APRIL HOPES
(and The Madness continues)
by Stumblin' Jimmy Watermelon
ast month I began to unfold for y’all the sordid tale of what my wife Ghee has described as the culmination of “my winter fascination.” It was a thing seeded in the throes of those dark months, hatched in the first to follow, with root and vine spreading in the one thereafter. Her hope, I imagine, was that I would heed those less and less veiled urgings to move on to other, more conventional forms of entertainment. Poor, dear lady... she should know me better. Though foresight has not always been my strong point, I have seldom taken on an adventurous goal and not followed it to some semblance of completion.
So here I was with an old stationwagon dubbed “The Grand Pariah,” a border collie named Stanley and a short haired dachshund, Stella. We were all bound together in, however warped, a knot of reason tied to my vision of teaching a dog(s) to “drive”. No, it wasn’t an original thought, but if you go back far enough...what is? The television commercial faked it. I was intent on the real thing. In the offset believe me, I know how ludicrous this all seems but just imagine the impact of possible success.
The overall project outline took no more than a few hours to produce. At this stage of such an epiphany you know momentum can be a very important factor. I felt that delving too deeply into all the idiosyncrasies of such an undertaking would only serve to bog down my enthusiasm. That might spoil everything.
As luck would have it, I already had possession of an adequate vehicle. “The Grand Pariah,” as I had come to call her, had served me well for many years. Of late though, her reliability had begun to falter. There were the usual sign of nuts, bolts and the occasional colored wire dropped free when I’d back out of the driveway. Still there were all of the essentials: automatic transmission with column shifter, power steering, gas pedal and power brakes. This endeavor would be her swan song. It was only fitting.
Finding the dogs, the right dogs, took a good while. My first break there came when I met a young psychologist-to-be who had moved in a few doors down from Ghee (my wife) and I. It struck me that he might be able to offer some insight so I took a chance and shared with him my vision and goal. This neighbor has requested anonymity, so for the time being his name is Bob (like the game show guy). With his help, I drew up a series of simple games that mimicked each of the response actions I needed to look for in developing a good pool of doggy-driver hopefuls. From the cream of that crop I could make the final pick. I’m not one to brag but I think Bob was really impressed. He told me at the conclusion of our meeting, that he wanted to follow my progress in a paper he was supposed to write. Now that was just the shot of confidence I needed.
Next I drafted a little flyer, “...Looking for dog talent. Border collies and dachshund types most specifically,” that I circulated one Wednesday at every country grocery store I could reach. My thinking was that basing the call-out from such a location, there would be less likelihood of drawing too many questions better left unanswered. It read further that, “The two winning contestants would receive free training for a ‘special project” video. Thoughtfully I followed with, “No cash remunerations would be offered, but contestant participation might be useful as leverage with film companies for future opportunities.” I was able to set up a Saturday morning audition date at the lot of an old drive-in theater in a nearby town. Hopefully this would take place and pass without my wife and the media getting wind of it all. The less Ghee knew the better.
The gathering started like a small circus sideshow run amuck. Though drawing from the easygoing coastal and a still somewhat rural setting, way more canines and their owners showed up than I had expected. The border collies were bent on herding the ranging crowd of people whilst a number of the dachshunds maneuvered to trip their overseers from the heel. Luckily for me my new psycho-buddy, Bob, had come along to offer assistance where he could and “take some notes.” I held my breath as a black unmarked Ford Crown Victoria pulled up and several official looking gentlemen emerged. They didn’t bring any dogs. I don’t know what Bob told them but they smiled my way, nodded their heads and left without incident. I asked no questions and just moved things along.
The masters and animals that were dressed alike, we got out of the way first. They tended to be “mostly show and no action.” All the dogs in tu-tus were the next to go. Mind you, there were a few that were able to “dance” and though that had no relevance to my objectives, I had to admit they were impressive all the same. The greater portion did little more than sweep the ground with their “get-ups.” Following their owners with my eyes, I nudged Bob and commented, “Those poor deluded people.” Bob nodded in affirmation and took some more notes.
By eleven a.m., what were left of the four legged group were the real hopefuls. There were five in all, three dachshunds and a pair of the border collies. At my request the owners put them in a roped off area that I had set up and we watched their interaction. It became obvious within a few minutes that one of the dachshunds, a male, had a Napoleon complex. Though the others got along fine, he was determined to be the boss of it all. The little bugger even had the audacity to lift his leg on my foot and curl his lips up at me when I tried to assert some authority. Under my breath I told Bob that I was not about to be ridden roughshod by some aggressively over competitive, sawed off little squirrel-dog. Bob nodded in agreement, scribbled a few more notes then as an afterthought suggested that I “might consider dropping the “squirrel-dog” comment.” “No need to alienate the others.” I could tell Bob was a deep thinker. That was one more contestant out of the way and it was time to move on to the final level of the test games.
As the last of our prospects patiently waited, I began to introduce the series of game components that with Bob’s input, I had designed and constructed. It was hard for me to contain my excitement. Actually I’m not sure if it was that or the diuretic pills I was taking for my blood pressure. It was getting late in the day and excitement was not the only containment I was beginning to deal with. I now wondered about the other people. The dogs, of course, felt neither pressure nor problem of this nature at all. They were dogs, no inhibition in the least; lucky dogs. I wished I’d had the foresight to provide a facility of some sort for the rest of us. The drive-in’s small pavilion was all locked and boarded up. Phase one of my project was almost complete, I just had to focus. Looking around and spying the telltale signs of shifting feet, there was some comfort in knowing that I probably wasn’t alone.
Back to the effort at hand, I set out the two wood and cardboard box contraptions that I’d made. I didn’t want them to look overly automobilish (don’t bother to look it up, that’s one of my words). For obvious reasons it was important to keep everyone in the dark until the appropriate moment. Both boxes were open; one had an old tractor steering wheel mounted at an angle near the top center. The other box had no right side as well, and two foot pedal sized blocks secured forward at the bottom front. They were mounted on slight springs so they moved in and out. I studied the audience, so far so good.
First up were the border collies; I had the owner set his dog, subject number one in the box with the steering wheel, instructing them to have the dog standing on hind legs, place their front feet on each side of the wheel and hold there. The initial idea was to see how long the dog would hold his pose. Five minutes was the goal. Number one did fine until a flock of seagulls lit aways in front of us. He bolted over the box and was gone chasing feathers. He must have seen the commercial. Number two performed far better, even turning the wheel a bit from left to right and back, as I walked in front of him holding out a treat. Unfortunately the owner later begged off, leaving me under suspicious glances.
Next came the dachshunds, this didn’t take long at all. The first subject, when placed in the box with the wooden blocks, promptly curled up and went to sleep. I guess it had been a long day. The second enthusiastically bounced off one wood block and to the next with little prompting from the start. The fact was we couldn’t get her to stop. She’d have probably gone on until nightfall except that she had to quit momentarily to relieve herself, in the box. In some effort to save face, I looked over to Bob and in my most objective tone stated, “Looks like a definite case of auto compulsive behavior.” Now the box was shot, the games were over, the last fallen contestant was being crated up and I was left being reminded of my own pressing and more immediate personal dilemma. Bob nodded, and took a few more notes.
Sometime while I was packing up to leave, an old olive drab Ford Econoline van pulled up. The couple that got out was a quiet pair, with a farming sort of 1960’s hippie thing about them. They said that they had gotten a late start that day, but came down with their two dogs to see what this whole thing was about. The dogs, seated now in the front of the van peered studiously out of the side window. They had grown up together from when they were puppies. One was a good working male border collie, the other an equally smart and intense female short haired dachshund. I looked at the dogs and then back at the couple. With nothing left of the day to lose except my bladder, I told them all about my vision and goal. As they looked from each other to me and nodded their heads, I asked the crucial question. Would they be interested in seeing if I could teach their dogs to drive? “Far out man.” That was the response I was looking for. Somehow I just knew that it would all work out. Bob had already left so I wrote some notes for him.
The renaming of the two dogs came a bit later on. Aside from being named after the movie, the theme of which I deeply related to, it helped me remember the canines owners’ names: Stanley and Stella. As for April hopes, well I found mine. Watch out for April Fools, that of course having nothing to do with my final offering of this story yet to come.
