Danny the Dog and Cold Feet
Jun 3, 2019 22:41:34 GMT -5
Post by Radrook Admin on Jun 3, 2019 22:41:34 GMT -5
Danny the dog and Cold Feet
The basement we lived in Newark New Jersey at for a year after moving from the New York Housing projects, tended to be cold during winters despite the radiators. So when the three of us, my father my mother and I, would sit on the sofa watching TV, we would wrap ourselves in thick woollen blankets. That would keep our bodies warm except for our feet. But it was a inconvenience that we ha come to accept as unavoidable. But that was soon to change. You see, one day as we sat shivering, along came Danny Boy from under the bed where he sometimes rested, and draped his steaming body over our ice-cold feet.
That was it. We were hooked. Soon it became a family tradition of sorts. Going to the living room we'd sit close together so that his small furry body could spread its heat evenly keeping our feet toasty warm. How he knew that we needed that help, I don’t know. But he seemed to understand at some level that we would appreciate it. We certainly did appreciate it, and were all praise for the little portable foot-warming heater that Danny had suddenly become, out of what we assumed, had been the kindness of his little dog heart.
But, as is often the case with many things that are beneficial, this one also had a catch. You see, the problem was that Danny would gradually doze into a semi-sleep and didn't want to be awakened. In short, we couldn’t move. If we did dare to move, he would growl. That would stop us. You see, we didn't want to drive him away. That might leave our feet at the cold's mercy once more. Nevertheless it was a rather uncomfortable situation:
“I am willing to warm your feet but don’t you move and disturb my sleeping while I am dozing!”
So we found out that every foot movement had to be executed in slow motion so as to leave Danny Boy undisturbed. Any sudden or sharp movement was instantly met with a deep growl. After several hours of this struggle, my father finally began to protest.
"So this means that we can't move right?" he finally said in a matter of fact way. Like the calm before the storm.
“Not if you want warm feet," my mother, who had gradually become the unofficial spokesperson for Danny Boy ever since he had shown deep delirious appreciation for her cooking, responded in her usual casual way.
“But what if I want to scratch my leg, or just move my feet in order get more circulation?" my father said.
"Grrrrr!" Danny sensed that it was about him whom my father was talking, and that it wasn't anything good.
"Did you just hear that?" my mother asked. “Do you know what that means?"
“What does it mean?" As usual my father seemed completely oblivious about Danny Boy’s motives.
“You really don't know what he is telling you when he growls like that?" as usual my mother was baffled that my father didn’t understand what Danny Boy was saying in his doggish way.
“What is he telling me?” he asked sounding genuinely baffled.
After sighing deeply as if what Danny was saying should have been obvious, she explained.
After sighing deeply as if what Danny was saying should have been obvious, she explained.
“He's telling you that if you keep waking him up and moving around like that he is going to bite you!"
"Esto esta cabron! I work like an animal all day and want to watch TV but can't move because the dog I feed good food to, with the sweat of my brow, will bite me?"
"Not if you want warm feet!" she said matter-of-factly.
"I didn't ask him to warm my feet! Did I ask him to warm my feet? Huh?"
“Grrrrrr!”
“He does it out of the goodness of his heart!" my mother added calmly as an afterthought.
"Oh yeah? Then why is he threatening to bite me? Did you hear the malagradecido [ingrate] growl again just now?"
"All he asks in return for warming your cold feet is that you don't move so he can sleep!”
“So now we can’t talk ether right?” My father was gazing desperately around as if he was being held hostage.
“I understand exactly how he feels." my mother responded.
"You know why? Because when you constantly wake me up at night, you make me feel the same way. Mira! [Look!] Whoever wakes me up like I feel like killing him"
“And suppose I have to go to the bathroom to de-water. Eh? I can't get up to de-water either? Carajo! Then what?"
“Grrrrrr!” Danny went as he noticed my father' tone getting more severe.
"You can't say he didn't warn you. Right? He warned you that he is going to bite you if you move. So if you get bitten, then you asked for it."
“I asked for it?"
“Yeah! You asked for it Hipolito! because you know that he doesn't like to be disturbed when he's sleeping!" she added nonchalantly.
“I have been holding it back my urge to de-water for an hour now. How much longer am I supposed to hold on?”
“Well, those are the terms. You can either accept them or reject them. But if you do, remember, he did say he would bite you if you dared to moved.
“Mira carajo! No joda conyo!” my father got up suddenly pushing the dog aside with his foot.
“Am I supposed to have my bladder burst so the dog can sleep?”
“You didn’t have to treat him so roughly!” my mother said calmly.
“Ha! Ha! Really If I had moved slowly, then he would have bitten me like you just said he would. This way I don't give him a chance.”
“See“ my mother said sadly, “now he’s under the bed and isn’t coming back to warm our feet”
“Let him stay under the bed. That kind of favor, I don’t need!”
“Ingrate!”
“Ahhh! Ingrate am I? To you, his sleep is more important than my bladder, right?" my father responded after silently and morosely contemplating what had just happened.
“No it is not. But chic! Look! Danny is just a dog.”
“And what am I? Huh? Chicken manure?”
“No, you are not. But you have more mental capacity. So I expect far more from you, than I do from him!”
“You see all this that just happened?"" my father gazed about the dark cold basement living room.
"This I brought upon myself!”
"This I brought upon myself!”
“Grrrrrr ruff! Ruff! Ruff!” Danny responded from under the bedroom bed.