One day while lounging with my brother Oakley, I asked him if he’d ever been to see a medical doctor before. If he were ever to travel with me, I would need to make sure he has a clean bill of health!
He told me he’d only ever been to see a “vet,” so of course I insisted he come see me, an actual doctor.
“So, Oakley, if you wouldn’t mind diverting your attention from the floor, I would like to start with a few questions on your medical history. I would also like to mention that the tools you see in front of me are top-of-the-line medical instruments, so don’t be fooled by their cheap plastic appearance.”
“How would you describe your current general state of health?” I began.
“I think I smell the remnants of a croissant here on the floor. . . .” Oakley said.
I rolled my eyes. “Oakley, answer the question—what is your state of health?”
Oakley thought long and hard, repeating under his breath, “State . . . state . . . state.” Then finally he blurted, “What is . . . Utah?”
My eyes narrowed in a cold, disdaining look.
“What? We’re playing Jeopardy! are we not? But please, no more geography questions, I haven’t traveled as much as you,” he added.
“I just want to know how you consider your overall health to be!” I repeated, my patience waning.
“What is . . . very healthy?” Oakley replied.
I sighed, and decided to move on. “Okay, I’m going to run through a few checks on you,” I said. “First we’ll check your heartbeat.” I told Oakley to keep the metal end pressed against his chest as I looked away to concentrate on what I was hearing. . . .
This was a very peculiar heartbeat indeed. Heck, it sounded more like the tractor I drove on the farm than a heartbeat.
“Next up is the earsnifferscope.”
Oh dear, this was very distressing. “Oakley, your ear smells like hamster.”
“What does that mean?” he asked fretfully.
Ignoring his question, I used a stick as a tongue depressor to inspect Oakley’s mouth. “I’d probably recommend a follow-up visit to the dentist at some point, but for now everything looks fine.” I looked at the clock. “Almost done. Last thing, I’ll just get your weight on this scale.” It took a moment for me to see the number, but when I did . . .
Oh dear. “Oakley, it appears you could afford to lose a pound or two, so I would like to prescribe an exercise program,” I said.
“What about my diagnosis?” Oakley asked.
“Well, there’s a very real possibility you have Level 4 Hamster Fever, a dangerous condition originating from the interior jungles of St. Lucia. No idea how that reached you here, but I’ll give you some meds for it. In the meantime, I have the perfect workout program for you.”
“What’s that?” he asked.
“Cutting the grass. It does wonders for the buns.”
“I guess I could do that,” he replied.
However, what I didn’t tell him was that I rigged up the height of the lawnmower extra-high.
Keep prescribin’,Dr. Crusoe
“Hey Crusoe, I’ve been cutting the grass for hours but it doesn’t seem to be getting any shorter??”
“Bro, be cool, be cool. I think they’re checking us out.”
Taormina, Sicily, Italy
“Why on Earth would we hike up an active volcano? I mean, why on Mars, because I’m pretty sure we’re now on Mars.”
When they call Sicily the island in the sun, they sure as heck aren’t kidding. This place is scorching, sometimes reminding me of Africa (I’ve never been, but can imagine).
Yet, it’s incredibly beautiful, especially with a view of one of the world’s most active volcanos right from your villa!
“Are you sure we should be staying this close to an active volcano?” I asked Mum and Dad.
“Good question,” Dad replied, unsure himself.
And you know what they say about escaping volcanic eruptions—you don’t. The only tip I can give you is that when you’re about to be inevitably engulfed by a pyroclastic flow, throw a killer pose so you’ll be frozen in time in the most memorable way possible.
(Not exactly how I envisioned my own statue, but I’d take it.)
As you can imagine, I wasn’t too keen when Mum and Dad said we’d be going up the volcano. . . .
Why on earth would we do that?
Closer to the top, Dad carried me in my sling bag. Here we are at the crater, and just behind us is a gaping hole to the planet’s rumbling underbelly.
Why the heck I have trusted my life around the shoulder of someone as clumsy as Dad is a major question I’m asking myself right now. . . .
Back in Taormina, I just had to try the famous Sicilian dessert; the cannoli. So, we visited Roberto’s Loboratorio Pasticceria where Roberto himself gave me an up-close demonstration of how he makes each cannoli on the spot.
I generously offered to stick around for the afternoon to help him taste-test each one before serving to customers, which he quickly accepted.
Yet, I never even got past taste-testing the first one because my verdict was always that, “Hmm, this one needs more filling. . . .”
Walking down the cute narrow streets, adorned with potted plants and baroque style balconies and arched street lamps, we came upon an archaeological wonder—the Greek theater!
“That’s better. Now let me check it again—*lick lick lick*—nope, needs more filling still.”
“Leave the gun, take the cookie.”*
*Actual quote from “The Dogfather”
To think that this was built by people thousands of years ago and still to this day hosts theatrical performances is nothing short of incredible.
What was even more incredible was my performance in the lead role as the Greek ruler, Cruxander the Great, in that evening’s play. Any role as ruler, king, spoiled prince, etc., comes quite naturally to me.
Mum and Dad even got well-fitting background roles themselves as lowly servant and stable donkey, respectively.
We also went to the notorious Bar Vitelli; shooting location of The Godfather. You might be wondering why there wasn’t a crowd of people ogling at my cuteness all around, but here everybody knows, you don’t stare at the doxie mafia for too long. I know a couple ruff pups who’ll chew your ankles up and dig you a hole real quick.
(Mainly just because they love diggin’.)
Sicily is beautiful, and in fact, Italy as a whole is one place we’d return to again and again.
Keep starin’ (and you’ll see what happens!),Crusoe
“Diggin’? Me? Dunno what you’re talking about. . . .”
Chicago, Illinois, USA
Chicago is well known for its hot dogs of course, but also its architecture. On the river tour, the guide pointed out several interesting buildings, including one with a gold-plated spire and one with an airship docking station atop of it (whatever that is). However, these old-world luxuries reminded me that I should check on the shipping status of my marble block.
As a joke, I screamed, “OMG, WIENERZILLA is attacking the city!”
Most people just laughed, but I did manage to scare the HECK out of a few Japanese tourists standing nearby. One of them might’ve even had a heart attack.
As a doctor, I better go take a look.
Keep prankin’,Crusoe
Tequila Farm, Yucatán, Mexico
Although I wasn’t staying in the typical tequila producing regions of Mexico, I needed to visit the only farm in the area, the Mayapan Traditional Agave Distillery.
Since I hadn’t indulged in alcohol since 1999, I was admittedly quite ignorant on the subject of tequila production, so I reluctantly agreed to follow along behind the guide for once.
“This just looks like a bunch of desert cactus,” I remarked once we got there. “Where’s all the tequila trees?”
“It comes from the agave plant, which is commonly misinterpreted as being a cactus,” said the guide. “BUT, the parent plant family of th
e agave are called ‘succulents,’ which cacti are also a part of.”
I ran through the relationship in my head. Same parents as cacti . . . means it’s a sibling of cacti . . . means . . . it’s a cactus.
“That’s not—”
But it was too late. Once a dachshund makes up their mind about something, not even the most convincing tour guide can change it.
I was clearly testing his patience, which I delighted in, given my resentment of not being the leader that day.
I plopped down on the ground with a big smile on my face as he continued his explanation on how the agave plant goes from harvest to fermentation into alcohol.
Fermented cactus juice, I thought. Even better.
Then it was time to head inside to try some for ourselves. Yay.
So, they gave me a small sampler shot. I was about to be honest and tell the man that it tasted a little better than gasoline and a little worse than what I imagined fermented cactus juice would taste like, but I couldn’t offend the hardworking man, so instead I replied, “Sign me up for the circus! Because I can breathe fire!”
He laughed and nodded, saying “Good, good,” as if that was the desired outcome.
He went on to explain that a true connoisseur knows how to enjoy tequila straight, but that it is a (harshly) acquired taste mastered by few.
So, I told him I’d take a bottle of his finest. Not sure there’s enough years left in me (or the universe) to ever be able to fully appreciate it, but hey, I’m sure Oakley will love the idea of breathing fire for his Game of Thrones cosplays!
Keep testin’,Crusoe
Disclaimer by Mum: Crusoe did not actually taste tequila.
“In the T-dot. That’s Toronto, where Oakley’s from!”
“Ready for my first visit to the airplane station!” —Oakley
Smoky Mountains, Tennessee, USA
“It’s called an airport, Oakley, and don’t worry, it’s not as scary as you think,” I told him a couple of nights before we were supposed to fly out together.
It was to be his first trip out of the country and his first time on a plane. As he lives with the parents of my parents, I would only be arriving at his house the day before our flight, so I had to text him a list of what to bring. Yet, I should have known it wouldn’t be so easy.
“Oakley, how old is this suitcase?” I exclaimed as I laid eyes on the antiquated piece of luggage.
“Uh . . . what is . . . 1984?”
“Oakley, don’t start with your Jeopardy! nonsense. Just tell people it’s retro so you can pass it off as fashionable. Now, what have you got in here anyway? It won’t close properly.”
“Yes, I figured you could help me fit it all, but I assure you, everything is absolutely essential.”
“And a whole box of Fudgee-Os, and donuts?!”
I began to rifle through the contents. ”Your iFetch machine?” I asked. “Why don’t you just bring a ball and have the humans throw it for you?”
Oakley seemed perplexed. “I guess that could work.”
“And only a single pair of undies?”
His eyes lit up with his bright idea. “I switch them inside out every day, so I’m never actually wearing the same pair I wore yesterday! Pretty smart, huh?”
I just shook my head.
“And what if they don’t have donuts where we’re going?” Oakley demanded.
“Oakley, we’re going to the United States. Trust me, there are TOO many donuts and cookies there.”
“Oh good!” Oakley replied, gleefully. “Then I can eat a couple of these now.”
The next morning, we arrived at the airport bright and early. Oakley, who had been feeling optimistic the night before, was now overwhelmed, especially when we arrived at the beeping, hectic security area. “Don’t worry, little bro,” I reassured him. “It’s just a simple security process.”
As we began to go through, Oakley’s mom placed him on a tray, which, unbeknownst to her, began to roll along the bars. Oakley gazed around, trying to figure out what was happening, but when he spotted the trays disappearing into the foreboding metal box up ahead, he exclaimed in horror, “OMG, Crusoe, I’m on some sort of factory conveyor belt!”
“It’s okay, Oakley!” I shouted, but my reassurances were lost in the clamor.
“Oakley! Can you keep that tongue rolled up? You’re stinkin’ up our aisle.”
Oakley was really panicking now, almost in tears. “CRUSOE! HELP! I don’t want to be made into packaged hot dogs! PLEASE!” But then, his mom swept him up just in time.
“Oakley! Relax, it’s okay, this isn’t a hot dog factory. The machine just scans your belongings,” I said when I caught up to him.
Once aboard the plane, Oakley was looking nervously around in anticipation of takeoff with his paws and tongue hanging about, huffing his breath all over the place.
I was worried he would have a panic attack during the flight, but he did surprisingly well, and when we finally landed he squeezed his face out of the bag, looked at me, and said, “Crusoe, we made it! I’m alive! Did you see me? I did it! I fly on planes now!”
We were both contented to be on firm ground again, but even more so to finally arrive at our cabin in the woods. Now this is a doggone vacation spot!
“So, what do you want to do?” Oakley asked.
“How about river rafting?” I replied.
“That sounds much too exciting for me. I couldn’t do anything like that. . . .”
“Oakley, don’t you remember? You fly on PLANES now.”
“That is true. . . .” he said, pondering it over.
So, we visited Smoky Mountain Outdoors, where we were given special permission to come aboard, under the one condition that we brought our own helmets.
“Now, first rule, always keep your paws inside the boat,” began the guide on the bus ride over to the launch point. “Second rule, do not pee in the boat. Third rule, no snacking in the boat.”
Oakley shot me an uneasy glance. “I hope this isn’t too exciting or scary, because you know how I have a bit of a loose bladder sometimes. . . .”
I brushed it off and told him he’d be fine.
Before Oakley could voice any more concerns, we had launched the raft and were swiftly floating down the river. I stood at confident command plotting our course ahead as Oakley soaked it all in from every angle.
I noticed a few rocks protruding up ahead, so I looked back at the guide, or rather, the lowly rower of my ship, and told him, “Keep fast to starboard side, and we’ll miss those rocks popping up!”
Oakley looked happily around at me, tongue flopping to the side, “Did somebody say Starburst and Pop Rocks?!”
“Oakley, no time for candy right now, we have a ship to steer!”
“I thought this was a raft?”
“Yes, it is, but we’re pretending.”
“Can we pretend to have candy, too, then?”
I sighed. “Sure,” and I heard him whisper a self-congratulatory “Yesss” to himself.
I felt proud of my seamanship as we cleared the rocks—that is, until we spotted the first signs of whitewater up ahead. “Okay watch out!” yelled the rower in the back. “You might get a little wet here!”
Wet!? Nobody told me I would get wet!! I quickly retreated to Mum’s arms as we toppled over the rapids. A surge of water swept over the bow, splashing Oakley in the face, and yet he still smiled like a doofus the whole time.
*Phew* it was over, but I couldn’t help being a little ashamed of my reaction.
“I HAVE TO GO TO THE BATHROOM!” Oakley shouted randomly. So, his mom promptly placed him over the side.
“Much better,” he said. “Hey, that wasn’t so bad after all!”
I just kept quiet.
“Let’s go to The Island,” I said afterward. The Island is in the center of town and is like a little theme park with rides and candy—
“Candy? For real this time?” Oakley blurted. “Let’s go! I haven’t even had a single donut ye
t!”
So, there we were, in the heart of The Island, ready for some fun.
“I think you’ll love the Ferris wheel!” Mum said. “It’s really exciting.”
I should have known it was a trap, though. All she wanted to do was smooch me at the top like a high school boyfriend.
I pressed the red emergency button to end the ride.
Aboard a little choo-choo train we went, taking us on a little sight-seeing tour around The Island.
“At the Titanic Museum Attraction in Pigeon Forge. ‘Paint me like one of your French poodles.’”
“Still haven’t seen any donuts!” Oakley called back to me. “Are you sure we’re still in the USA?”
“Don’t worry,” I said. “You’ll find some soon enough.”
That’s when I noticed a truly awesome ride I just had to go on! “Stop the train!” I yelled, and we skipped over to the ride, ducking under the fence and hopping up onto the seat.
The bar clicked into place. I was tongue-out excited, whilst Oakley was quietly unsure. “This feels an awful lot like the airplane.” he said skeptically. “Except I feel a lot less secure in here. . . .”
“More like a rocket ship,” I said, to which Oakley’s expression squished into that of a worried prune. However, the lift attendant came running over to us just before the ride was about to start, telling us we couldn’t ride it because—get this, we’re too short!
Well, anyone who knows dachshunds knows that for such “small” dogs, we can make a “big” scene, which is what I did.
However, as Mum and Dad weren’t expecting us to be done already, they were nowhere to be found.
Crusoe, the Worldly Wiener Dog Page 4