howtheduck (howtheduck) wrote in binky_betsy,

The Pet’s Letter, January 2009

Salutations from the Patterson Zoo! It's Elly, writing on behalf of our four-legged and furry family member, Farley. I love Farley. I love him dearly – but Farley sheds fine sharp hairs that stick like needles into the upholstery and the rugs. And he still urinates in the house. Just the other day, when I was doing all the Christmas preparation – wrapping the presents, baking the muffins, and cleaning the house – I still found wet spots on the floor from the little presents Farley leaves behind. I told John and Phil about it, as they were sitting and watching television and doing nothing to help me, as usual. John said, “Edgar is an old dog and can’t control himself anymore.” He still insists on calling Farley by the name Edgar. He can be so stubborn.

I forgot to mention that my brother, Phil, has come to visit with me. I think part of the problem with Farley urinating is that Phil scares Farley with his trumpet and his hepcat language. He keeps saying things like, “We’re going to get you to face reality, El. You’ll be back to your old self before you know it.” I didn’t know what that meant. I don’t live in the world of jazz musicians with their late nights, women, and traveling and I certainly can’t keep up with their slang. Phil needs a woman to settle him down, so he can get a mortgage and a dog like our Farley. He keeps saying, “I’m married to Georgia, El.” What does that mean? Is Georgia some kind of slang for “jazz music”? I hope he isn’t thinking of living in some place in the States or Russia! Montreal is bad enough, but at least it's in Canada.

John and Phil and I all went together with Farley to get a Christmas tree and had to shove the tree in the car because John forgot the ropes and refused to ask the tree lot owner to borrow some. Phil said to me, “El. Doesn’t this bring back memories?” Frankly the smell of dog fur and pine tree was a little too overwhelming to answer; but it would have been, “No.” When Phil and I were growing up, Dad would cut down a tree in the woods near our house.

Christmas was wonderful. Farley got some new chew toys. I got John that racecar track he wanted and we all had a good time with it, until Farley chewed it up. Farley will chew on anything, including a diaper with Lizzie still in it; so a racecar track is not surprising. It was played with once and never seen again. John didn’t seem to be sad. He said he prefers model trains these days. That man can be very mysterious. Who would have thought he liked model trains?

John and I and Farley had a great New Years’ Eve. We stayed up until midnight snuggling and did the traditional kiss when the ball dropped. Farley didn’t know what to make of it. John didn’t either. He acted like we had only kissed once in the last 10 years. He can be so silly sometimes. What kind of woman only kisses her husband once every 10 years?

There were 2 not-so-nice parts of New Years. I couldn’t find Phil anywhere, and then I remembered he was taking Connie Poirier out on a New Years’ Eve date. I felt pretty foolish running around the house calling out for Phil, when I remembered that. Then Farley started barking at the guest room door and when I opened it I found Phil and Connie there. Farley is such a good dog. It was quite embarrassing for them, but a happy moment for match-maker me. Phil said, “Please don’t tell Georgia.” And Connie said, “Please don’t tell Greg.” All those G-names and Connie was doing hepcat jazz slang too. I knew she and Phil would hit it off. Someday, I am going to have to get a hepcat jazz slang dictionary to figure out what they were talking about; but I think it was future marriage plans and a mortgage.

The second not-so-nice part of New Years was cleaning up. I love our Farley. But between his fur and the pine needles, I just wish he and the tree were covered in well rooted saran like "My Little Pony" for example or some kind of plush, with a well-produced nose on it that has no production problems and makes it on-time for Christmas sales. I mean saran and definitely not like the blonde nubile wrapped in cellophane that Phil likes (that’s a whole other story not suitable for small children or the people who read our Pet’s letter). But if they were wrapped in saran then the tree and Farley would have to be plastic and I think I'd miss the sounds and the slobber and the pine smell. I'll have to do some research into the problem of shedding for dogs and pine trees - I'll let you know if I find anything out. Until then I remain inDUSTriously yours, Elly

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