"Running Commentary"
The Case Of Missing Butter
Hello. I’m Boulder McGraw. Woof!
That’s me, next to my evil little brother.
If you didn’t know – I’m a dog. Perhaps you’ve read some of my other columns. Not to complain, but I’m still waiting to get paid for my first three. The older I get, the more I understand how things work – who gets the short end of the bone. Sadly, it’s a dog’s life and working dogs don’t get much respect.
If any readers out there know the publisher of this newspaper, please put in a good word for me. I don’t think he likes dogs. Or maybe he just doesn’t like columnists. Either way, it’s discouraging. Every dog has its day – I’m still waiting for mine.
I went to the hospital last week. I’m vaccinated!
Here, I would like to put in a good word for my vet – Dr. Fakler and his wife Ruth. They are very loving and caring people. They love all animals! Even my little brother Rocky. I would like Dr. Fakler more if he stopped giving me shots – long needles give me the creeps.
Dr. Fakler is a good man, but he’s very sneaky. He slips me a meaty treat and I get distracted. Then? Pow! Another shot right in the nape of my neck. Sneaky! I get nervous anytime Daddy drives in the direction of the animal hospital.
I’m a dog … I’m not stupid.
Big changes in my life? My evil little brother.
Are you good at math? Can you divide by two? That’s exactly what happened when Rocky entered Earth’s stratosphere. Everything I hold dear in life, all my favorite toys and bones I’ve treasured since puppyhood? I now have to share them with that little brat. Rocky acts as if they belong to HIM. Presumptuous little bugger. He doesn’t have a clue.
Here's the deal – I didn’t choose my brother. Two months ago, Daddy went out one night and – boom! Just like that, he came home with a sad little puppy who looked like a quality-control reject from the Android Factory.
A factory worker probably tossed him into the discard bin because he wasn’t worth the price of a cheap bone. Who knows? Maybe Daddy bought him at the Dollar Tree where everything sells for one dollar – and even then, he was likely on a shelf that said “Closeout. 50% off.” I don’t mean to be harsh, but if Daddy paid fifty cents for my brother? He overpaid.
How in blazes did we end up with Rocky? It’s a big mystery. It’s not as if we went to a nice high-quality pet store and had our pick of the litter. Jeez, I wish I’d had some say in the matter – I would have preferred a squirrel or a monkey. Even a plucked chicken would have more personality than Rocky. Then, at least, we’d have fresh eggs in the morning.
All my brother does is eat, drink, sleep, pee and poop – more of the latter than the former. That’s it – the entire list of his accomplishments in life. Not exactly a good return on Daddy’s investment. And boy did Daddy get mad at Rocky when he was learning not to poop on Oriental rugs.
Whew! I ducked for cover whenever Daddy saw a puddle on the kitchen floor. Rocky doesn’t do that anymore, and it’s a good thing too – otherwise, he’d probably be dead.
But here’s a question, and I ask it in defense of all dogs who occasionally have accidents. Why is it that Daddy collects poop in a plastic bag outdoors … but when he sees poop indoors, he loses his mind? These are the kind of questions dogs ponder when sleeping.
(Pssst! Don’t tell anyone, but the little brat is beginning to grow on me. It’s true. Rocky adores me. He’s not so bad really. It’s kinda nice when he snuggles up next to me. And I’d fight anyone who pushes my little brother around. Grrrrr.)
Meanwhile, there was an incident at our home which I feel constrained to report – The Case Of Missing Butter. Otherwise known as, “The People vs. Boulder McGraw.”
According to Daddy, he put a new stick of butter on a butter dish and left it on the kitchen table. When Daddy returned to the kitchen, the butter was gone! Poof! It had disappeared.
Here's MY story. Daddy assumed I ate the butter. “Why ME?” I asked. I blamed my co-conspirator Rocky, to no avail. Moreover, in my defense, the dish containing the alleged butter was as sparkling clean as when it walked out of the gift shop – no traces whatsoever of any butter. Given Daddy’s advanced age, isn’t it possible Daddy merely THOUGHT he put butter on that dish? True – there were some large paw prints on a kitchen chair, but there were no witnesses; and who can say the prints were mine without a forensic expert to testify? Rocky has big paws too. The defense rests.
Given the disparity in height between the kitchen table and kitchen counters, it was clearly a poor miscalculation by Daddy. Even intelligent lawyers sometimes fail to see the consequences of their actions.
As expected, I went to bed without my usual treat.
But that’s OK. It was worth it. Mmmmm!
That butter was soooo good.
Note From Boulder’s Dad: I think my dog Boulder wrote this article for laughs. The truth is, Boulder and Rocky are inseparable. BFF – best friends forever. P.S. I am 100% positive I put butter on the kitchen table. Rocky’s paws aren’t THAT big.