joan Billingsly calling," Mom began. "How are you this morning?" "I know who you are. I see your number displayed," Ida Mae replied. Mom should have hung up the phone. Told you Ida Mae was a crabby broad. Don't know why Mom put up with her shenanigans. I wouldn't. Ida Mae wasn't the most sociable critter on the block. Mom kept the conversation amicable, "I wanted to let you know about our upcoming party next Thursday and invite you to attend." "Will Sassafras be there? You know I really do not care very much for that Chipmunk Charlie," Ida Mae commented. The feeling was mutual. Chipmunk Charlie became Ida Mae's antaganostic name for me. I don't understand why? I certainly did not resemble a chipmunk. And, although Mom and Dad rescued me from a humane society where I had been locked up inside a cage for fourteen torturous months, my name was not Charlie. I had never done anything to Ida Mae to make her resent me. More than once, I wanted to leave a healthy calling card or two in the middle of her pristine, manicured, lawn. Know what I'm talking about? "Why of course Sassafras will be there. But, we'll do our best to keep him as far away from you as possible," Mom promised. "Edward and I would really like for you to come to the party. We're even going to set out your favorite chocolates." "Candies are toxic to dogs. So is that Xylithol sweetener you use," Ida Mae commented. Mom responded with a roll of her eyes, "We know Xylithol's been linked to liver failure in dogs, so we don't give Sassafra any." My ears alerted. The information went straight to my memory banks. Xylithol would be one treat I wanted no part of. On the other hand, table scraps and bones were yummy! But, grapes, onions, and raw eggs? No way! Of course, while my humans drank their fair share, they never allowed me to imbibe alcohol either. "I always do enjoy your Christmas trees. They are so elegant," Ida Mae softened her stance a bit. "It might be worthwhile to come to your party to see what you have created this year." Mom and Dad always chased me away from their trees and shiny ornaments that caught my eyes. I liked their needles. Tasty! Sometimes, when my humans weren't looking, I snuck a drink of the water in the tree stand. When they caught me wet-nosed, I knew I was in for a stern scolding. Their poinsettas, tinsels, and mistletoes were out of bounds too. The funnest part of my humans' celebrations were the noisy, boisterious, little rascals that tagged along with their grown-ups. Two-legged, or four, didn't matter to me. I enjoyed the rough and tumble ones the most. The rowdier they got the more energized I became. After all, I was bigger than any of them, even some you'd put together in a hodge podge. Mom said, "We'll see you at seven, Ida Mae, and look forward to it." She disconnected the call right as the lights in the house flickered. A loud, overhead, rumble came from outside. We knew what that meant. Mom looked down at me and said, "Well, Sassafras, hope that is not an omen of what is to come next Thursday at our party. Would be a shame." Silently, I laughed to myself. Mom and Dad never cared for storms. I sure did. Sweet chin music to my vigilant ears.
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Brett Matthew West
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