Zombie, MN Read online

  Today however, not even wearing my shower cap will distract me. I don't even know why she bothered to bring it. I'll show her though - when she's not looking I'll go sniff the dirty clothes in the hamper. She hates that! Yes, my revenge will be sweet.

  11:45 ante meridiem

  I am concerned. Very concerned. The groomer who is to treat me to an “afternoon of luxury” has that strange blank look on her face. If only Peepaw were here. He’d know what to do.

  I whimpered loudly as the groomer took my leash. The girl didn't even notice as she was busy checking out the price of a new and improved doggie harness.

  13:45 post meridiem

  Grooming is an essential part of a dog's life. One must always remember to brush with the grain of the hair and not against. Doing so will lead to soft, silky, manageable hair that will inevitably be the envy of friends and enemies alike.

  That being said, I now have a bald spot going down the middle of my back where the groomer mindlessly combed against the grain in the same area over and over, for almost an hour. She clearly did not adhere to the dog groomer's creed, a universal set of rules that every professional dog stylist is supposed to abide by.

  Added to that, was the fact that the groomer did not even bother rinsing out the shampoo from my normally silky fur. Although she did a half decent job of soaping me up, that's where she stopped. She pulled me out of the doggie bathtub and placed me on the groomer's table while I was still dripping wet.

  The soap eventually did dry, especially with the constant combing, but it caused me a great deal of itchiness. A quick glance at the bottle told me that it was not even organic, but instead, some run-of-the-mill formula that one can buy at the grocery. She didn't even apply any soothing conditioner, which is what my groomer back in Chicago always does before my massage.

  Concerning a dog's nails, it is important to remember that short and polished is preferable to long and scraggly, which is how my nails still looked after I got picked up by the girl. That's because the groomer concluded the last hour of our session clipping the air instead of my nails. At first, I thought she might have been testing the springs on the clippers but after considerable amount of time passed and she kept repeating the same motion, I decided to take a nap and wait for the girl to pick me up.

  The girl tried hard to mask her look of surprise when she saw me. Ah, ever the consummate social worker, always careful not to criticize or say anything remotely negative. Even as she doled out the fifty dollars, she still maintained that stiff smile on her face. Not me though. I frowned. That's because I knew I would have to have another grooming session when I got home. Maybe today would be a good day to light my Resounding-Raspberry scented candle and for my nervous pill to be proffered in a piece of Rigotte de Condrieu, another exquisite French cheese.

  Day 6: Church

  10:00 ante meridiem

  I’m going to church this morning, although I won't actually be attending services. The girl insisted on bringing me because of my past history of “separation anxiety.” My therapist and I already worked through that issue and my last “episode” was ages ago. But the girl has a long memory and insisted that I wait in the car during the service.

  In addition to Jody, I also had my merino-lined blanket, my journal, sketching pencils, a knitting needle (a little treasure I found in the backyard), a rubber ball, and Roquefort cheese biscuits. The girl also brought a bowl of cucumber-infused water for me just in case I got thirsty. She usually infuses organic strawberries as well, but she forgot to this morning because she was in a hurry.

  After the guy and girl got all dressed up they called Peepaw and asked him once again if he wanted to join them for services. I could hear him loudly on the other end, “I don't go to that church anymore. I'm tired of hearing them talk about peanuts.”

  On the drive over, the guy and girl discussed whether or not Peepaw was exhibiting signs of senility. The guy, a professor of psychology, said in an educational tone, “We'll have to assess his mental ability this year.” The girl, an associate professor of social work, added, “It will be important to try and understand what he's feeling.”

  I took a sip of my cucumber water. Not bad, but it would have tasted better with the additional strawberry.

  10:30 ante meridiem

  There’s not much going on in the parking lot. A couple of squirrels have scurried by. I’ve decided to sit in the driver's seat and practice my gear shifts. I’m having the most difficult time switching from fourth to fifth.

  10:45 ante meridiem

  I pulled down the girl’s visor and had a good look at my teeth. Time to visit the dentist again. I used the knitting needle I found to pick the cheese from out of my teeth. Or was it brains I was pulling out?

  11:00 ante meridiem

  Two stragglers late for service stumbled through the parking lot. Instead of opening the front doors to go in, the elderly couple walked into the wall of the church building. They didn't do it just once, they kept doing it, over and over, to the tune of eleven times. Each time they made contact with the wall, I noticed something fall from their ears and float slowly down.

  A black SUV pulled up in the parking lot and a man in a suit and mirrored sunglasses jumped out from the passenger side even before the SUV came to a stop. He ran over to the elderly couple, picked up the stuff on the ground, which was light pink in color, pushed it back in their ears, and redirected them into the church building. A woman driving the SUV kept watch.

  The man looked strangely familiar. I squinted my eyes to get a better look. It didn't take me long to remember where I saw him. I opened my journal and found the pencil sketch I made of the man at the checkpoint who sped past us in an SUV. Here he was again, doing who knows what with what knows who.

  Before he got back into the SUV, he discovered me watching him. He looked at me for a long time before he jumped in and the large vehicle sped away.

  I shook my head. I couldn't believe what just happened. Was I hallucinating? Perhaps the strain of the move was too great. I was going to have to go home this afternoon and check the guy's PSM (Psychological Statistical Manual). I have read the PSM IV from cover to cover and nothing I can remember gave a diagnosis for something like this. I would have to put on my scuba gear and dive into the PSM V, the new manual that just came out. I needed to find something in there to diagnose myself with.

  12:00

  On the drive home the guy commented, “Now that was a real different message. I guess peanuts are some type of metaphor or something.” The girl agreed, “Maybe they refer to one's emotional sense of well-being.”

  12:15

  E.M. was standing in our yard with two ladies staring at the siding on our house. They were the same two ladies who joined her in staring at the siding on her house some days ago. How long had they been standing there? Who knows?

  The guy and the girl tried not to look uncomfortable when they greeted them. “Would you like to come in for some lunch?” the girl asked. The three ladies gave her a blank look while at the same time shaking their head yes.

  12:25

  The girl didn't have enough vegetable soup to go around so she pulled out the cow brain pot roast that Hilda sent home with us yesterday. At the mention of brains, the women's eyes lighted for a while and they chattered on and on about the weather.

  2:30 post meridiem

  The ladies ate every bit of the brains but did not touch the carrots, potatoes, or onions that were a part of the meal. The girl refilled their drinks several times. They enjoyed several glasses of the strawberry-infused water, much to my dismay.

  3:00 post meridiem

  After the brain eating trio left, I looked through the PSM V and couldn't find a diagnosis of seeing pink floaty things falling out of people's ears. I did however, come across the section on phobias and since I had the time, decided to reacquaint myself with the subject. It is common knowledge in certain circles that phobias are a healthy part of normal development. How thoroughly shocking that so
me regard phobias as abnormal and undesirable. Abnormal and undesirable? I’ll tell you what is abnormal and undesirable. In fact, I’ll give you a list:

  1. Bath water

  2. Firecrackers

  3. Wind

  4. Spiders (especially hairy ones with big butts)

  5. Pull ups

  6. Wet toilet paper

  7. Having your feet tickled

  8. Thunder

  9. Toilet cleaning brush or plunger (both are equally disgusting)

  10. Cheese product

  11. Coyotes with menacing smiles

  12. The word “spa”

  13. Kitty latrines

  14. Bark collars

  15. Wolf hybrids

  16. Any type of hairball

  17. Toenail clippings – especially the guy’s

  18. Used dental floss

  19. Squeaky hinges

  20. Dog backpacks

  21. Dialup internet

  22. Herbal Coffee

  There’s no shame in having phobias. I’m throwing off my chains so I can tell the world that it’s quite rational to say yes to phobias and no to non-antibacterial soap. Oh, it’s also okay to say yes to hand sanitizer too.

  Day 7: The Skunk

  09:45 ante meridiem

  I met a skunk last night. A literal one, not a figurative one. Okay, before you diagnose me as slightly delusional, let me explain.

  Last night, I was out conducting my “business.” Two meals of brains in a row was starting to wreak havoc on my delicate digestive tract. I had wandered around in the yard for a bit before I heard scratching coming from the garage. I stood still, waiting to confront E.M.'s cat, who I obviously thought was the one doing the scratching. That's when I came face to face with a skunk. I must have startled him more than he did me because he assumed the spray position. It was a tense, unscripted moment.

  I did the only thing that I could think to do at the time; I blurted out, “Kingdom - Animalia, Phylum - Cordata, Class - Mammalia, Order - Carnivora, Suborder - Canifornia, Superfamily - Musteloidea, Family - Mephitidae.”

  The skunk, obviously impressed with my taxonomic skills replied, “Hyvä ilta. The name's Gail Svensen. I'm Finnish.”

  Because the moon was waxing full, I was able to get a good look at the skunk. Although he appeared good natured, I wasn't quite sure what to think. There was something that seemed wild and uninhibited about him and to be quite honest, that made me a little nervous.

  I wasn't sure if I should move, especially since Gail was still in the spray position. Only when his tail came slowly down, did I take a breath and replied, “Je m'appelle Bippy Johnson.” He wasn't the only one that could speak another language.

  “Ah, a Frenchman, eh,” Gail said, sounding slightly disappointed.

  No, not French. Lover of most things French. Purveyor of French ideals. But no, not actually French. I didn't correct him though.

  “So are you here for the summer or are you here permanently, eh?”

  “Just for the year,” I informed him. How could he ever think that a dog of my caliber would actually live in this dinky little town full-time? I worried that I might also soon be associated with the smell of brains that was beginning to seep from my pores. “Do you play backgammon?” I queried.

  “No. I'm a checkers man myself.”

  Gail leaned in, “Well, you'd better be on the lookout for those peanut heads all the same, eh.” He turned around and went back to scratching at the ground.

  Keeping a safe distance, I followed and tried to look bored as I inquired, “What, pray tell, are peanut heads?”

  Gail didn't even look up. “Don't tell me you haven't smelled them yet. What type of dog are you, eh?”

  I still didn't know what he was talking about. “Is there a peanut factory in town?”

  Gail stopped and lifted his head. “I don't know about any peanut factory, eh, but I do know about those zombies with pink packing peanuts for brains. They're the ones with the glazed look in their eyes and the weird chemical smell coming from them. Take a couple deep sniffs; they're all around.”

  Gail scratched around again and came up with a grub. I had to turn away while he ate it. Ce n'est pas normal. Not at all like eating steak tartare (beef variety, not horse). I did say most things French, not all.

  He dug up a few more grubs. “Time to move on to better ground Frenchman.” Before I could ask any more questions, he was off in the shadows and I couldn't see him anymore.

  On the way back in, I pondered what Gail had said. Peanut heads? All around? Were these the same peanut heads that Peepaw mentioned? I would have to keep my eyes open and my nose to the ground. That is, after I had my after dinner digestif.

  Since the guy and girl didn't make an apertif available before the evening's meal, I was not able to properly digest the cow brain pot roast. But a little eaux de vie is always a great way to ease into the evening.

  Day 8: The Bats

  10:00 ante meridiem

  We have a bat proofing specialist stopping by this morning. After having to go out on a very early morning call (the brains again), I came back in to find the guy (the one who took my stomach gurgles seriously) running around with a bicycle helmet on, waving a tennis racket, screaming something about bats. Until this morning, I hadn't known that the guy had such an extensive vocal range – mezzo soprano I think.

  The girl came down the stairs, with one eye open, and barely dodged the bat that headed her way. In less than a second, she was hiding behind the guy, trying to put an oven mitt over her head.

  Her screams of “Bippy, come here,” were lost on me. I wasn't scared; I was closer to the ground and not in danger of the bat coming close to me. As it made several more passes, I tried to distinguish if it was a myotis lucifugus or a eptesicus fuscus. Only when it whizzed by me and nearly clipped my ear, did I run behind the girl, wishing dearly that I could reach the dishcloth hanging over the stove handle to cover my head.

  11:30 ante meridiem

  Bud Cokely (Mr. Cokely) and his son, “Crazy” Kyle Cokely (Crazy) are inspecting the dormers. “See here, this is where the bats are getting in,” Mr. Cokely explained to the guy, who clearly didn't have a clue as to what he was talking about. The guy just smiled and nodded his head.

  Mr. Cokely appeared to be in his sixties, but he was certainly spry and bore an intense look in his eyes. He wore a construction hat that hid his buzzed haircut and safety glasses that covered about half of his face. His suspenders highlighted his long skinny legs and even though it was getting to be quite warm, he wore a long-sleeve green flannel shirt. If a human could look like a grasshopper, Mr. Cokely was it.

  “Crazy” was in his late thirties and had long messy hair. He was just as skinny as his dad and where his dad had an intense look, Crazy had a wild look. It wouldn't be a far leap to imagine him running around with a cheese-head hat, stuffing peanuts up his nose or something crazy like that. He laughed a whole lot and compulsively flipped the hair out of his eyes, while almost constantly poking fun at his dad.

  12:30 post meridiem

  The guy nearly fainted when he saw the bat-proofing estimate but agreed to the have the work done. He told the girl he was pretty sure the landlord would reimburse them.

  12:45 post meridiem

  The girl, who was still afraid of going inside despite Mr. Cokely's assurances that most bats sleep during the day, headed off to the local hardware store to buy a doggie door for me. She didn't even bother to ask if I wanted to go. How rude! After all, I was going to be the one to use it and I did have my preferences.

  Before she left, she brought in the mail and laid it on the kitchen table. I heard her tell the guy, “Mike the mailman left our mail on the ground again instead of putting it in the mailbox. Do you think that's a little strange?”

  The guy just shrugged his shoulders. “I don't think so. Maybe it's a quirk he has.”

  I didn't say anything even though I had my suspicions. I thought Mike had more than just a “q
uirk” going on. I took a good long look in his eyes from the living room window the other day. As he laid the mail on the ground, his eyes were blank and I think I even saw him drooling. No, definitely not a quirk.

  1:32 post meridiem

  The guy went outside and watched as Mr. Cokely and Crazy went up on the roof to find “any opening larger than a nickel.” Mr. Cokely certainly looked focused. “Those rats with wings can squeeze tighter than anything you can even imagine.”

  The guy looked impressed as he helped out by handing them a tool now and then, all the while learning about White Nose Syndrome.

  As Mr. Cokely was looking for holes, he kept saying things like, “Our country's going down the drain because of those peanut heads, and we've got to vote in a President that's not a peanut head.” He shook his head and looked at his son, “I don't know why you like hanging out with them every night. All they have is extruded polystyrene for brains.”

  Crazy Kyle joked back, “But they're a blast to party with. Just as long as I remember to wear my motorcycle helmet. No telling what they'd do if they got hungry all of a sudden.”

  The guy continued to smile but I could tell that he had no idea what they were talking about, even when Mr. Cokely said, “Don't give in young man. Keep asking questions. We're so far gone now that only God can help us.”

  The girl has started the process of installing the doggie door. Now I'll have access to go in and out whenever I want through the back door in the kitchen. Score! No more will I have to whine and carry on in the morning, as I try to get the guy's attention (the only who takes me seriously at that time of day). I will come and go at my leisure. The world is my oyster.