I hate the vet. When no one is looking,
I’m going to try to attack the old lady. If I can get to her face before she
can get to mine, I will be within a whiff of victory before I know it. If she
gets to mine, oh lord, if she gets to my face first. I don’t even want to think
about what will happen next. You know what will happen, we all do. I should
smell the roses now while I have the chance. I used to love romping around Mom
and Dad’s garden bed in the backyard. They didn’t like it when I did that. It
sounds weird but that made me love it even more. Does that make me a bad dog? I
read in a Reader’s Digest that Black Labs love to romp around their owners
garden beds despite their pleas to stop more than any other breed of dog.
Reader’s Digest was always my favorite magazine to read along with their
spinoff sister brand completely dedicated to my people, Breeder’s Digest. One
time I submitted an article to Breeder’s Digest about the benefits of laying in
the shade on hot summer day. I received the Golden Paws award that goes to
writers with the most creative entries and was invited to a gala in New York
City. This was the proudest accomplishment of my career as both a writer and
canine.
Anyway, I’m not typically this crude but I
hope the vet dies in a tropical helicopter accident. Sure, it’s specific but I
saw it in a movie one time and the idea really stuck with me. Like, if I could
choose one way to go down if I had to, I would say that I want to die in a
tropical helicopter accident. And it has to be in a warm weather climate. A
helicopter accident in Alaska wouldn’t read as well on screen or have the same
pizazz. Sure, a helicopter accident in Alaska is all well and dandy and a
pretty amazing way to end your run, don’t get me wrong. I don’t like it when
people misunderstand me or take my words out of context, it is one of my
biggest human peeves. All I am saying is that a helicopter accident north of
Nome would get you stranded in the frozen tundra with nothing but the
remembrance of that Kate Winslet and Idris Elba flick, The Mountain Between Us,
while a helicopter accident in Maui would get you laid for the next nineteen
months at the least.
You sidle up to a striking poodle at the
local dog park. You’re both relieving yourselves while holding eye contact
which is extremely intimate, probably the most intimate thing that you could
ever do. She asks you what you do for a living. You tell her that your family
allows you to travel a lot, especially to exotic locales. When you go to these
exotic locales, you get to do sweet touristy things like go on helicopter tours
and visit museums, but this story is more about the helicopter tours. You
regale her with the tale of when you were in a helicopter with Mom and Dad and
the pilot steered you into the side of a mountain, the mountain from The
Mountain Between Us of course to be crystal clear. The wreckage was insane,
nothing that has ever been replicated on the big screen or even in the wildest
dreams of the most off their rocker director of all time. But I saved us, and
by “us” I mean Mom and Dad, the pilot and the pilot’s dog, a breathtaking Irish
Terrier, Clara. This was no easy task because Clara had had a few too many
shots of Baileys in her coffee that morning so it was like trying to rescue a
sack of potatoes that is constantly talking trash about how terrible you smell
and how stupid you are while also telling you how much they have to go to the
bathroom if a sack of potatoes had to go to the bathroom (I guess they do get
soggy occasionally which is the food version of going to the bathroom. We
finally made it, see, I knew we would make it.)
So yeah, you tell the striking poodle
about the time I saved Mom and Dad, the helicopter pilot and the helicopter
pilot’s dog the drunk Irish Terrier, Clara, and come back to me in nineteen
months at the earliest when it stops getting you laid.
Listen to my movie and storytelling podcast A Star Is Born
Instagram: @ChrisArneson8
Pick up my books Sponge Cake & What's In The Fridge?
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