Carina and Mommy
In an E.B. White story, upon entering his psychiatrist's office, the protagonist is asked, “Are you having any bizarre thoughts?” Two clever pages later, the answer is, "No, no bizarre thoughts."
In this story, 600 words provide insight into the mind of an elderly, spoiled, and stubborn Maltese in the few seconds between when she hears “Come!” and when her equally elderly, spoiled, and stubborn Mommy says, “Let’s go!
“Come!”
Carina opens one eye.
Mommy repeats, “Come!” and assumes her best I-mean-business stance. They warily watch each other’s poker faces. Who will yield and get their way?
Whenever Carina comes face to face with the command “Come!” she ponders what is important to her, what she really wants out of life. When you weigh five pounds and vaguely resemble a powder puff, it’s hard to be taken seriously, and today, it is particularly annoying to be roused from her nap, even if the late afternoon walks with Mommy are enjoyable, but, for Pete’s sake, isn’t it obvious she is busy dreaming about toys?
Awake now, Carina rouses but remains at the other end of the hall with Dolly, her devoted doppelgänger and constant companion. They are approximately the same color and size. Once a stuffed kitty, Dolly remains barely recognizable as such, having been lovingly transported for most of their lives from room to room in her master’s mouth, saliva flowing like lava, dog teeth firmly sinking into Dolly’s floppy, now nearly severed neck, any semblance of a recognizable face now replete with Frankenstein-esque stitches, darned patches attempting to save the remaining stuffing.
Utter domination paired with complete submission cements their perfect union.
Dolly and Carina are a united duo; Mommy is only one, and Carina is betting she can run out the clock. Saucer-eyes lock on Mommy; oxytocin oozes. Without breaking eye contact, Carina languidly reaches for her pretend rawhide bone that resembles a well-chewed Ticonderoga #2 pencil. Wedging the mushy end strategically between her back molars, she chews to calm herself while she thinks.
Of course, she knows what the word “come” means. They have been playing this charade since puppy pre-school 12 years ago, but do they really have to do this to their dying day? Her 14th birthday is next week; her parents are in their seventies. Who cares who comes first? She is more worried about who will go first.
If she waits much longer, she risks Mommy engaging that infernal GPS tracker that makes such a damn racket that she will be powerless to do anything but run to Mommy to turn it off, dribbling incontinence along the way. Carina knows she is on borrowed time but waits, continues to gnaw, and doesn’t flinch.
Mommy retreats and returns with a leash.
Carina sits and knows she is sitting.
Mommy stands and knows she is standing.
Carina rises slowly and performs her praiseworthy down dog followed by a perfectly executed cat-cow, knowing that Mommy is a sucker for this routine and will wait patiently while she finishes. She ends the standoff by deciding against a sun salutation.
The leash is attached, and Mommy says, “Let’s go!”
Symbiosis restored, they begin their afternoon constitutional, taking back Mountain Avenue with confidence and optimism and with only whiffs of bears and bobcats reminding them they must finish their walk before the shadows fall on the birdfeeders.
Yes, thanks so much for your comment and I want to hear more about your latest projects
I love your stories, Janice! And you I know I love Carina and I know how much you still love that girl.