This week we are honored to have Bandit Calhoun guest post on our blog. Thank you Bandit.
Happily Ever After. What a wonderful sentiment. It’s at the end of many a fairy tale, and it made me think. Happily ever after what? And just who are the fairies that write these tales anyway?
Mom particularly likes Fractured Fairy Tales. I think it’s because Fractured Fairy Tales kind of goes along with her sense of humor. Actually, I’m not old enough to remember them, but Mom grew up learning fractured wisdom in between episodes of Rocky and Bullwinkle. They were two besties who spent their days defending the world against Natasha Fatale and Boris Badenov. Poor old Boris was just taking orders from Fearless Leader and always seemed to get the short end of the stick. They just don’t make shows like that anymore, do they?
I bring all this up because Dad and Mom have a nice little sign in their living room that says, “And They Lived Happily Ever After.” Although I try to mind my own puppy business, I’ve often wondered if the sign is there to remind them, me, or visitors to our happy abode, that no matter what happens, everything always works out in the end. It’s the before the after part that seems to be the sticky widget. It’s enough to make me want to take a nap but since I promised to write the blog this week, I will finish relating my thoughts.
I have to remind myself it’s not all about me, you know. The sign could be for the guy that shows up pretty regularly in the big brown truck. I sound the alarm loud and clear so that the parent’s know that the guy driving the truck left litter on our front porch. He shows up, leaves his brown garbage on the front porch and leaves. How rude. If I could, I would give that brown box my special mark so that everyone would know. But no, Dad brings it in and asks Mom, Did we buy something? Mom smiles like it’s Christmas and says she needs to open it and see. She says something about a senior moment whatever that is.
Actually, sometimes the box houses some of my special froggy friends so I can’t get to upset at the man in brown. I mean, he actually brings me presents sometimes. Who knew? You’ve got to be kidding me?
Hey, I just got it! I mean, sometimes I don’t know where I’m going with my rambling thoughts and then, bam, I arrive at my destination without even knowing I was on a trip. Does that ever happen to you? No, don’t tell me. Let’s just say it does and we’ll both be happy.
It occurs to me that I get worked up, and when I say worked up, I mean WORKED UP, whenever the man in brown shows up. I sound the alarm so loud and so long that my voice gets horse. The thing is, I never know what litter he might be leaving on our front porch. He sets it down and then drives off in his big, brown truck. Brown suit, brown box, brown truck. If I could just get at that brown box on the front porch, I’d show you brown, but noooooo, I have to wait for the parents.
Dad gets to the porch first, picks up the brown box, brings it inside, and Mom opens it. What do you know? The contents are green and the brown box is for me! I worried and worried. I barked until I thought I couldn’t bark any more and what do you know? That darn man in brown brought me a new froggy friend to replace the last one whose insides accidentally got outside. I mean, I loved his white innards as much as his green outards but for some reason, my parents didn’t like his insides scattered all around the place. Go figure. As many times as Mom restuffed and sewed Mr. Froggy, somehow he came unstuffed. He didn’t fly in the air the same way without his stuffing, but still I loved him. One day, he went missing and I was sad. So sad as there would be no more Froggy play time with Dad and Mom at bedtime, no more night night time with Froggy, and no more hide the Frog behind the toilet, my personal favorite.
Miraculously, the man in brown found me a new frog and left it in a brown box on the front porch. I feared that brown box because it was new and didn’t belong. Who knew that brown box contained happiness. It wasn’t Mr. Froggy, but maybe Mr. Froggy No. 10 would be just as fun as number 1.
Even though I still don’t know who those fairies are that write all those tales, I have to thank them because they were right.
And they all lived happily ever after.