This week’s innerview day started out pretty NORM-ull: gather my pen an notebook, stuff the duh-lishus treats into The Satchel, fluff my ruff, drive to the location with my assistant; then, after the usual inner-DUCK-shuns an Wag-an-Sniffs, put on my Ernest Journalist Face an cun-DUCK the innerview.
This week started like that, but it didn’t quite end up like that. Here’s what happened. I was meeting Frank Bertrand, a French Bulldog, at his office in The Moorings, down south by the ocean. Many humans an dogs live there, an there’s lotsa water and pretty houses an boats an stuff like that.
The office has a table in the foy-AIR with dog AN human snacks, anna dish of nice cool water. Lotsa neighborhood pooches an their humans stop by almost every day to say hello.
So we walk in an I innerduce myself an a Nice Lady says Frank’ll be out right away. Sure enuff, right away, another Nice Lady approaches with Frank trotting beside her. If you’ve ever met a Frenchie, you know they ruh-ZEM-bull an exceedingly neat, trim, tidy loaf of bread, with the Coolest Pooch Face EVER: just Smushy Enuff to make humans go all goofy. Frank was all that anna bagga treats.
“BON-zo! SO great to meet you. WELL-come! I’m Frank Bertrand. I’m pretty much The Boss around here. The Capo. Top Dog. This is my Mom, Daina. My Boxer step-brother JJ’s at home. An THIS (he indicated the First Nice Lady) is Miss Marsha The Broker. Except for me, she’s In Charge! Come on over, Have a seat.”
As usual, my assistant rooted around in The Satchel, produced an apple-an-yoghurt treat, an broke it in haff to better accommodate Frank’s mouth.
I’d just got comf-tubble, opened my notebook an started to ask Frank about his life when, from another office, out trotted this hansome, long-leggedy Golden Doodle, a big boy, wearing his coat in short, tight curls, his human by his side.
“Hey there, Dog,” he addressed Frank. “’Sup? So, is this the journalist you told us about? Bonzo was it?” He turned to me. “Hi Paw, Bonzo! I’m Mason Proctor. This is my Dad, Collier.”
Apparently I had missed an Important Memo. “Well, err, High Paw, Mason! Ummm, you work here, too?”
“Betcha Biscuits, Bonz! I’m the Enforcer. Keep everybody in line, ya know? Make sure nobody does nothing they’re not s’pose to, know what I’m sayin’?”
“I buh-leeve I do, Mason. So, what are …”
Buh-fore I could finish my query, Frank an Mason had begun rough-housin’. An right then, in walked yet another Nice Lady with an eager, animated Yellow Lab, exceedingly bouncy an frenly.
“Hey, hey, HEY! I know YOU,” he said. “I read your COLL-ums. Sometimes I chew the corners, no offense. I’m, Georgie McGraw, by the way; I had my second birthday last Friday an I got a wonderful green bone stuffy, cuz green’s Irish, an my famly roots for the Fighting Irish sports teams. Hey, Mr. Bonzo, come outside an play with us. We hang together all the time. We have tons of fun! Hey, GUYS!” he called, heading for Frank an Mason, who were tumblin’ about in a flurry of fur.
“I’d love to, but I’m on the clock,” I called to Georgie, although I was certain he couldn’t hear me. I was scribbling like crazy, tryin’ to remember the stuff Frank, Mason an Georgie had said before they started playin’.
But it was no use so, for the first time in my career, I put down my notebook, dived into the fun, an had The.Best.Time.Ever! Until Frank stopped an hollered, “Hey, there she is! Yo! Coco! You MADE it! Come’on IN, grrrl!”
I zoomed back an grabbed my notebook, as everyone ran over to a liddle poocheroo dancin’ an wearin’ a delicate pink harness an leash, with another Nice Lady. The latest arrival was a Shih Tzu, white an fawn, a lovely liddle pupper, carrying her tiny self like royalty.
“Really, fellows,” she addressed the still bouncy trio, “DO calm down. Surely you are aware this hansome doggo is Mr. Bonzo, the journalist who it appears is trying to write about US. So just SHUSH!”
She smiled up at me, eyes sparklin’. A tad disconcerted, I felt myself blushing an hoped fervently that my fur concealed it. “Good morning, Miss Coco. It is my very great pleasure. Umm, tell me about yourself.”
“Certainly. May I call you Bonzo?”
“By all means,” I responded, opening my notebook. Again. By then Miss Marsha The Broker had sternly advised Frank, Mason an Georgie that No Roughhousing In The Office was a rule, NOT a guideline, and they had adjourned to the padio.
“First of all,” Coco began, “Mason is a wanna-be Behavior Cop, but one clap of thunder and he’s under the desk. An, although Frank fancies himself In Charge, in ackshull fact, it is I! I am the Boss. I am the Queen! Additionally, I organize our morning beach get-togethers an our Afternoon Yappy Hours. They’re for us AN our humans. We’re a very social bunch. I’m 11 now, an I’ve been with my Mom, Erika, since puppyhood. You see, 10 years ago, Mom got her very first pooch, but it tragically hadda go to Dog Heaven far too soon. The doctor recommended Mom get a puppy to train and love. Happily for both of us, she got me. We loved each other instantly, an we’ve shared so much over the years. Not to boast, but I buh-leeve I’ve helped her feel much better.
“By the way, surely you’ve noticed our stylish blue Moorings Bandanas, with our names m-BROY-dered on. They were speshully made by an X-Change stoo-dent from GER-munny who’s stayin’ at my house, Jette! We’re BFFs. She has taught me many necessary dog things.”
“They are indeed lovely,” I managed. “What a fine fren to have.”
Headin’ home, I found myself Totally Pooped which, given my impromptu work break, was no mystery. But, just between us, OK?
Till next time,
