THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Friday, January 13, 1995 TAG: 9501120162
SECTION: VIRGINIA BEACH BEACON PAGE: 07 EDITION: FINAL
TYPE: Over Easy
SOURCE: Jo-Ann Clegg
LENGTH: Medium: 93 lines
Charlie the Lhasa is crouched as far from me as he can get deep in the reaches of the kneehole of my corner desk.
He is wearing a protective Elizabethan collar over his head and a ferocious growl on his lips.
The Elizabethan collar is supposed to be serving two purposes: the one the vet ordered it for (to keep him from gnawing at a bad raw spot on his hind paw) and the one that Charlie deems far more important.
``I am tired of you dropping stuff on my head,'' he snarled a few minutes ago. That was approximately a half second after I grazed his left ear with a three-ring binder. It happened at 9:02 a.m. and it was my fourth drop of the day.
``Enough is enough,'' the great honey-colored furball snapped. ``I'm staying under this desk for the rest of my life or until you get yourself under control - whichever comes first.''
These unintended attacks of mine started several weeks ago when I was fixing a big batch of trail mix to give as Christmas gifts. I started pouring ingredients just as Charlie walked by, missed the bowl completely and showered him with about $5 worth of chocolate chips.
``A-l-l-r-i-g-h-t!!!'' he yelled as he raced me to the clean-up. I managed to retrieve a dustpan full; he ate twice that many.
``Give those back, chocolate can kill a dog!'' I told him. ``What a way to go!'' he snarled as I pried his mouth open and extracted a sodden mass of chocolate.
Several days later it was a half pound of hamburger. ``Where's the beef?'' he howled as I checked to see if I could salvage any for dinner.
``In your fur,'' I told him, ``and your eyes and your ears and your nose.''
``And my mouth,'' he smirked, downing a meatball the size of his paw.
While I was dropping food he was a happy target. When I started dropping other things he became annoyed.
``What was that?'' he snapped Thanksgiving Day when I dropped the largest newspaper in our city's history on his head.
I didn't bother to answer him. He was already out of sight, sitting safely under the chopping block in the kitchen waiting for turkey wings to fly by and pieces of pumpkin pie to part from their plates.
There were other incidents as well, like the tumbling Christmas cards. One minute they were piled neatly on the card table, waiting for stamps. The next minute they had buried Charlie who had curled up at my feet with his jaws tightly clamped.
``All I did was refuse to stick out my tongue to lick stamps for you,'' he snarled as he moved to the other side of the room. ``You didn't have to get ugly about it.''
And there was the pile of socks that rained down from the top of the dryer as Charlie was ambling toward the back door.
``Enough!'' he growled as he tried to shake the last few socks from his back. ``The least you could do is figure out a way to get rid of the static cling problem.''
I aimed a can of Static Guard in his direction.
``Great, now you're into chemical warfare!'' the dust mop with an attitude howled.
A few weeks ago even I had occasion to cower. While working on a story I reached for a reference book from a pile that was on the desk next to me. I got the book I was after but Charlie nearly got a lot more. One of my favorite resources is something called the ``Chronicle of the 20th Century.'' It gives, in newspaper clipping form, a day by day overview of the last 95 years.
The volume is 12 inches high, nine inches wide, three inches thick and weighs in at slightly more than your average set of newborn twins.
If I want to set the scene for the day my Uncle Warren returned home from World War I, I just look up July 8, 1919, and discover that President Wilson returned from the peace talks at Versailles the same day.
In the split second it took us to realize that the book was crashing toward Charlie's head, we both panicked. It missed by a few hairs of his scruffy ears.
``Wow, that was a close one!'' he said, snuggling into my arms and putting sarcasm aside for a change.
Our era of good feelings lasted for several hours, until more objects began falling from my hands and work area. Today Charlie finally reached his limit.
``Hey,'' he snarled from under the desk a few minutes ago.
``Yeah?'' I answered.
``Do you have any of Uncle Warren's old World War I stuff around?'' he asked.
``I guess I do somewhere,'' I answered. ``Why do you ask?''
``Because,'' he said, ``I figure that old tin helmet he wore is just what I need to protect myself from all this craziness around here.''
``Or maybe you and I just need to take a trip to Versailles to sign our own peace treaty,'' I countered.
``G-r-r,'' came the answer from deep behind my desk. by CNB