September 11, When Mrs. G speaks….

       There are times being a dog sure beats being a human.  Now, is one of those times.  Hurricanes keep flitting around Florida like bees surrounding an orange tree in bloom.  I don’t worry about it, but my human sure does.  The old Geezer Gator is so distracted and worried by the threatening weather he has to concentrate to be sure he remembers the difference between the bathroom and bedroom.  Believe me, that’s critical. 
       It all starts with his obsession to get the latest info on the storms roaring over the seas like rouge pirates.  When the TV meteorologists start hyping “Anabelle, Bertram, or Collumbumba,” the old boy is as hooked as a hypochondriac listening to a snake oil salesman.  It’s kind of cool to watch the codger become a Zombie, losing control of form, fit, and function as the satellite signal seizes control of his brain.  When his feet hit the floor in the morning during storm season, they direct him to the television and the Weather Channel before he’s half awake.  Geezer relinquishes cognitive function coinciding with his pressing the TV remote’s power button.
      The weather guessers take total control of what’s left of his decrepit mind.  When the Geezer is in this state, Mrs. Gator amuses herself by holding one-sided conversations like she did this morning.  She saw the tell-tale glazed look in the Geezer’s eyes.  She asked, “Is the storm still headed for Texas?”
       “That’s strange, I thought it changed direction and its headed for Moscow.”
       Mrs. Gator giggled.  “Do you think we’ll have enough wind to fly a parachute to Disney World?”
       Mrs. Gator put her hands on hips and shook her head.  She asked in her sweetest tone, “Dear, what would you like in your coffee this morning?  Whip Cream?  Sugar?  Litter from the cat box?  Rat poison?”
       She looked at Geezer disgustedly.  A twinkle lit in her eyes and she nodded as if approving some thought.  “Do you want your eggs burnt or raw?”
       “I’ll just keep them raw.  How about some chocolate milk and wine in them?”
       “Should I add some onion salt, Tabasco, and catsup?”
       Mrs. Gator walked to the kitchen, a gleam still housed in her pupils.  As she shuttled between the refrigerator, cabinets, and the counter top, she asked, “Honey, I’m going to buy a pink werewolf for Sandy to play with.  That okay?”
       I whimpered and barked trying to recall the Geezer from Never-Never Land.  No luck.  The cone of uncertainty had him mesmerized.
       “And Dear, while I’m out I’m going to have lunch with Elvis – and a little sex.  Do you mind?”  I heard Mrs. Gator’s footsteps as she returned with a tray.
       “Well, I’m glad you’re concerned about that.” She placed the tray on the Geezer’s lap.  In the tray’s center was a large mixing bowl with a straw protruding from the concoction it contained.  A coffee cup sat off to one side.  “Here’s breakfast.”
       The Geezer’s focus remained on the Tube.  His peripheral vision caught the straw’s image and he groped for it.  His eyes stayed fixed on the TV.
       Mrs. Gator purred and prompted, “Tell me how you like it.”
       “Uh-huh.”  The Geezer inserted the straw into his mouth and took a long, strong swig.  His eyes widened and forgot the Weather Channel as his taste buds started a civil war with his sense of sight and sound.  He expelled the vile mixture more vehemently than his intake as the liquid exploded from his nose and mouth.  “Shit!  What is that?”  The old Geezer’s shocked expression and tongue brought a smile to Mrs. Gator’s face.
       “Raw eggs and all the things you said you wanted in them when I offered.  I kind of thought they would taste like that.”  Mrs. Gator’s raised eyebrows told the Geezer his comments should be judicious.  I couldn’t help smiling and my tail wouldn’t stop wagging.  The Geezer looked like a circus clown.
       “You mean–”
       “Yes, just what you called it.”  Mrs Gator had that, I dare you to complain look and the Geezer always yields to that one. 
       Geezer grabbed the coffee cup and gulped down several large swallows trying to rinse the taste from his mouth.
       Mrs. Gator got a sly look on her face.  “You should be glad I didn’t put the stuff in the coffee you asked for.”
       “Gee, thanks.”  The Geezer was half serious and half sarcastic.
       “Whether or not you should thank me depends…”
       The Geezer looked at Mrs. Gator suspiciously.  “Depends on what?”
       A wicked grin came on her face as she asked, “Did you flush this morning?”


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