Johnnie and The Bath by goldieasj

Word Count5,211

2nd in the Johnnie Series.

Sometimes size is not an accurate indicator of strength.

Take the ant, for example.  The mighty ant has been known to lug around things that weigh several times more than the tiny insect itself.  And those things are often bigger than the poor ant, too!  Little Johnnie the puppy knew this to be true because he had undertaken the mission of lugging Murdoch Lancer’s boots around, and each boot was actually bigger and heavier than he was.

Big Johnny Lancer, little Johnnie’s master, also knew this to be true because one day he and Johnnie spent some time  studying ants carrying their heavy loads.  Johnny the gunfighter knew enough to avoid danger and to watch from a safe distance . . . say . . . three inches.  But Johnnie, still very much the young puppy, felt he had to get his nose in it.  He snuck up on the line of ants with the finesse of a bull moose and stuck his snout right in the middle of it all.  Most of them ignored him and kept going, but some of the ants continued their journey right across Johnnie’s nose.  The poor pup was surprised and confused and they might have been nibbling him or maybe tickling him because he yelped and jumped straight up.  Johnny watched his dog rub his nose in the dirt, over and over, until the little guy was pretty sure he was ant-free and until his white coat had turned white-and-brown.  Mostly brown.  And then he started rolling again.

Johnny leaned back on his elbows and sighed.  “What’d I tell you about staying clean?  Now I have to give you another bath!”  But it’s unlikely little Johnnie heard him because he was having too good a time rolling around and getting dirty.

Just then, naturally, Johnny’s brother Scott walked by.  He indicated the rolling ball of fluff and pointed out unhelpfully, “I thought you just gave him a bath!”

Johnny stood up.  “Yeah, I did.  He just got bit by an ant.”

“Of course.  Your dog is re-arranging most of the dirt in this yard because he got bit by an ant.”   Scott laughed and continued on his way to the house.  Shaking his head, he said, “Canine pismire tribulations!”

Johnny was used to his Harvard brother’s vocabulary, as well as his willingness to spout off big words at inopportune times, which, Johnny figured, he probably didn’t know the meaning of anyway.  But then, neither did Johnny.  “If that means you want to help me give him another bath, stick around!” he yelled after Scott.

No reaction.  Naturally.  So Johnny yelled louder.  “I said I need HELP!”

Without turning around, Scott laughed and waved his arm.  “Admitting it, brother, is always half the battle,” he yelled back, and then entered the house.

Well, so much for Scott’s help.  Johnny sighed again and looked down at Johnnie, who was looking up at him with those big brown eyes, which somehow seemed to shine out of that otherwise now completely brown body.  “You know,” Johnny the human pointed out, “Scott never really called you a harbinger of dirt, but I bet he does now.”  He picked up his puppy with both hands and held him at arm’s length.  Johnnie tried to lick him, apparently as a form of penance, but his tongue just wasn’t long enough.  “Five minutes ago you were white,” Johnny explained to his dog in half-hearted admonishment.  “You know what this means.”  He carried the dog back to the courtyard of the hacienda, where the recently-used doggie washtub was still waiting.  Johnny stuck one hand in to test the water.  Still warm enough, he thought.  His intention, of course, was to lower Johnnie into the water and scrub him all over a second time until his fur was white again.  And Johnny was apparently more clairvoyant than he knew because  Johnnie did in fact know what this meant, and a few inches from the water, Johnnie looked at those dratted suds and his memory kicked in and his legs kicked out and he jumped way clear of the washtub.  Landing on his butt, which got dirtier.

“Hey!” yelled his master.  Johnny leaned down to pick up the miscreant, but as soon as the miscreant saw the warden approaching, he scrambled to his feet and ran away as fast as his little legs would take him. Which, Johnny realized, was faster than he was a week ago, apparently a testament to the good meals a growing puppy had been fed by a hitherto doting master and snacks given to him by still-doting family members, except Murdoch Lancer who didn’t like dogs and somehow Johnnie may have known it and that would explain why he kept stealing Murdoch’s boots and nobody else’s.  Murdoch’s expensive new boots.  Which were hand-made just for him because of the size of his feet.  Expensively.

The game was on!

Johnny was forced to pursue his dog.  “Come back here!” he yelled, with little hope (and an equal amount of result).  Little Johnnie made a beeline for the open barn door and ran inside with Johnny in hot pursuit.  At first Johnny was certain he had his dog cornered, but, once inside, he realized there was a very large number of places where a dog could hide.  Especially a brown dog!

He entered the barn cautiously and looked around.  No dog.  No surprise there, for little Johnnie was devious, Johnny had discovered, and capable of getting into small places.  Gunfighter Johnny used his fine-tuned sensibilities and was rewarded when he heard puppy barks a couple feet to his left.  Apparently this puppy had burrowed under the hay and emerged in the end stall.  Oh, no! – there was a horse in that stall, and little Johnnie’s barks were agitating it!  Sharp hooves could be deadly to little dogs!

Thinking only of how much he loved his puppy, Johnny quickly opened the stall door and grabbed Barranca’s halter.  This calmed the large animal only momentarily, though, because, although it was dark in the stall and they could not see it, both Johnny and the horse knew there was a little animal rummaging around all six legs down there.

“Dog!  Get out of here!” Johnny commanded.  Sensing no danger whatsoever and secure in the knowledge that everyone (except Murdoch) loved him, little Johnnie nonetheless was familiar with this command because he had heard it a lot from Murdoch (word for word, as a matter of fact) and he hauled ass out of that stall.  Johnny caught a glimpse of a brown blur running out the barn door and he figured it was his dirty dog.  “Oh, great,” he said under his breath.  Turning to Barranca, he said, “You should be used to this by now, fella.”  He patted the horse to further calm it and then proceeded to run after Johnnie in the direction he had seen the dog take.  “In fact, we should all be used to it by now,” he growled to himself, hoping against hope that the dog had not gone into the house.

The dirty dog tracks were easy to follow.  The dirty dog had gone into the house.

But not far;  the situation was still salvageable.  Johnnie was sitting on his haunches just inside the front door, which was wide open, presumably left open by Scott, who had probably assumed Johnny would bring his once-again clean dog in the house to dry off without ants or dirt the second time.   It looked like little Johnnie was waiting for his master.

“Noooo!” thought Johnny, with several terrible images of a loose dirty dog in the house occurring to him.  “No no no!” he yelled.

Little Johnnie cocked his head, hoping to hear another command besides ‘no.’  Big Johnny bent down, smiled a smile he didn’t feel at all, and said, “Come here, boy.  Come here, Johnnie!”

Little Johnnie crouched down on his front paws, raised his butt and wiggled it. 

Big Johnny crouched down on his arms, raised his butt and didn’t wiggle it.

Little Johnnie lowered his head and yipped out a challenge.

Big Johnny lowered his head, stared into his opponent’s eyes, and was about to accept the challenge, which he fully intended to win, when Teresa walked into the great room.  Spying Johnny (and not Johnnie, who was brown and basically invisible in a brown room), she exclaimed, “What on earth are you doing?!”

“Grab him!” Johnny yelled.

“Grab who?” 

“Him!”  And, with that, Johnny made a lunge for his dog, who jumped up elegantly, startling Teresa, who dropped the basket of just-washed clothes she was about to hang outside.  Little Johnnie ran between her legs just as big Johnny missed grabbing his dog’s tail, which, he discovered to his chagrin, was still wet and ungrabbable.  Teresa, Johnny, and Johnnie all fell into the laundry, Teresa wailing and Johnny yelling and Johnnie yipping.  Both Johnnies showed remarkable gracelessness as they struggled to free themselves of the wet clothes.  Big Johnny managed it first and made another lunge for his dog.  But Johnnie sensed the danger because it was similar to  the games he and his master played; he avoided apprehension by burrowing further inside the wet laundry.

“Come back here!” Johnny yelled as he threw pieces of laundry aside, except his own shirts, which he treated with more respect.

“Stop it, stop it, stop it!” Teresa yelled at the two of them from the floor.

A puppy head popped up from the part of the laundry Johnny wasn’t working on, and when he failed to notice, the puppy head yipped.  Johnny maneuvered around and dove in again for his dog, who had already managed to free himself and was standing several feet away, front feet down and butt in the air.  Wiggling.

“Come here, you little . . .” Johnny called (something other than) joyfully to his dog.  He bounded over the laundry and landed on the other side of it, managing to clear everything but Murdoch’s longjohns, which he landed directly on.

“These were clean!” Teresa wailed.  “This was all clean!”

“I’m trying to get something else clean!”

Teresa yelled, “Get that damn dog out of here!”

Both Johnnies froze and looked at her in shock.  Horrified at what she’d said, Teresa put her hand over her mouth and ran upstairs to her room.

What fun!  Someone else wants to play!  Johnnie did a turnaround and ran after Teresa, and Johnny ran after him.  They arrived at Teresa’s door just as she slammed it.  Johnny reached down and made a grab for his dog, but once again Johnnie was too quick for him, doing another sudden about-face and causing Johnny to body-slam into the door.

“Stay out!  Oh, I’m so mortified!” Teresa wailed from the other side of the door.

“Teresa, I’m not . . . it doesn’t mat. . . oh, never mi . . .!”  Johnny cut himself off as he saw little Johnnie heading right for Murdoch’s room.

Murdoch’s room!  The boots!

Le pièce de résistance!

Murdoch’s bedroom door was invitingly open and Johnnie the dog ran right in.  With strong new motivation, Johnny the son scrambled to his feet and followed.  Pausing in the doorway and spying his dog about to scurry under Murdoch’s bed, Johnny made a flying lunge for him, full-body extended and several inches off the floor, mind and body working together in harmonious unison, a true thing of beauty to watch and little Johnnie did indeed watch until the very last millisecond when he was forced to retreat under the bed, and  . . .

BAM!

Johnny slammed into the wooden bed frame, which he could not see under that quilt.  Inertia caused the last half of his body to catch up quickly with the first half, and both halves crumpled up and gyrated off to the side, happily moving through air until another immovable object unhappily loomed – Murdoch’s nightstand.  Johnny’s body finally came to rest at the foot of the nightstand.  A full pitcher  of water fell off the nightstand and emptied out over Johnny’s head.  Johnny yelled, partly in pain and partly in wet discomfort and mostly in fear as he saw the oil lamp teetering and then dropping over the edge.  But, as we have just seen, Johnny was very nimble, and he reached up with both hands and managed to grab the oil lamp just before it hit his – well, we’ll never know what it might have hit because he grabbed it just in time.

Johnny breathed a sigh of relief but when he moved to set the lamp on the floor, he yelped in pain.  Nothing serious, he knew, but he figured he might have sprained something.  He sat upright slowly and managed to put himself into a relatively static position, leaning against the bedframe (and quilt) as he tried to even out his breathing.  As the pain subsided, he noticed little Johnnie sitting on his haunches nearby and looking forlorn over his master’s accident.  Or possibly thinking about dinner.

Ignoring the fact that his dog looked really cute, Johnny waved a finger at him and admonished, “This is your fault!  Now Teresa’s mad at me, all the clean clothes have to be washed again, there’s muddy pawprints all over, and I broke Murdoch’s nightstand and water pitcher!  And  I think something broke on me, too!  And they’re going to hold me responsible for this whole mess!  And this is all your fault!”

Johnnie whined in sympathy (certainly not guilt because he knew this could not possibly have been his fault) and laid his head down between his paws.  His master was hurt, so apparently the game was over.

Brother Scott, the Maestro of Arriving at Just the Wrong Time, chose that moment to show up.  Standing inside the doorway and surveying the damage, he asked, “What was all the yelling about?”

Since Scott had already indicated an unwillingness to help bathe the dog, Johnny didn’t particularly want him there for any other reason, either.  “I didn’t hear any yelling,” Johnny said flatly.

Scott crossed his arms.  “What are you doing?”

“I told you – I’m giving my dog a bath.”

Scott looked to Johnnie, who was still completely brown, and then back to Johnny, who was not within bath-giving distance.

“With Murdoch’s water pitcher?  Shouldn’t some of the water be on him instead of you?  I’m no dog-bath expert, Johnny, but . . .”

“That’s right, you’re no dog-bath expert!  And until you’re willing to help me . . .”  Johnny carefully got to his feet, with groans and Scott’s assistance.  “Until you’re willing to help me, just go find something else to do besides torment me!”

“All right, I know when I’m not wanted.”

Scott checked out the damage again, tsked once or twice and left, suppressing a grin the whole time.

Master’s up.  Brother’s gone.

Game’s back on!

Johnnie jumped up and ran for the far side of the bed, where he knew from experience Murdoch’s delectable boots slept.

“No!” Johnny breathed.  He instantly reasoned the fastest way to stop the inevitable theft was to skip across the bed and grab the dog on the other side from above.  Sound reasoning, but he forgot that his side was injured.  He suddenly remembered as he was halfway across the bed, and he came crashing down on the mattress.  Ignoring the pain, he managed to catch a quick glimpse of Johnnie backing away from him.

With one of Murdoch’s boots in his mouth.

“No!” Johnny yelled.  He turned painfully to his side and made a grab for his dog but Johnnie was out of reach.  This was a very fun game and Johnnie ran out into the hall as best he could with the cumbersome boot in his mouth.

“No!” Johnny yelled again.  In his haste to save the life of the boot and therefore his own, Johnny became entangled in the quilt.  He ran into the hallway, quilt trailing behind.  Enthusiastic Johnnie had just run past Scott with the boot and was heading for the stairs.  Apparently he had learned from the ants and managed to find a comfortable grip, and he was picking up speed.

Holding his side, Johnny limped quickly past Scott as he headed for the stairs as well.

“Still giving him a bath, I see,” Scott laughed.  He watched his brother maneuver to the stairs and awkwardly try to disengage himself from the quilt.  Scott called after him, “Johnny, that dog’s turning you into a real bathlete!”

“Shut up, Scott!”

All grace abandoned, Johnny part ran/ part stumbled/ part quilted down the steps.  At the bottom he paused to catch his breath, re-assess his new pain level and scan for his dog.

No dog.  All was quiet on the canine front.

But there was a trail of muddy pawprints, slightly obscured by what was probably the dragging boot, leading to . . . oh no! . . . Murdoch’s desk!

Although he couldn’t actually see his dog, Johnny yelled, “Stop!  Whatever you’re doing, stop right now!”  An inquisitive puppy head peeked around from behind the desk at floor level.  Johnny held eye contact with his dog as he slowly approached him, talking soothingly the whole time.  The puppy froze in place because, quite frankly, he was enjoying listening to all these new words he had never heard his master use before.

Johnny ignored his pain as he used some gunfighter tactics to quell his dog’s escape – maintaining eye contact, hypnotizing with a monotone voice, approaching barely noticeably.  And it was working, too.  Johnnie the dog seemed to be hypnotized by his master’s voice.  Johnny moved closer slowly and methodically to the back of the desk, where he then spied the boot.  He deliberated a second over whether he should make a grab for the dog or the boot.  He chose the dog.

But that second was enough for said dog to grab the boot and run under the desk and out the front.  Boot in mouth.

Woefully late, Johnny lunged for his dog, missing him of course and managing to crash into Murdoch’s substantial desk chair, which toppled and knocked the inkwell over on Johnny’s back and yes, it did have ink in it.  And then a heavy paperweight also teetered over, landing first on Johnny’s spine where it gathered a fair amount of ink, and last on the tile floor, where it skidded a ways, depositing itself and the ink.

“Ow!” Johnny yelled.

A new command!  This game was so much more fun than any of the games Johnnie and his master had played.  But now it appeared that it might be over.  His master slowly crawled on his stomach out from under the desk.  He turned on his side and gingerly rubbed his other side.  Then he reached behind him and brought his hand back, full of ink.  “Damn,” he whispered.  Time to admit defeat.

Ignoring his dog, Johnny cautiously tried getting into a sitting position.  He was careful to avoid any more ink than necessary getting on the tile floor.  But his poor body had been through hell in the last few minutes and everything he did hurt.  He maneuvered into a generally sitting position and gingerly managed to unbutton his shirt and remove it, groaning the entire time.  He balled it up and set it in the middle of a tile, being careful to avoid the cement lining the tile as he knew it would get stained from the ink.  He looked wearily at his blue and pink shirt and tears came into his eyes.  He didn’t understand why.

Neither did Johnnie and the boot, who were watching nearby.  Johnnie lay down and rested his head on the boot, never taking his eyes off his beloved master.

Johnny saw his dog was within grabbing distance and not moving.  Figuring he was seeing things incorrectly, he brushed away his tears with his hand.  His vision got clearer but his face got bluer.

“How come you’re just sitting there, Dog?  Feeling sorry for me?  Or more likely waiting for your dinner.” 

When Johnnie’s answer was to whine and crawl over to his master (unfortunately passing a little too close to the inked shirt), Johnny began to see a ray of hope.  He picked up his dog and hugged him to his chest.  Now this penitent creature was the dog he loved!  “Well, you sure led me on a merry chase today!  You’re brown and blue and I’m black and blue!”  Johnny chuckled slightly, but when Johnnie licked him, the pup got a mouthful of ink and made a face that changed Johnny’s sour mood completely.  Johnny laughed out loud.  Clutching his pup tightly to his chest, he slowly and painfully maneuvered to his feet.  “OK, it’s finally bath time, fella.” 

Johnny’s newfound energy depleted somewhat when he looked around the great room.  His eyes took in his father’s desk chair, which was lying on its side.  And the inkwell, which was lying on its side as well – on the floor – empty.  And the paperweight, which had rolled in the spilled ink and left a little blue trail.  And Murdoch’s boot, also lying on its side, wet, muddy and lonely.  And the laundry basket which was – yup! – lying on its side.  And all the clean wet laundry scattered everywhere.  Including Murdoch’s longjohns, which had bootprints on them.  And finally Johnny’s favorite shirt, which was rolled into a blue wet ball and lying on the floor.  Johnny sighed.  “First things first,” he said to his dog.  “I’ve got to get a shirt and then you’re getting another bath.”

He followed the muddy pawprints to the stairway and sighed again.  Slowly climbing the steps, ungracefully avoiding Murdoch’s quilt, which had been dragged over several steps, Johnny finally managed to make it to the top.  Holding his side with one hand and his dog with the other, he paused a moment to catch his breath.  Nothing he saw upstairs was good.  Muddy pawprints were everywhere and Teresa’s and Scott’s doors were closed.  But Murdoch’s door was wide open.  Almost afraid to look, he ventured a peek inside.  Murdoch’s bed was at a new angle and its quilt was missing of course.  The nightstand was toppled over, the lantern was sitting on the floor, and the water pitcher lay broken on the tile.  Water from it was lying in a big puddle on that side of the bed.  Muddy pawprints were clear evidence.

Another sigh.  Looking at the docile puppy in his arm, Johnny said, “Remind me again why having you around is such a good thing.”

Johnny resolutely moved on to his own room, where he suddenly realized he had no clean shirts.  None.  All his shirts were wet and lying on the great room floor.  Rudely ignoring his dog’s comfort, Johnny scouted around his room looking for something he could throw over his shoulders.  He found his jackets, but was afraid he’d get ink on those, so he kept looking.  But all he saw anywhere was pants.  Pants!  All his beloved pairs of calzoneras with the conchos down the sides and one pair of blue jeans.  The blue jeans that Teresa had bought for him, hoping he’d wear them when working, but which he secretly detested.  He grabbed those, made sure his grip on Johnnie was secure, and painfully maneuvered back down the stairs and out the front door, which he made sure to close securely behind himself.

Johnnie was looking at the doggy tub with big eyes.  “Yeah, that’s right,” Johnny told him.  “You’re getting another bath whether you like it or not.  And this time I’m going to hang on to you until you’re completely dry.”  Sighing one last time, he muttered, “And when you’re dry, I’m going to have to attack the mess inside.”

Johnnie looked at his master and yipped as they headed for the tub.

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An hour later, Murdoch returned home, earlier than expected.  Oh no, thought Johnny.  I still haven’t gotten to the mess inside!  He had managed to wash Johnnie, who was now asleep in his lap on the front porch.  Both of them were mostly dry by now, including Johnny’s nightstand-pitcher hair, which had dried disheveled.  But the mess inside was still all there because Johnny was unwilling to let go of his dog to clean it up until his dog was completely dry.  He absolutely did not want a repeat of what had happened earlier.  He thought quickly, but . . .

. . . Murdoch was suddenly standing right in front of him, and . . .

. . . Johnny knew there was no choice but to face his father’s wrath.  He tried to summon up the kind of courage he had used as a gunfighter, but he was hurt, and he was holding a puppy in his arms, and that courage just stayed away.  “Hi, Murdoch,” he said (he hoped) brightly.

Murdoch said nothing at first.  He looked around the yard, noticing little things like upturned doggy bathtubs and soap suds on the flowers.  He then focused on his son, whose face, hand, and back were blue, and whose hair was unkempt, and whose calzoneras were muddy, and who had blue jeans tied around his shoulders and hanging down his back.

“Hello, son,” he said quietly.

“Sorry about the mess,” Johnny smiled half-heartedly.  “I was giving Joh . . . my dog a bath.”

Murdoch looked at innocent sleeping little Johnnie, who seemed to be clean, but whose white fur was unmistakably mixed with blue.  “With ink, son?” he asked.

“Uh . . . no . . . I might have spilled a little ink.”

When Murdoch made a move to go inside the house, Johnny quickly said, “Listen, before you go inside, there’s something I have to tell you.”  He stood painfully up, dog still clutched tightly.

“I’m not sure I want to hear it.”  Murdoch opened the front door and stepped into the great room.

Johnny frantically and painfully trailed after him.  “Listen, Murdoch, I can explain this . . .”

But as he looked around, there was nothing to explain.  The great room was clean!  The great room was orderly!  There was nothing to be found that was out of place – no ink on the tile, no tipped desk chair, no paperweight lying on the floor, no little orange/blue roll that used to be Johnny’s shirt, no quilt on the stairs, and, most of all, no wet laundry lying all over the floor!  Johnny’s eyes opened wide as he struggled to comprehend what he was seeing.

“Explain what, son?”

Just then Scott and Teresa appeared from the kitchen.  “He’s talking about your boots, sir,” Scott said, as he pointed to Murdoch’s boots, both of which were sitting dutifully by the front door, all polished and spiffy and ready for (non-canine) action.  “When Johnny got done washing his dog, he felt so invigorated that he polished your boots as well!”

Johnny’s mouth opened as he looked at those boots, and so did Johnnie’s, so master grasped dog tighter.

“Thank you, Johnny!” Murdoch said enthusiastically.

“You’re . . . uh . . . “

“Listen, Murdoch,” said Teresa, “dinner’s not for a while yet, but I made some walnut bars if you’d like to grab a bite now.”

“That sounds fantastic!” said a very happy Murdoch Lancer, thinking of his favorite snack.

“Let’s go get you fed,” she said, and ushered Murdoch into the kitchen.

Scott was watching Johnny and waited to say anything until Johnny finally made eye contact with him.  As he opened his mouth to speak, Johnny decided he did not want to hear what Scott had to say, so he quickly headed for the kitchen to try his luck there instead.  When he got there, he spied Murdoch seated at the table munching happily on a walnut bar.  Teresa was standing behind him, holding the pan. She walked over to Johnny and stared daggers at him.

“What happened?” Johnny whispered just loud enough for her to hear, but not his father.

“Scott and I cleaned everything up,” Teresa whispered back at him.

“You did?”  A big smile split Johnny’s face.

“That’s right – Scott and I!” 

Murdoch apparently noticed the whispering.  He said, “Johnny, why do I have the feeling you’re not telling me everything?”

“He’s not, Murdoch,” said Teresa.

Johnny froze.  He had just been handed a reprieve – a way to erase this whole horrible afternoon – and just as suddenly, it had been whisked away from him.

Teresa continued, “Johnny forgot to tell you that he was the one who suggested these walnut bars because you’ve been working so hard lately.”  Johnny slumped a little and gave her a ‘bless-you’ look.

“Thank you, son.  I appreciate everything,” said Murdoch, and he went blissfully back to his snack.

“Thank you!” Johnny whispered to Teresa.

“You’re welcome,” Teresa whispered sternly.  “And I won’t tell him about this fiasco.  As long as you make me a promise.”

“Anything!”

Teresa was absolutely not smiling.  “That you will never ever allow anything like this to happen again!”

“You’ve got it!” Johnny whispered happily.  Then he reached down and grabbed a couple walnut bars out of the pan and strutted painfully back to the great room.

Scott was waiting for him, a big smile on his face.  “Everything OK?” he asked.

“Sure, yes, everything’s great!  I owe you a big vote of thanks, brother!  You and Teresa really got me out of a jam!”

Scott laughed.  “That’s true.  I’ve seen saloon fights that caused less destruction.  Of course,” he hastily added, “not the ones you’ve been in!”

Johnny laughed wholeheartedly.

“But don’t worry about it, Johnny.  Really.  It was my pleasure.  We just worked together and got everything done while you were washing your dog.  After all, what are brothers for?”

Johnny playfully punched Scott in the shoulder.  “I like your attitude.  Teresa’s still mad.  She made me promise that this would never happen again!”  He chuckled.

Scott looked aghast. “What?  Oh, no no no!  I want you to promise that it will!”

“What?!”

“Teresa is still verklempt and Murdoch is completely confused and you were great fun to watch!  I want you to promise me that it will happen again!  I haven’t had this much fun in years!”

“Scott!”

“Sometimes I get homesick and wonder why I ever left all the activity in Boston, and then something like this happens to remind me.  Thank you, brother, for a delightful afternoon!”  Shaking his head, Scott laughed and headed off to the kitchen to cap his delightful afternoon with walnut bars.

Johnny shook his head, too, but in confusion.  Turning to his dog, he said, “I’m like Scott, I guess.  There are times when I wonder why I ever got a dog.  But then I remember – you’re the only sane one in this family!”

And then Johnny carried his dog safely past Murdoch’s boots and back out to the barn, where the list of supplies to buy during the next trip to town was posted for anyone to add to.  He grabbed the pencil and added something, which he underlined twice:  ANT KILLER!

The rest was up to fate.

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~ end ~

To Johnnie and The Women

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