by Lizz Lund
He’d finally released a novel under his own name, and I should have remembered the signing. He was very excited about it and described it as a take-off on a Wolfgang Puck-type cookbook for vampires. He explained that vampires are very ‘in.’ Walter works free-lance as a ghost writer for a whole bunch of publications. He also reviews cookbooks, which explained the gist of his fiction, as well as some of his tonnage. Walter is exceedingly heavy, well past the point of concern and smack dab in the middle of OMG.
“But he knows about my Marie, my cockatiel?”
“That’s why he doesn’t visit.”
“Oh. I thought it was because he might not fit.”
“With what?”
“The door.”
Ida waved me off. “That’s why we need your help. Can you take this bird with you?”
“I can try, but I’m not making any promises.”
Inside the shop, Walter sat stoically at a table, with an African Grey sleeping on his shoulder, nuzzled next to his ear. A crowd of on-lookers cooed, took pictures and tweeted. Walter smiled tightly, but brightened when he saw me. “Mina. Help.”
I nodded and indicated the dog with a shrug.
“Trade you?”
“Sorry. Not mine. Returning him to his owner.”
“Please!”
The cash register rang, and I looked up to see Buddy coming toward us. “Hi, Mina. Hey, Walter, thanks again for the autograph!”
“No problem. Thanks for picking up a copy,” Walter said through gritted teeth, careful not to awaken the conked creature.
Buddy left, and Walter regarded me. “You know that guy?”
“Sort of. In passing. He runs the Mail-It-2 stand.”
“That guy is weird.”
I considered it. “He is a bit eccentric.”
“Eccentric! The store manager threatened to throw him out if he continued to drink his beverage in the store,” Ida said.
“Well, that’s understandable.”
Walter shook his head, carefully. “No, they serve lattes here, chai – you name it. He was just gross.”
“Was he slurping?”
“No. It was what he was drinking.”
I thought about it. “Beer?”
Walter leaned in with a whisper. “Blood.”
The parrot woke up, and lazily stretched its wing. S/he took one look at Rover and hopped onto his back. Luckily, the dog didn’t share Walter’s phobia.
I waved bye-bye at my pals and left quickly. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could play Dr. Doolittle. Or how to even begin playing Nancy Drew and the Case of the Disgusting Drink.
I made bye-bye waves and headed back, Hound of the Baskervilles and pirate bird in tow. A second later the hound raced toward a fountain in the center court. The bird hopped onto my shoulder just as the scarf ripped from my hand. That was, until it saw the dog lapping from the fountain, and figured this was a great time to take a bath, too.
Aside from the obvious, I wasn’t so sure how great drinking or bathing in extreme chlorinated water would be for anyone, especially pets. That, and the water was dyed bright green for Christmas.
After dragging the dog away from the fountain, the bird climbed back up my arm and decided to doze on my shoulder on our trek back. I’m sure this is an “aww” moment for someone. But as the owner of a cockatiel, namely Marie, I knew this would eventually morph into an ewww moment.
I no sooner thought it than I felt the parrot let loose down my back, all over the new non-paid-for vest.
“Crap.”
“Rawwk!” the bird concurred.
I led our pilgrimage on a slight detour down a cinder block hallway and toward the restrooms.
Inside the ladies room, I tethered Rover next to the sink, wiped it as best I could (who knows?) and turned on the faucet for him. Since the pooch was well over counter height, he lapped water from his impromptu water bowl sink easily - no worries.
After slipping the cockatiel to perch on the side of the stall, I removed my vest. Completely schmutzed. Yeeshkabiddle. I dabbed off the gunk and made a mental note not to get too mental. S/he was only a bird, who was lost, with or without owner. If it had been me, I’d have crapped, too. As it was, I still wasn’t sure who my owner was and life was apparently doing its due diligence in the crappy department. Oh well. Boo flippin’ hoo.
I hitched up my virtual big girl panties and headed out the lavatory door with the parrot back on my shoulder, and Kweo in tow. (I tried to encourage the bird to sit back on the dog, but it wasn’t having it.)
Just as we came to a bank of lockers near the Men’s Room, I heard Myron Stumpf’s unmistakably snotty voice.
“You’re absolutely sure you have everything settled now?”
“No problem. Bernie won’t know what hit him. Thinks he’s going on vacation.”
“Yes, quite.”
“A permanent one!” The other guy sniggered.
“Precisely. This little charade has become quite tedious.”
“Huh?”
“Never mind. You’ve memorized the directions, haven’t you? You know exactly where to go?”
“Got it.”
“And you know where to find the boat?”
“Absolutely. You’re a real genius, you know? Who’d have thought of hiding a boat in…”
“Shhh, you fool!”
That was when Kweo decided to galumph for all he was worth straight into the Men’s room.
The parrot thought this was a blast, too. “RAWWK!!”
“What the fuck?”
I scurried up from behind. “Sorry, they really do have minds of their own.”
“Mina!”
“Hiya Myron!” I tugged at the dog. He responded by slobbering all over Myron’s waist, and pawing at the knees of his trousers. I looked down and saw wet, brown stains on Myron’s knees. What the hell had been kneeling in, anyway? Manure?
“How long have you been eavesdropping, Kitchen?”
“Huh?” I pulled at the pooch. He pulled back.
“What did you hear, bitch?” It was the guy who ran into me with the hand cart. And the motorcycle. With the weird tattoo. Small world, no?
“Now, now, manners Dexter.”
“Dexter?” I nearly shrieked. He definitely did not look like a Dexter. Tatt Dude, maybe. Dexter, not so much.
“You gotta problem with that?” Dexter shouted, about a hair away from my face. He could have used a breath mint. Or a tongue scraper.
“Oh, no, no! It’s a lovely name! I just wasn’t sure I’d heard Myron right. Hey, how’s sales?”
“Very well, thank you.”
“Great! Hey, look – would love to kibbitz with you and all, but I got a dog and a parrot to return, you know? Hey, fabulous seeing you! Bye!” I desperately tugged the maverick canine toward the exit.
“Absolutely. Bernie won’t know what hit him. Rawwk!”
I stopped in my tracks, and stared at the bird.
“Pick up the boat!”
I didn’t want to turn around. But I had to. Myron and Dexter’s death ray stares were boring into my back and pulling me toward them. They glared malevolently at me. Actually, they glared malevolently at the African Grey.
The bird responded. “What the fuck?”
Myron and Dexter marched toward us.
I shook my finger at the bird. “Now, you know what your mommy said about blue language! Ha, ha! Parrots these days!” I grabbed Rover by the collar and headed Exit, Stage Left like nobody’s business.
“I told you she was going to be a problem! She’s going to give us away!” Dexter said.
Myron put a hand on his arm, stopping the chase. “No worries. Just eliminate this problem along with our original one.”
“You wanna do her, too?”
Myron sniffed. “That’s a very colorful way of putting it.”
“C’mon, you know what I mean.”
“It should be fairly easy to accomplish.”
“It’ll cost you.”
> “No worries.”
I panted a bit after I reached Santa’s Station. I was relieved Myron and Dexter hadn’t followed me. But dressed up like an elf, with a parrot and a Bull Mastiff, I sure wasn’t hard to spot in a crowd.
Cleo’s mom found me, and we swapped her fifty bucks for the canine in question.
“Thank you so much! You are a real life saver!”
“No problem.”
“Kwe-oo!” Charles cried with delight, hugging the hound by the neck and hanging a foot in the air.
“He really is one of the family. Would have broke our hearts to lose him.”
“Actually, I thought Cleo was a her.”
“It’s short for Cleophus. It’s Greek. It means ‘seeing fame’.”
“Huh?”
She sighed. “My husband’s a jazz pianist. We’re hoping.”
“Wow. That’s a complicated name.”
She sighed. “He’s a complicated dog.”
“Pet people, huh?”
“Definitely.”
“Want a parrot?”
“What did you hear, bitch? Rawk!”
Latisha raised her eyebrows. “No thanks.”
I went to find Barry, to let him know I wasn’t quite finished with my pet finders’ improv. I found him with about a half dozen happy families, each holding a wriggling puppy.
“There you are! Back just in time! Business shot up!”
“What else is new?”
“No, really! The animals that got out were all up for adoption!”
“So?”
“So they all got adopted! And now everyone wants Santa pictures of their kids with their furry kids! We have to work fast!”
“Why?” I looked around. The crowd was definitely not going anywhere.
Barry leaned toward me and whispered. “We don’t have a pooper scooper.”
I could relate.
“Now, put that parrot down and start rounding up… what are you doing with a parrot?”
“Practicing to be a pirate?”
“Very funny. You can’t wear a parrot! It’s not Christmassy.”
“Maybe he’ll get adopted?” Then the bird relieved itself – again – down my vest. I sighed.
Barry grimaced. “Maybe not.”
“Wow! You got him! Thanks! Oh, this is awesome!” A kid wearing an “Adopt! Don’t Shop!” t-shirt dashed up to me, and held out his arm to the parrot. The bird hopped on.
“Is he yours?” I asked.
The kid shook his head. “He’s up for adoption. I take care of him. I’m a volunteer.”
The parrot leaned over to me, and nibbled at my Sparkle buttons.
“Hey! He really likes you! Want to adopt him?”
I turned around and showed the kid my back.
He shrugged. “Goes with the territory. But they’re really smart birds. They can even talk sometimes, too.”
“Rawk!”
I considered the parrot’s new vocabulary and quickly decided to put a good distance between us.
“Hey, c’mon! We gotta get the rest of these guys back in their crates!” A petite girl with a shaved head and nose ring came up to us, holding an impossibly plump Persian.
“Hamlet! You found Hamlet!” the boy screeched.
The girl snorted. “Wasn’t hard. I just went to the food court.”
The cat shot the girl an exceedingly harsh look.
“Is he up for adoption, too?” I asked.
The girl smiled. “Yeah, but I have two families interested in him, since he got let out. It was pretty sad, the owner died and no one in the family would take him.”
“It’s great that someone’s interested, though.”
“It is. Actually, it was lucky that they got let loose. Hardly anyone was visiting the adopt-a-thon at the pet store. And after all those families stood in line for Santa with the puppies, that was the best!”
“Madison, we should do that next year!”
“Let them loose?”
The boy rolled his eyes. “No! See if we can set up the adopt-a-thon right next to Santa!”
“Leo, that’s so cool! We should definitely check that out.
He turned to me. “Thanks for rescuing Sammy.”
I patted Sammy’s feathered head bye-bye. “Sure.”
“Leo, those families are meeting me soon. I gotta get back with Hamlet.”
“Gotcha. Let’s go.”
Barry exhaled a sigh of relief, then spun me around and pawed at my back. “Now hold still – don’t move.”
“Is it gone?”
“Yick. Mostly.”
“What’ll I do if Jane comes back?”
“Tell her it’s baby puke.”
“Does it look like that?”
“No.”
A few thousand years later, after posing the kiddies and their canines and several hundred other children sans pets, Barry and Santa and I closed out our shift.
Barry rubbed his head. “Oh, my nerves! My head is throbbing.”
I rubbed my knees. “Ditto. But at least you’re not crippled.”
“What are you two grousing about? Anybody tinkle on you today?” Santa put in.
“I got pooped on.”
“Not bad enough little kids are going on me, now I get puppy pee-pee?”
“I think I’m still wearing it.”
Santa snorted. “Yeah, you’ve got some bird poop. Big whoop. I got a bath! It’s soaked right through to my skin.”
“Yuck!”
“You’re telling me.”
Barry popped some aspirin with the remains of his soda. “I’m going home and having a hot bath.”
“That sounds like a good idea,” I said.
Santa grunted. “I’m going home and having a cold brewski.”
“That sounds like a good idea, too.”
“What are you going to do?” Barry asked.
“I’m thinking of sautéing a few pounds of onions.”
Barry and Santa exchanged looks.
“There you are!” K. bounced up to me, beaming.
I looked at him. “Why are you happy? You’re empty-handed.”
He waved a finger at me. “No, no, no! All purchased and packed. We’ll be lucky if there’s room for us in your van!”
“Where’s Trixie?”
“She’s helping Miriam pick up the grill.”
“With Vito?”
He shook his head. “No. The heat’s on. He’s trying to buy Miriam’s present, now that she’s distracted. Really, I’ve never seen anything like it – she’s like glue!”
I quickly introduced K. to Barry and Carmine, aka Santa, before we all departed.
I took off my vest, folded it and put it inside a shopping bag. I’d have to deal with the mess myself later. K. held my coat open for me.
“Thanks.”
“Sure.” K. sniffed and made a face. “Oh, we need to get you home. You’re ripe.”
We traipsed across the mall and headed toward the loading area. Trixie and Miriam were standing just inside the entrance, waiting for us.
“Where’s Vito?” Miriam asked. “I thought he was with you?”
“He’ll be along shortly. He had a little personal errand,” K. explained.
“Oh, for heaven’s sakes, why didn’t you just say he went to the Men’s Room?” Miriam pulled her gloves off and thrust them in her pockets. We stared at her blankly.
A few moments later, Vito made his way toward us – sans shopping bag.
“Weren’t you successful?” K. whispered.
Vito patted the inside of his coat. “Very.”
K. and I exchanged glances. You never know with Vito.
We climbed into the van, and K. immediately began a rousing chorus of “Deck the Halls.” “I’m not waiting around to see if the Doo Doo can be assuaged by Top 40 Christmas carols. I’m freezing!”
“Ditto that!” Trixie agreed.
We trekked back across town with our bargains packed solidly around Vito’s grill.
>
Halfway home, Miriam waved her hand in front of her face. “Oh, pew! What is that?”
“I don’t know. But it don’t smell good.” Vito rolled down the window.
Trixie held her nose. “Amish fertilizer?”
K. swirled around. “No, it’s not Amish fertilizer. It’s Mina. And opening windows isn’t going to help. Besides, it’s freezing!”
Vito reluctantly rolled the window back up. “This smells too bad to be just one person. Sorry, Toots.”
I hung my head, suffused in the scent of eau de malodorant.
Eventually we slid up my driveway and bailed out quickly. We were all gasping after holding our collective breath for several miles. “Hey, Mina, I thought you told me you got the van cleaned, after that last time with all the dog poop?”
I sniffed inside the van and made a face. “I did. But it sure seems like it came back.”
K. and Vito unloaded the grill and set it down. Vito looked around the van. “Well, at least this time there’s no flies.”
Am I lucky, or what?
“I’m a little disappointed with my buddy’s work, if this is the case. I’ll take a look at it tomorrow, if you want. Okay Toots?”
“Sure. I’ll leave her parked here for you.” I waved my hand vigorously in front of my face and shut the door quickly.
K. helped Vito ferry the grill to his front porch.
“Thank you so very much!” Miriam squealed with delight.
Trixie and I hauled the rest inside my house.
Vinnie sat purposefully inside the front hallway, waiting for his dinner. That is, he sat quite still until he saw my elf shoe covers that I forgot to remove. He dove at my right foot and gnawed away.
“Hey, cut it out! I mean it!” I shook my leg but he hung on with renewed fervor.
“Geez, good thing you’re not wearing sandals,” Trixie said.
“Ha, ha. Gimme a hand here, will you?”
“Not on your life. I don’t put my fingers near fangs.”
Vinnie growled.
I flapped my arms. “Just go into the kitchen, and open up a can of cat food. That should get his attention.”
No sooner did Trixie crack open the can than Vinnie bolted down the hallway for all he was worth. I examined my bootie: it unfortunately complimented my vest. It was covered in slobber and tooth marks. I quickly removed the shoe covers and tossed them on a shelf in the coat closet, far, far away from feline fangs.
“Hey! Get down! Leave me alone!”