Zombie, MN Read online

  I watched E.M. out of the living room window. She made her way back to her house but stopped, just short of going in. It appeared that she was closely examining the siding on her house, because she just stood there, motionless and as still as a statue, cookie sheet in hand. I was just about to bark out in alarm, but the same hairy spider made its appearance again. Was it stalking me? I retreated to my safe place, my pillow, where I spent the afternoon reading The Art of War, a book that can apply to large and very persistent hairy spiders.

  6:00 post meridiem

  E.M. is still examining her siding. She has been joined by two other white haired ladies and all three of them are standing there, fixed in place. I wonder if siding watching passes as some sort of fun activity in northern Minnesota. I will have to read up on that later. It’s time for dinner or what the girl likes to call, “Din Din.”

  Day 3: Setting up Shop

  0645 ante meridiem

  I met E.M.'s cat last night. I was let out into the small backyard to make my final “business” stop of the night, and I came across the frizzy feline with the large, blank eyes, digging his latrine in my yard of all places. His odd smell reminded me of E.M.

  In greeting each other, we followed the most widely accepted introductory protocol that is out there today. However, the strange thing was that at the conclusion of our greeting, the cat continued to repeat the procedure, over and over, reminding me very much of the broken jazz record that the guy likes to play when dinner guests come over.

  When I asked if there was a convenient time that I could visit his yard, the cat just ignored me and failed to issue an invitation, thus violating the most fundamental aspect of “business law.”

  This morning, I will try to convince the guy to give me his cell phone. I have decided that I am going to call the neighbor cat and give him another chance to reciprocate. Perhaps I might invite him over to my office, where we can talk about the intricacies of “business law.” If he fails to recognize my hint, I will reason with him. I will logically and ever so calmly explain that without a reciprocal invitation to visit his yard, he can no longer visit mine.

  If he resists, I will then present the negative aspects that arise from conducting his personal business on another’s property, especially without an invitation to do so.

  The first negative aspect is the travel time. Would it not just be quicker and easier to use his own lawn? I am certain that he loses time each day. For evidence, I will produce for him a time-weighted average. I can personally guarantee him that he will save a week over his entire lifetime if he stops making his way to my lawn.

  The second is lack of dignity. One can never look dignified while scratching around in another's yard and as such, should always be discreet while “working,” never in the direct view of others, which is difficult to do when in a neighbor's yard.

  And the last negative aspect is the sensitive matter of ecological-species power-relations. As the dog in the equation, I feel that I have the ability to dictate, no..., I mean the right to dictate yard protocol, especially when it concerns my yard.

  When I came back in I was incensed. The girl, who is ever monitoring me, instantly took note of my state and put me in the playpen. How absurd! Before I could object, she gave me a nervous pill wrapped in a piece of Bleu des Causses, a fine French cheese. “Just in case,” she explained to the guy. It all became blurry after that.

  I am now back in the yard this morning and have not seen hide nor hair of the cat. Good. I have not yet had the opportunity to produce my time-weighted average for him.

  10:00 ante meridiem

  The guy decided that I should accompany him around town while he sets up certain necessities like postal service, utilities, and of course, internet service. “Try to take him inside,” the girl instructed, “You know how he gets when he's left by himself in a strange place.” The guy nodded, “You're right. Do you think he needs another pill today?”

  I shook my head no; I wanted to be alert as I still had the cat business to deal with.

  “No, I think he'll be okay. The pill I gave him last night seemed to calm him down.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief. Alert and ever present. I'll be waiting for you neighbor cat whose name I don't even know yet!

  10:30 ante meridiem

  The post office was smaller than my sitting room back at my Chicago house. The postal worker at the front counter kept laughing and saying “You betcha.” Apparently he’s the gambling sort, but the nature of the wager was unclear.

  10:38 ante meridiem

  We drove over to the utilities department and we passed a cow along the way. After taking care of that pesky little detail with the utilities, the guy commented on the way back to the car, “Bippy, I think I should've brought one of my suits from Chicago up here with me. It seems like a lot of guys around town are wearing them.” What he failed to mention was that all the suits were wearing mirrored sunglasses too.

  10:50 ante meridiem

  We drove across town to set up our phone and internet service. Since I was riding backseat shotgun, I decided to stick my head out the window and people watch. I was stuck in this town for the next year, so I surmised I might as well get a good lay of the land and the people that lived here.

  One thing that struck me was the way Minnesotans walked. Most of them slouched as they shuffled about town, making their way into the various shops that lined Main Street. I tisked out loud. No way would they ever make it in a metropolis like Chicago; they moved way too slow.

  11:10 ante meridiem

  I had made a mental checklist of what I wanted in an internet service package. Ultra high-speed fiber optic cable and unlimited downloads. What we left with was 56K dialup, limited to one gigabyte download per month. Ha! I doubt we’d download that much in a year at that speed. The guy seemed pleased and didn’t notice the dark cloud that passed over my face. How was I ever going to learn to make pickled herring?

  11:30 ante meridiem

  Back at home the girl was on the front lawn, talking to an incredibly rotund man who looked to be in his early thirties. “Meet Ellen Margaret's grandson, Robbie. He's our neighbor too.” Just great I thought. E.M. not only has a very inconsiderate cat living with her, she also has a grandson. I wondered if Robbie also made uninvited trips over to our yard.

  The guy shook hands with the large man who obviously made it a priority not to miss any meals. I stayed back a bit, especially when I got a whiff of that strange chemical smell again. He had that blank Minnesotan stare, but he was able to wax eloquent about fishing and continued long after the girl excused herself and I followed suit. The guy was stuck there, listening to him for over an hour. Serves him right. That's what he gets for signing up for a vintage internet service package.

  Day 4: Peepaw

  11:00 ante meridiem

  After we ate breakfast, we all piled in the vehicle and went out to visit Peepaw Johnson, the guy's ninety-year old grandfather, who lives on an old farm out in the country, about twenty minutes away from our rental house.

  Before we left, the girl wondered aloud if she should give me a pill wrapped up in cheese just in case my nerves “got the best of me today.” The guy resisted, “He'll do fine. Besides, Peepaw loves dogs.” The girl still looked unsure, “Don't forget, he's emotional; and he's never met Peepaw.”

  In the end, I didn't have to take a pill, although the girl did bring one, just in case I needed it while out at the farm. She brought along a cheese slice too; or what I would more accurately describe as a piece of cheese product. It was something she picked up during a trip to the local market. Until then, I didn't even know that cheese came wrapped in individual plastic sheets.

  I worried what might happen if I needed that pill since I didn't think that I would be able to get that faux-cheese past my discerning taste buds. Oh well, I would cross that bridge if I had to.

  11:30 ante meridiem

  The mythical farm. The guy always talked about it in such glowing terms t
hat I thought he was making it up. I guess he was telling the truth. There was a field, woods, and a pasture. There was an old white farmhouse, with green-shuttered windows and a large, dilapidated barn. A few other buildings were scattered about – the bunkhouse, the grainery, the old chicken coop, and the garage. There was a small pond about a hundred yards to the west of the house. The backend of an old blue truck was sticking out of the pond.

  The girl looked concerned, “Do you think we should let Bippy out? All this excitement might upset him. He's from the city after all.”

  The guy reached back and tussled my head, “You're going to be a real dog one day.”

  I narrowed my eyes and thought of some not so pleasant responses that I could ever so expertly hurl back at the guy, but just as I was readying some real good ones, the front door of the house opened and an extremely old man hobbled out with his cane.

  The guy and girl enthusiastically greeted him and then the girl came over and opened the door to let me out. I debated about taking Jody but in the end decided against it – the wily look in the old man's eyes made me wonder if she'd be safe.

  He hobbled quickly over to me, his arms wide open, “Is that you Bippy?” Such a quick charge for such an old man startled me and set me running to the safety of the car. Drat!! The door was already shut. Where to hide now?

  The girl came over and tried to calm me. “He's very emotional,” she explained. Apparently that answer did nothing to dissuade Peepaw from trying to pet me, which he did, much to my dismay. How cheeky!

  After all the introductions were made, and my heart rate returned to 85 BPM (my normal according to my vet), we all went inside only to have my heart rate rise again. The sour smell of sauerkraut and meat hung heavy and thick in the steamy air, and I was pretty sure that the meat wasn't fillet mignon.

  The guy and the girl tried to tactfully hide their grimaces, but I still saw their revulsion as I have studied micro-expressions in the past. Peepaw rolled his eyes, “Hilda's making German meatballs again. Uses cow brains for the meat you know.”

  I was the one to grimace this time. Cow brains? I wanted to go home right then and there – this little visit was starting to give me a case of the vapors.

  While I tried to convey my unease, the guy and girl just continued to smile. Ah, as tactful as ever. Never ones to disturb the order. Oh well let them be that way – they would have to eat my share of the brains for lunch.

  Peepaw led us into the living room and plopped down in his recliner. The guy and girl sat on the davenport across from him and just as I was about to climb up next to them Peepaw yodeled, “Oh no Bippy. You're going to sit up here with me.”

  My unease turned to panic. I stopped, my one paw already on the cushion. I pretended not to hear and was about to lift my other paw up when the guy grabbed hold of my collar and dragged me over to Peepaw. Without even an ounce of warning, I was unceremoniously dropped into the old man's lap.

  Trying to get comfortable on those bony legs was a nearly impossible feat. In the end, I slid off his lap and tucked in next to him. From this vantage point, I could scan the whole living room.

  I was starting to feel a little dizzy. Only a few people, such as my therapist, understand that I have a very sensitive constitution. Between the cooking cow brains and Peepaw's pickly smell, I wasn't sure that I would be able to make it through lunch. I needed a glass of water, and maybe I needed my pill after all.

  Before I could even get a chance to hyperventilate the guy asked, “Where's Hilda anyway? We didn't see her outside.”

  “Where do you think she is? She's downstairs in the basement gettin' cow brains from the freezer.” Peepaw took a drink of his coffee that sat on the TV tray next to him. “She's always looking for brains. Says she's going to make another hotdish tonight.”

  The girl gulped real hard, “Cow brain hotdish? How interesting. I've never heard of that before.”

  “That's just one of her many specialties. If you come over more often she'll make you a nice good cow brain lasagna, a cow brain smoothie, or the dish she's most famous for, strudel.”

  Peepaw slapped his leg, “Can she ever make a good cow brain strudel!” Peepaw's mouth started to water profusely, which quite frankly, made me a little concerned. I hoped Hilda, whoever she was, would feed him soon.

  The girl was tactful. “We're pseudo-vegetarians so we don't eat a lot of meat at our house. Although I do have to say that I've noticed the only protein that I've been able to find at the market is cow brains.”

  I heard heavy footsteps coming up from the basement. Hilda. Six foot four, blank stare, tight hair bun, and a pound of frozen cow brains in her hand.

  “Well, hello Hilda, it's so good to see you again.” The guy went over to shake her hand. “We really appreciate all the care you've given Peepaw. You're the best caregiver he's ever had.”

  She grunted and said in a thick German accent, “Sit. Time to eat.” Everyone followed her into the kitchen and didn't say a word. Not even me; I was too scared.

  1:00 post meridiem

  After that atrocious meal and the stale dinner conversation (Hilda talked about strudel throughout the entire meal), the guy and girl insisted on going outside to help Hilda, who was already out by the wood pile, carry in more wood for the cook stove. Before they went out the guy asked Peepaw about the truck in the pond.

  “I tried to teach that old peanut head Hilda to drive. She drove that truck right into the pond.”

  “But how do you get into town? What about shopping and paying your bills?”

  “The groceries get delivered out here once a week, and I pay my bills through the mail.”

  “You mean you stay on this farm all the time? Doesn't it get boring around here?” The girl looked like she couldn't believe it.

  “There's nothing much in town anymore. It's filled with peanut heads.”

  “I think I'd get bored real quick,” the girl answered back.

  “Bored? That's what's wrong with you younger generation. I got me some books, puzzles, board games, and I have plenty of time to take lots of naps.”

  After they went outside, I sat with Peepaw in his recliner and he offered to share his instant coffee with me. At first I had the mind to be rude and tell him that I only drink espresso, but the smell emanating from his cup was tempting. I took a cautious lick, and found it a little bland for my taste. But then Peepaw put some cayenne pepper in it, “I take cayenne pepper every day Bippy. It keeps me young.” I took another sip. Spicy, dark, rich, instanty. Not too bad.

  “I can tell you got good taste boy. You're a smart one. One day I'll teach you to play backgammon.” It was Peepaw's turn to take a drink. “You remind me of when good sense was common.”

  I took a longer sip. The cayenne pepper was starting to make me feel good. I relaxed and let Peepaw scratch my ears.

  “You're not like those bobble-headed professors out there. No, you got real smarts. Why, with all their college degrees and titles, they haven't even picked up that Hilda there is a peanut head.” Peepaw scratched my belly. “But you know, don't you Bippy? There's something wrong with her. You can smell her can't you boy?”

  I had almost started snoring, but snapped awake when Peepaw mentioned the smell. He was right. Hilda did smell strange and it wasn't the brains. She had that strange chemically smell, just like E.M., Robbie, and the cat.

  Peepaw tapped his cane. “I got me a gun right here Bippy. Just in case Hilda there gets some crazy ideas.”

  I looked carefully at the cane. Peepaw did indeed have a gun. A very large one at that, cleverly disguised.

  “Although, I don't think she'll be coming after me anytime soon. My brains are too old and pickly. Those peanut heads like young, soft brains. Cooks up better. Anyways, I make sure to keep a good stock of cow brains downstairs in the freezer, just in case. Keeps Hilda happy.”

  I wasn't sure if it was the cayenne pepper or the realization of what Peepaw was saying that made me jump up. I listened intently. “You
just be careful of them peanut heads Bippy. Make sure you keep a good space between your brains and them.”

  6:45 post meridiem

  Peepaw's friend and neighbor down the road stopped by for a visit. Gunnie Gunderson was just as old as Peepaw and had sharp piercing blue eyes, which he turned on me when I nonchalantly tried to sniff him. Whereas Peepaw smelled pickly, Gunnie smelled salty.

  Like Peepaw, he was a WW2 vet. Gunnie spent most of his days drinking coffee and monitoring his Ham radio. During our visit, he kept talking about ZMN Zone 5 and about the increase in the peanut head population.

  Even though Gunnie was old, he still had a strong handshake. He shook the guy's hand and squeezed hard which made the guy's eyes bulge a little. He was gentle with the girl, but looked intently into her eyes, almost as if he was searching for something. When he came to me, he gave my head a brisk rubbing and smacked my rear end before he said, “Good boy.”

  7:15 post meridiem

  We're on our way back to the house now. I’m wedged in the backseat with an old leather lounge chair that the guy found in Peepaw's attic.

  “You can take that chair. I don't have any use for it,” Peepaw had told him.

  The guy looked very pleased. The chair was similar to the one he had back in his office in Chicago.

  Day 5: The Groomers

  11:30 ante meridiem

  Inevitable. Dreadful. Bone chilling. Bath Day. Once again the day has come upon me unawares. Despite my care to be secretive as I rolled in the decomposed dead thing in the backyard, (something reptilian I think), the girl found me out. She looked faint as she carried on about how unhygienic it all was, but I was in doggie heaven.

  The smell, so wonderful to my nostrils, was strangely repulsive to her. As she drove me to the local groomers, she went on about the washing I was scheduled for. “Think of it as a day at the spa” she told me, as if I haven’t yet learned her secret code after all these years. Doesn't she see the psychological, emotional, and physical (I do tremble quite vigorously) issues that arise as I think about the warm lavender-laced water? That is because a spa is almost always traumatic to a dog, although wearing a colorful shower cap can sometimes lessen any negative effects that arise during the process.