THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1994, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Friday, July 22, 1994 TAG: 9407210178
SECTION: VIRGINIA BEACH BEACON PAGE: 07 EDITION: FINAL
TYPE: Column
SOURCE: Jo-Ann Clegg
LENGTH: Medium: 85 lines
On Monday morning, after we had seen four relatives off at the airport, dispatched one car load up the Eastern Shore, a second toward the Beltway and a third toward the Knotts Island ferry slip, I took a few minutes to sit down and have a woman-to-dog talk with our four-footed fuzzball who masquerades as a Lhasa apso.
``Look Chuck,'' I began, pausing long enough for his usual knee-jerk reaction.
``Sir Charles to you,'' he snarled, ``and while you're at it, quit making me jerk my knee. You know it hurts.''
``That's because you're getting old,'' I told him viciously.
``And you're not?'' he snarled back in the same mode.
``Anyway,'' I persisted, ``you and I need to have a talk about a couple of things, starting with your latest haircut.''
``You like it?'' he asked, tossing his head so that each hair fell into place.
`Whether I like it or not is not the point. I just want to know how come my haircut last Thursday cost $15 and yours was $73,'' I said.
``Since company was coming I figured I'd get a few upgrades,'' he told me.
``Like what,'' I asked, ``a tint and a perm maybe?''
``No, dummy, like a rinse, a flea spray, a pedicure, that disgusting thing they do to my rear end, a blue hair bow and a three-week supply of antibiotics,'' he explained with no patience whatsoever.
``Let's talk about those antibiotics,'' I said. ``When I need them they cost me $5.49 and my insurance pays. Yours were $42 and CHAMPUS rejected the claim.
``Can I help it if I didn't make the cut for the K-9 Corps?'' he asked.
``You probably could have qualified as a sniffer dog if you'd been willing to do a little work,'' I yelled.
``Work, schmork,'' he yawned, ``my only job is to be beautiful. Which, even you will have to admit, I was when all those relatives showed up.''
``That's another thing I've been meaning to talk to you about,'' I told him, ``your behavior at the family reunion.''
``What behavior?'' he asked innocently.
``What behavior, indeed!'' I countered. ``Let's start with the two hot dogs you snatched off the platter when John was bringing them in.''
``I was trying to get one of those super-duper Polish sausage things,'' he said. ``Can I help it if John wouldn't give me one?''
``And the chicken breast I found you eating under the dining room table?'' I asked, ``I suppose that was someone else's fault, too.''
``Nana and Grandmum gave me those,'' he said. ``It wouldn't have been polite to turn them down.''
``Those?'' I asked. ``You had more than one?''
``O-o-o-ps,'' he muttered, ``guess I slipped on that one.''
``You're going to slip on lots more,'' I told him, ``before I get done with you.''
``Like what?'' he asked.
``Like how come you tried to slip onto the trolley we rented to take everyone to Waterside?'' I said.
``There was a line going out the back door, so I got in it. I figured there was probably more food out there somewhere,'' he rationalized.
``And climbing into Cousin Lee's car when we left for brunch on Sunday morning?'' I continued.
``The kids invited me,'' he insisted, ``and besides I was starved.''
``They also invited you to go back to Michigan with them,'' I told him. ``I didn't see you taking them up on that offer.''
``I don't do blizzards,'' he snorted.
``Or much else that I can see,'' I countered.
``Speaking of blizzards,'' he said, ignoring me, ``I was looking through those photo albums that everybody brought, and all I saw was little kids standing in front of snow drifts.''
``That's because most of us cousins were brought up in Maine and that's what you do up there. Whenever there's a blizzard you take the kids outdoors, stand them in front of snow drifts and take pictures to prove to the relatives who have moved South what a bad winter you're having,'' I explained.
``There was something else in those pictures that I didn't like,'' he continued.
``Like what?'' I asked.
``All those cats that you had when you were a kid. How come there weren't any dogs?'' he wanted to know.
``Because,'' I told him, ``my cats did not require hair cuts, rinses, flea dips, rear-end adjustments, pedicures, hair bows or antibiotics.'' by CNB