Crusoe, the Worldly Wiener Dog

by Ryan Beauchesne

  “Where are they?” Oakley asked. “It’s almost lunchtime and I’m starving.”

  “C’mon,” I said. “I have a plan.”

  We scurried away into some bushes where I pulled out two costumes. “We’ll pretend we’re black bears and go raid a picnic.”

  So, spotting some carefree picnickers over yonder, we made our approach quietly from behind.

  “Alright, on my mark we’ll rush in and scare them away,” I whispered.

  Oakley was licking his chops in eagerness. “Got it! I’ll go straight for their ankles while you bite their faces off!”

  “What? No-no, we’re just scaring them away, not attacking them.”

  “Oh, okay. . . .” He seemed almost disappointed.

  I gave the word and we scampered over to them. They were frightened at first, but then to my dismay began commenting on how heckin’ cute we were! I’d been insulted enough times that day! So, I gave Oakley the order to go for the ankles.

  Luckily, they ran away when they saw Oakley’s gaping chompers, leaving the whole basket to us!

  Oakley then went for the sandwich. “Wait a minute.” He stopped. “This is whole wheat bread. I hate whole wheat bread. And the crust is still on it! Disgusting. I’m not eating this.”

  It was good enough for me, though, so I ate the whole sandwich myself, and just as I finished, the parents showed up. In another stroke of luck for Oakley, they had brought him a donut!

  “What, no icing? No glaze? No sprinkles? This is pretty much a donut-shaped loaf of whole wheat bread!” he remarked, ungratefully. “But . . . since there’s no crust, I guess it’ll do.”

  Keep paddlin’,Crusoe

  “If you could please try to be quiet while you get ready for work, that’d be great. . . .”

  “Me and Mum in Quebec city, probably the most European-like city in North America!”

  Dr. Crusoe: Oakley Goes to the Dentist

  Shortly after returning from the Smokies, somebody noticed that Oakley had chipped a tooth. Nobody saw it happen, but it was clear what transpired. With shards of threads still wrapped around the base of the tooth, it was obvious that Oakley had been tearing apart a toy (probably one of mine) when he likely pulled too hard and snapped his tooth.

  “What should I do about it?” Oakley asked, worried his famously cute looks could be in jeopardy.

  “You should go to the dentist, you probably need a bridge, or perhaps a bonded prosthesis double axel salchow.”

  “A what?” he asked.

  “Oh, sorry,” I replied. “I have a habit of employing dental jargon a little too flippantly sometimes.”

  “Wait—you’re a dentist?”

  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  So, a few days later I was pleased to see Oakley show up at the office.

  “Good morning, Oakley,” I said, as he hopped up onto the chair. “Just to be upfront, today’s appointment will probably cost you a year’s worth of mortgage payments, but don’t worry, it’ll totally be worth it once you have your full smile back again.”

  Oakley looked a little perplexed. “But I don’t have a mortgage.”

  “Well, I would recommend you not get one for at least a year then.”

  While Oakley was still deep in thought over what a mortgage was, I asked him to lie on his back so I could take a quick peek in his mouth.

  “Will this hurt at all?” he asked.

  “Financially or psychologically?” I replied in question. Oakley looked even more confused. You see, the key to being a dentist is being very vague on pain expectations.

  “What is that thing?” Oakley said as I pulled out my first tool.

  “This is just a mirror.”

  “For what?”

  “Oh, it’s not for you. It’s my selfie mirror to ensure I’m still as sexy as usual.” Then I pulled out another instrument.

  “And what is that sharp pointy thing?” Oakley shouted, wide-eyed and shaky-voiced.

  “Oh this?” I asked. “I just call it ‘the sharp pointy thing.’ Now open wide and hold very still. I don’t have opposable thumbs and I have to pay extra malpractice insurance for that, so I don’t want any mishaps here. . . .”

  Oakley was wriggling like a piece of cooked spaghetti, and every time he opened his mouth, he’d close it again in trepidation. So, I reached into my drawer and stuffed one of my tennis balls in his gob.

  With a bit of mental relief in having a ball in his mouth, he allowed me to peep around without trouble.

  “Well, the good news is no cavities,” I said after completing my inspection. “You have gingivitis though, so I would recommend brush—”

  Oakley cut me off. “Gingivitis?! OMG, what is that?? Please don’t say it’s an elevated form of Hamster Fever, I’m still on meds for that! Am I going to die?? How long do I have???”

  “I’d give you about three weeks. . . .” I said solemnly.

  Oakley looked as if he’d seen a ghost, the ball dropping from his mouth and rolling away.

  “Just kidding.” I laughed. “You’ll be fine, just brush more often. Now, we’re going to take a look at fixing that tooth of yours. I just need to go change into my surgical scrubs, I’ll be right back.”

  When I hopped back up onto the chair, Oakley once again was horror-struck.

  “Why does your nametag say The Punisher?!” he demanded.

  “Oh.” I looked down at my tag and chuckled. “Haha, whoops. That’s my cosplay nametag for Tuesday nights . . . I must have mixed them up. Don’t worry about that.”

  I had Oakley lie on his back again. I then pulled out something with a long cord attached to it.

  Oakley gaped at me from below, and I answered his question before he could ask it. “This is an industrial-level diamond drill that can cut through any material on earth. It hurts a little more than a typical dental drill and a little less than a tile saw. So, just hold still and I’ll begin—”

  Yet, before I had even finished my sentence Oakley had passed out from fear—which in fact was my whole intention. I didn’t even need the drill for this procedure, but showing it to patients almost always knocks them out, which makes it so much easier to perform my work and saves me a ton of money on laughing gas.

  When Oakley finally awoke, I handed him the selfie mirror. “Look Oakley, you have a beautiful smile once again!”

  He stared at himself in disbelief. I couldn’t tell if he was thrilled or disappointed. Finally, he exclaimed, “Wow! I must get me one of these selfie mirrors! I’ve been missing so much! I’ve been looking at myself in the reflection of my water bowl this whole time, but this is great!”

  “Yes,” I replied dully. “I like mirrors, too, but how do you like your new tooth?”

  “Oh, I forgot!” he said. “It looks great, just like it did before. I think . . .”

  “Even better than before,” I said with a wink.

  “Can I keep the selfie mirror?” he asked.

  “Sure.”

  So, that wrapped up Oakley’s first visit to the dentist. He did great for his first time, but I think we should really all take a moment to admire my textbook example of a perfect tooth bridge salchow triple axel crown.

  Until next time . . .

  Keep brushin’,Crusoe

  “Can you beleef da dentith took out two of my toofth! I hope I don’t thpeak with a lithp now!”

  My Midlife Crisis

  By the time this book comes out, I’ll be almost 9 years old (October 28 is the date in case you’d like to send me presents). That’s 63 in human years, well over the hill. It doesn’t help when I look at Dad, who is only 30 and already wears grandpa-style house shoes, a plaid robe every morning (not always with something

  underneath), and generally prefers to hang on the couch with his dog than go out on Friday nights. So, I especially worry I’m on track to end up like him.

  Which is why I had to buy a fancy one-seater sports car; not to make myself feel better about anything, but to physically distance myself from
Dad. “Sorry, there’s only room for me. . . .”

  However, I have noticed some of the changes that are happening to me as I get older. Since I check the mirror so frequently, I am well aware of a few gray hairs developing on my chin, and my ears have a few of those random, extra-long, old-man hairs, which Dad wants to trim but Mum says are cute. Can’t I decide for myself?!

  So, I zoomed over to the pharmacy in my Ferrari and picked up some Just for Men hair color. However, I must have misread the package, for it was evidently some sort of monstrous afro growth formula!

  I better toss this out before Dad accidentally uses it himself—Mum already complains about his hairiness as it is!

  One day when Oakley came over, I was surprised and absolutely delighted to see he has gray hairs all over the top of his head and his muzzle! And he’s a year and a half younger! I took a guilty comfort in that, but I’m sure he’s never even noticed it himself!

  Anyway, you’re only as old as you feel, right?

  So, I guess I got the good genes on the hair side of things, but as you’ll later see, not in everything. . . .

  Keep growin’,Crusoe

  “There’s one in every family. . . .”

  “I’m knitting myself a hat. I think it’s going pretty well.” —Oakley

  Florida, USA

  I’ve been going to Florida since I was a pup. Nowadays, I spend one to two months there per year. It’s a nice warm escape when I need it; a regular ripe supply of squirrels, guaranteed sunshine, beautiful beaches, and of course, some great fishin’.

  My usual spot is a house owned by my Mum’s parents in the little town of Homosassa on the Gulf Coast.

  In the sun is how I spend 90% of my time. The other 10% is spent fishin’.

  We go out in the shallows of the Gulf, usually for redfish, or whatever else we can catch.

  The whole time I’m hanging over the side, tongue flopping down almost to the water. My excited squeals and whines are interminable to the point Mum and Dad say they’ll never take me again (but they always do).

  “How does that saying go again? ‘Sun’s out, buns wieners out’”?

  I also learn pretty quickly who is the most proficient fisherman aboard, because the order in which I observe and accompany you is based on how many fish you catch. It becomes a sort of unofficial competition among the humans to see who I will stick beside.

  Dad always gets offended that he is usually the last one I care to look at, even sticking beside Mum over him, but hey, this is fishing and I’ve got no time for wimpy feelings.

  As you all know well, when that rod starts bending and the line zips out with a fish on the hook, I’m the happiest, most excited pup in the world.

  Here we caught a little “ladyfish,” as they’re called. So appropriately, I gave her a kiss on the cheek, and put her back in—but not before giving her my number and telling her to tell all the other fish about how nice it is to be caught by Crusoe.

  It’s usually not longer than a couple hours on the boat before we bring in a big one, though!

  What a day! You can tell I had a blast by that smile on my face!

  One morning while in Florida, I had the opposite of a smile when I looked out the window and saw something terrible.

  “Just a little rain,” Dad had said. I grumbled something under my breath and walked away.

  “Alright, everybody smile.”

  Later that day, I couldn’t tell if he was serious or joking when he presented me his homemade umbrella rain suit.

  I was skeptical, yet was quite surprised to see it worked.

  However, the forecast kept predicting more rain for us, so eventually Dad asked if I’d like to go somewhere else. I wasn’t quite sure what he meant, but before I knew it we had packed up the car, grabbed the keys, and were on our way to . . . the Keys!

  “I know all the best fishin’ spots.”

  We rented a cool home on a canal leading out to the ocean.

  “How would you like to swim with the fishes instead of catching them for once?” Dad asked me the first morning.

  It was a peculiar notion, but I accepted, knowing that Key Largo offers some world-class diving.

  You perhaps didn’t know, but could have guessed, that I’m a fully (self)-certified PADI instructor. So, for all the readers out there, you can also consider this to be an official introductory course.

  • The number 1 rule of scuba diving is NOT to “keep breathing.” It is in fact, to “keep flexing.” Not to get too scientific, but when your muscles are constantly in an uber-tense state, it’s impossible for wimpy air bubbles to form in your veins and for your lungs to overinflate. Plus, it will help deter sharks and attract ladyfish.

  • Safety stops are wussy stops, and quick ascents are preferred if you can shoot out of the water like a dolphin.

  • Do not be fooled by the apparent cuteness of any Sharkwiener. They will bite your face off.

  • It is a customary joke to discreetly close your buddy’s air tank while under the water. Just wait until you see the hilarious expression on their face before you turn it back on.

  We arrived at the reef and descended into the depths. Everyone was so preoccupied with the beautiful fish and reef that no one seemed to get a picture of me underwater!

  But hey, I was preoccupied, too—especially with this shark I saw!

  Mum, Dad, and Uncle Jack, who between them have dived various places around the world, remarked that the diving here in Key Largo is truly amazing. The reef is one of the most pristine they’ve (we’ve) ever seen, which is due to the fact these waters have been a protected marine zone since 1960.

  The next day, we were off to spend one night in the iconic Key West, along the way stopping at the beautiful and dog-friendly Sombrero Beach.

  Unfortunately, I forgot my sombrero in Mexico, but I did have my shades!

  And YES, that is my TAIL, although I can see how you would be easily confused.

  However, my moment of tranquility was abruptly disturbed when I noticed some kids obnoxiously building sand castles just a ball’s throw away. Sand castles are not allowed, because they obviously resemble snowmen, which I despise.

  Disclaimer by Mum: Crusoe is NOT certified and doesnt know what the heck he’s talking about.

  *Tsk tsk*

  So, after a nice destructive morning on the beach, we were headed farther south along the single highway, leapfrogging from island to island down to Key West and the “Southernmost Point” in the USA.

  We spent the day visiting some museums, some of which even have viewing towers you can climb up for a neat wraparound view out and beyond. However, peering out with a pair of binoculars, I noticed something terrifying.

  “Mum, Dad!” I shouted. “Look, I see a marooned boat out in the shallows, and, oh my—it looks like they’re being circled by Sharkwiener!”

  “Did you have something to do with this?” Dad demanded harshly.

  “Of course, not!” I defended myself. “Geez, a guy sinks one ship by accident, and now EVERYTHING’S his fault?! What do I gotta do to catch a break around here?!”

  Dad regarded me suspiciously.

  Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get going before he starts asking more questions.

  Keep ladyfishin’,Crusoe

  Going Back to My Roots (in the Woods!)

  I’ve lived in the city for the last five years or so, after having grown up in the country. I’ve come to enjoy much about the city, like chasing the fat squirrels in the park, digging in the community garden box, sniffing out the fox living under the equipment shed, and barking at all the cute ladies who pass under my balcony. Yet, it was also missing some things. For one, I didn’t have a true backyard of my own.

  So, with a new home in sight, we sold our condo. I insisted that Mum and Dad let me be the realtor.

  Not sure why, but I got a lot of disturbing calls in that process.

  We arrived at the new house, and it was breathtaking! It was the perfect country home I�
�d been looking for; nothing but the smells and sounds of nature all around, encircled by forest with chipmunks darting in and out of blackberry bushes, a rustic gravel driveway. . . .

  Until I realized, “What the heck guys?! No yard? No grass?”

  “The previous owners didn’t believe in having a yard,” Dad replied. “Whatever that means. . . . But don’t worry, I’ll build you one.”

  That was disappointing to say the least, but I didn’t have time to dwell—we had boxes to move.

  “Oakley, lift with your legs, not your back!”

  “But our legs aren’t long enough!” Oakley retorted.

  Realizing we were not tall enough to lift the boxes off the ground, I devised a better plan of cutting holes in the sides and placing the weight on our shoulders to help slide the box along the floor. I got the preferred position in front.

  “Crusoe, did you fart?” came Oakley’s muffled voice from inside the box.

  “Uh, don’t think so . . . ,” I lied with a smirk. “I think there’s some Febreze back there, though.”

  We were all happy and excited to have just moved into our new home, back in the country. Yet, there was something heavy weighing on all our minds. . . .

  Keep sellin’,Crusoe

  “Just had a bath and now I’m as clean as a wiener whistle.”

  “Ball hockey anyone?”

  Surgery & Recovery

  There’s no better way to ground your ego than having to learn to walk again.

  That’s what happened to me in August 2016, just four days after moving into our new home. I’m blaming Dad for making me carry all those heavy boxes.