Saturday, October 29, 2011

Got to thinking about Magnus this afternoon.

And what a good mentor he was to the puppy I never told him I got to replace him, because the Great One was going downhill pretty fast and only had about six months to live.

Early May, 2009
It's post-Snacky Time. Nothing to do but sit and read, but it's too hot to go in the lair so we sit outdoors. The temperature in the shade is not unpleasant, and the lair shelters us from the wind. Ghost has dug himself a hole to curl in over there; Fritz is in his favored position at the foot of the porch. Magnus observes with fanatic, monomaniacal fervor as I consume a pot of soup. Click watches the world from the highest shelf of the cat-tower. Little Bear gives up his manful attempts to get somebody to play with him, and commences chasing his own tail and learning why we don't chew on cactus. All is right with the world, and it'll go on for hours until the dark drives me indoors. Aaaah.

I finish what I want of my pot of soup and set it down for Magnus to take his tithe. Little Bear has not yet learned (or does not yet respect) The Prime Directive. Earlier we had a game of "No, Stop," as I lightly punished him for chewing on my chair, then rewarded him for refraining from doing so. Now Magnus commences his own version of the lesson. Little Bear stumps over to the pot on his stiff little puppy legs and pushes his head into the pot next to Magnus'. The upper lip of the great jaws curls, exposing fangs of Jurassic magnitude. A low growl heterodynes into an oscillating, "is this the hill you want to die on" snarl, but no real violence is meant. A head as big as and heavier than the puppy swivels, knocking Little Bear away from the pot. Little Bear does not understand, or perhaps understanding does not agree. He stumps back to the pot. Lather, rinse, repeat. At last he faces away from the pot, pouting. Magnus now leaves the pot, gently knocks the puppy off the porch (onto Fritz, who dares not complain) and proceeds to lick his head. Lesson given and reinforced, he turns back to his pot of soup. Fritz, who tolerates the puppy's existence but not his overtures, now seems to notice that Little Bear is lying on him full-length. He growls and shifts, dumping the puppy to the ground. Little Bear stumps off to look for fun elsewhere, then lies down and abruptly falls asleep.

This is my world. We don' need no steenking television.
Peace Through Strength, Joy Through Snackies
Rest in Peace, Grampy Magnus.


Anonymous said...

Beautifully written tale, Joel. Thank you.

MamaLiberty said...

Beautiful. Almost 5 months since I had to put old Rascal down. Still miss him every day and hope to have a pup soon. I'm waiting for the right one...

gooch said...

Nicely done indeed sir.

Your continuous and concerted efforts at a gruff exterior slipped just a wee bit there for a second ....
What? No ... no way its just the dust in my eye that's all.

I'm sure that, if there is an afterlife then, Magnus and my "Best Friend" Speckles are getting along swell.
What did they name that place? "The Rainbow Bridge"?

Thanks Joel.