The Pit Bull and the Pendulum

Bubba:  Okay, squirrel boy, pay attention.

Max: (lunging against sliding glass door) Of course. I'm listening to 

every . . .every . . .

Bubba: Word I say?

Max: Word you say. Right!

Bubba: The topic today is Pit Bulls.

Max:  That's our topic?

Bubba:  Right.

Max:  No problem. I've got an opinion. Me, me, call on me.

Bubba:  (sighs) Max, go ahead what's your opinion?

Max:  I'm all for them. Absolutely. 100% in favor without question.

Bubba: Really. You feel that way? You like Pit Bulls?  Big scary dogs with teeth that lock down on you like a land shark on steroid?

Max:  Pit Bulls. Oh. (he blushes) Geez, I thought you said pet bowls. Where our food lives. (long pause) Never mind.

Bubba: Here in Vancouver, dogs and their people have been attacked by Pit Bulls whose owners didn't have them on a leash or weren't strong enough to hold on to them.

Max: We've got some in our neighborhood, huh?

Bubba: Before you came along, when we still had Dudley, the wonder dog, one came after us. Mom screamed and scooped me up and he rushed to defend us.

Max: Wow, I bet that was exciting. (thinks about it) and scary.

Bubba: The Pit Bull got Dudley by the neck and wouldn't let go. Dad tried to pull it off, and got bit.

Max: Wow! What happened.

Bubba: Finally, Dudley got loose, and the women grabbed the Pit Bull and Dad called them some very dirty names.

Max:  Like the ones he calls me when I get him out of bed at 2am to let me out so I can chase squirrels?

Bubba: Like that, only worse. Anyway, they're talking about whether or not to outlaw Pit Bulls in the city limits.

Max: Uh, well, maybe, I could see that. Couldn't I?

Bubba: The problem is that when nice people raise Pit Bulls and keep them under control they're okay.

Max: I see a big, hairy, Schnorkie but coming here.

Bubba: But, some really scary, nasty, mean, stupid and inconsiderate people like to raise Pit Bulls and use them to show people how tough they are.

Max: Ooh, big dilemma. Like when I'm trying to decide whether to play little football down the stairs or sleep in Dad's lap.

Bubba: But if they ban them all, what's to keep somebody who doesn't like, say Maltese, from banning them? Or if somebody gets bit by a renegade Pomeranian, and the next thing you know, dinky dogs like us are forced to become outlaws. Or move to La Center.

Max: So what do we do?

Bubba: That's a tough one. I guess maybe we just bark like crazy at any dog bigger than us . . .

Max: Pretty much all of them, right?

Bubba: Right. And hope for the best. Say, isn't it almost dinner time?

Max: I think I heard the can opener. Race you to the Pit Bull.

Bubba: You mean pet bowl.

Max: What you said.

OF DOGS, DESPONTS, DEMOCRACY AND DISTRACTIONS

Bubba:  So, I was reading about the protests in the Middle East and—

Max:  Reading? Is that like eating?

Bubba:  No. You use your eyes instead of your mouth.

Max: You really must have to blink a lot to chew up a cookie.

Bubba: (baring her teeth and growling low in her throat) No, doofus, you use your eyes to see words.

Max: Oh, I get it. Kinda like when I see SQUIRREL?

Bubba: (sighing) Sort of. Except you don’t look in the yard, you look in the newspaper.

Max: The one Dad gets off the step in the morning? The one he saves the bags from to pick up our poop? The one that makes him all red in the face about something he calls politics?

Bubba: Right. That one. So I was reading about—

Max:  How did you hold it up? We don’t have thumbs.

Bubba:  I didn’t hold it up. It’s lying out on the patio.

Max:  Oh, in the place where Mom puts it because you’re not a boy dog ad you hate to squat in the wet grass?

Bubba: (sighing louder) Thanks for sharing that with everyone. Right. The paper is on my spot. Anyway, so people are protesting for more rights and freedom and democracy and I think we need that too.

Max:  Yeah. Freedom. Democracy. Rights. I want a whole goo-gob of rights. (Gets a suspicious look on his face) Wait just a doggone minute. Are those all good things?

Bubba: Yes.

Max:  As good as dog cookies?

Bubba:  Yes. Even better.

Max:  What do they taste like?

Bubba:  (groaning) You can’t eat them. They’re concepts.

Max: Uh, right, I got it. Concepts. Uh, huh, uh huh. (Tilting his head) Then why do we want them?

Bubba:  Because Mom and Dad are dictators. They decide when we eat and when we walk and how many cookies we get. And they make us wear collars.

Max:  Mine is blue.

Bubba:  And they make us do tricks to get treats.

Max:  Yours is pink.

Bubba:  Pay attention.

Max:  I like my collar.

Bubba: That’s not the point. We should decide what we wear, when we eat, and how many cookies we get.

Max:  Yay, cookies. Let’s protest. Right now. Power to the canines!

Let’s . . . lets . . . uh, how we gonna protest?

Bubba:  We make signs and lists of our demands.

Max:  Uh, looks like we’re back to that “no thumbs” problem.

Bubba: Much as I hate to admit it, you’re right. Okay then, we’ll refuse to obey them until they make concessions.

Max:  Ha. How is that different from what you do now? When it’s time to do tricks, you roll over once and then just sit there.

Bubba: That’s not true.

Max:  Is so.

Bubba: Is not.

Max: Is so.

Bubba: (Shaking her head till her collar jingles) Hey, look out the window. Isn’t that a—?

Max:  SQUIRREL!!!!!

To learn more about Bubba, Max, Carolyn, and Mike, visit http://www.deadlyduomysteries.com/ and check out their pages.