Tag Archives: Esme

The Cost of Love

 

Teddy, I swear to god, sometimes that dog…

whyyoulittle_c

So he’s always eaten weird things at the house. He once took two TV remote controls while I was out of town, chewed on them a bit, and left them under a sprinkler for two days (somehow, they still work).

Another time, when he learned he could use his height to his fiendish advantage, he ate an entire chocolate brownie, requiring a late-night scramble to the emergency room of my vet.

teddyatcounter

But cotton. Teddy always cottoned to cotton.

Paper. Underwear. Sweatpants. Bath robes.

Then he took a hankering for, of all things, money. And, apparently, the bigger the bill, the better. When I left a $5 and $1 bill on the foyer table, he ate the $5, in half as precisely as a frog dissection. The $1 was left untouched.

This week, Teddy went for the big score.

I got up about 9 a.m., padded toward the living room. As I opened the bedroom door, I discovered my floor tiled in plastic: credit cards, driver’s license, insurance card. It had been three days since he’d been home, thanks to a quick trip to Atlanta.

And I realized: He ate my wallet. Must have smelled the billfold (perhaps a bouquet of  ass and leather?), decided it was a premium rawhide, and ate my wallet. At least he left me my driver’s license, but it was a lot of cash: $164 from the trip. Seven $20 bills, a $10, two $5 bills and four $1 bills (my obsessive compulsive urges demand I order my bills, largest to smallest, and I remembered ordering the stack before the flight).

Then, a break in the case: The ID cards led me on a bread-crumb trail to my wallet, tucked in the cushions of my black leather couch (how he has not passed that through his bowels remains a mystery).

Or what remained of my wallet. Teddy went to town on it.

But when I opened the wallet, the biggest surprise: He left me the four $1 bills.

Mom suggested I check Teddy’s poop for the money, and couldn’t help but crack I could still try to spend it (just lay a turd on the counter at 7-11 and ask for change for a $20).

Yet, I can never hold a grudge against the guy, who simply wants to taste the world.

at pool

After a few choice words for him, Teddy took a timeout in the backyard.

Normally, this would not be punishment for him, so thick his coat. He’ll often nap outside to enjoy the winter air, a stark difference from the boiler room Esme and I tend create inside the house.

esmecold

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

But if he sees me — anywhere — he wants to be there, too. I’ve seen him sit in the rain when I’m in the backyard. My house is a sauna, but he pants his way through without complain. He leaps into any car I’m driving with unwarranted confidence, unrestricted trust.

dogs in car

And now, he is at the back patio door, awaiting forgiveness and re-entry. He must know me inside out: I could never stay mad at Ted. Not even for $160 cash. I still melt when I think of what that boy has brought to my life.

Teddy, I swear to god, sometimes that dog…

teddy mug

 

 

 

 

Gristle or Treat!

 

Aside from mom and sis, there’s little I miss about the East Coast since leaving there 15 years ago.

Space  and free time are as rare as plutonium. There’s a palpable tension and gruffness. East Coasters love to bitch about how out of touch California is with real Americans. But I defy anyone to find a state more American than California; after all, 1 out of every 8 Americans chooses to live here.

And the weather there is miserable. Trade winds may blow West to East, but hurricane winds blow in the opposite direction, straight to the East Coast. A Bronx Cheer from Mother Nature.

But the East Coast does get one thing right: All Hallows Eve. The packed-in housing is a trick-or-treaters delight. And, if it doesn’t rain, the fall air feels good when you’re wearing a latex head. I love latex heads.

I have a few. Ultraman. A mentally troubled clown. clown The Joker.

My favorite, though, is headless. Just a latex mask of a neck stump — with the decapitated head attached to a fake rubber hand so you can put your own inside the skull and move the mouth. My ex-wife and I would unpack it every October for our haunted house party, which drew friends from out of state and costumed kids, literally, by the hundreds to our front door. denverrocks

spencenipsscottsmooch

bobmikemike

But we had to tone it down after one child nearly died of fright. Well, that and blunt force trauma.

It was Halloween 1998, and Spencer flew in for the annual ritual. That year, he decided to don a creepy skeleton costume and hide behind the side rails of our front porch to “greet” unsuspecting visitors. Half of which were moms, who apparently thought it hilarious to visit a haunted house that could cause their children to lose control of the bladders or bowels.

That year was our biggest Halloween turnout. At least 250 kids (we counted the scant leftover candy). At least a dozen moms drove kids from their neighborhoods to our house, which was sprinkled with Bates Motel signs, tombstones and severed limbs, all blinking and rotting to Halloween sound effects of creaks and moans and screams. I would have made a great dad.

As the night wound down, a station wagon pulled to our front curb. I peeked through the inconspicuous slits in the collar bone to find a black woman, perhaps in her mid-30’s, pulling up with her daughter, about six and in a princess costume,  in the back seat. DSCN0290

The mother hopped out, ran back to open her daughter’s door. But the girl, seeing the grisly scene, shook her head. No way she’s risking life and limb for a goddamn mini Baby Ruth.

But mom wasn’t having it. She opened the door and physically pulled her from the car, carrying her to the foot of the porch staircase. The girl again shook her head, but mom assured everything would be all right, and pushed her toward the nine steps.

Reluctantly, girl ascended. I whispered to Spencer to not pop out from the side, that this girl was truly unnerved. She took each step deliberately, as one would take up an executioner’s gallows. When she emerged on the porch, she stretched her arm as f a r o u t as she could for the candy bowl, as if she were touching a boy with cooties. I didn’t even make the the mouth move. Just a bloody head in a candy bowl, surely a restrained touch. Like I said, dad material.

No matter. Once she got the candy bar, girl turned and ran. Fast. And leapt from the top stair. Far. Hollywood stuntmen wouldn’t make that leap without protective gear and a padded floor.

Not Princess Stuntgirl. She took off and was caught at the foot of the steps by her mom, who was in a fit of hysterical laughter. I pulled off the mask and ran to the porch edge.

“Sorry!” I called out to the woman. “Don’t worry!” the mom responded, still chuckling as she carried the girl back to the car, though she need not have carried, the girl clutched so. “She’s a little scaredy cat.”

The houses here in L.A. are too spread out to score much of a payday on Halloween. I get a dozen kids, at most. Still, I love the night, and will put the dogs in costume. Esme gets a faux leather jacket that makes her look like a gangster (or that she’s into sadomachism). Teddy gets a dunce cap.

But I always put a “Beware of Dog” sign out, so that, instead of coming to the door, kids ring the doorbell, safe outside the gated front entrance.

I wouldn’t want kids losing their heads.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f00DhPY5W-U

 

 

 

 

Everything That Can Be

 

In 1899, Charles Duell, the Commissioner of the U.S. Patent Office, was famously quoted as saying that the office could be closed because “Everything that can be invented  has been invented.”

Turns out the quote belonged to a clerk at the office. And, despite the hypocrisy (after all, I’d be dead without inventions), I’m beginning to see kid’s point. Inventions of late seem awfully one-tracked: To get ads in front of people. It’s made for a new generation of oxymorons, like personal computers and smartphones.

But Teddy and Esme have shown me the upside of technology. Recently, the HB hit a benchmark; more than 10,000 page views.

Of course, 10,000 people haven’t looked at the website. But thanks to spam emails hoping to inundate the inbox with diet pill and webcam ads, the number spiked. Which is why the site has no inbox. Or feedback forum, Contact Me link, About Us section or anything else that would approach commercial website success. She is the closest thing I can get to paper and real.

But automation, at least, has given the hounds their 15 minutes.

When you Google “Teddy and Esme,” not only are they the first reference to appear on on the Big Brother site; they’re the first two, competing with each other for the top spot. Sometimes it’s Ted. Sometimes it’s Ezzie. Even their movies sit atop Google Videos.

So, while they’re gassy and indifferent to the fame, let me serve as their talent manager in saying:

Thank you, spambots!