This week I innerviewed Phil an Scrappy Hopmayer. It was so fun, the time went by super fast. Phil’s a 5-year-old Parson Russell Terrier, wirey white hair, very trim, tidy an alert; Scrappy’s probly about 8, of Mysterious Origin, cool salt-an-pepper hair that totally covers his eyes. He looks like an Ewok. They were, like, the dog version of “The Odd Couple.”
Everybody greeted me an my assistant: Phil (Official Spokespooch); Scrappy (Unofficial Spokespooch) and their mom an dad, Lisa an Marc. After Wag-an-Sniffs, we got comftubble by the pool. “So, what wouldja like to know first, Mr. Bonz?” Phil asked.
“I usually start with how evrybody got together.”
“Ah cabe FURFT,” Scrappy said, around a mouthful of tennis ball.
“Beg pardon?”
He petooied the tennis ball. “I came first. It started in Mass-uh-choo-sits, where Mom was at the time. She got me at a rescue.”
Phil said, “Then, down here, Mom an Dad decided Scrappy needed a roommate. So they visited the Humane Society. This one day, a new bunch of pooches was being processed: a coupla pit bulls, three chihuahuas. An me. My name was even on my liddle cage: ‘Phil.’ The humane society human told Mom an Dad I’d been wanderin’ around the island, lookin’ lost. A pleeceman brought me to the Humane Society, handed me over an said, ‘This is Phil.’ He had no clue what my ackshull name was, an I didn’t remember either. So Phil it was. The humane society people were surprised nobody claimed me; Mom an Dad think I was a Pooch of Privilege, maybe even a jet-setter, cuz I was healthy, very well-trained and Very Smart. I always recognize (an bark at) propeller planes and motor boats. I Can’t Stand motorcycles or bicycles. An I can run like the wind.”
“Oh, brother” Scrappy said.
“Well, it’s true!” Just then, a propeller plane flew by, an Phil immediately shot out to the backyard an started barking like crazy.
Scrappy innerupted. “Mom an Dad would never bring a new pooch into the family without consulting me, so they arranged a ‘Meet an Greet.’ I brought my special chewing ball in case he’d like to share.”
“That WAS really nice,” conceded Phil, prancing back. “We’ve been BFFs ever since, even though we’re pretty different.”
“How so?” I inquired.
“Well,” Scrappy replied, “I’m just a good ol’ basic pooch. But Phil’s a Purebred. Hasta know what’s happenin’ every single second. An SOMEtimes he can be a bit of a Snobnose.”
“Hey, Scrapman, I just want what I want when I want it is all. Like, if I’m not in the mood for takin’ a walk, why should I? After all,” he turned to me, “my breed originated in 19th century England. We were fearless hunters. I come from a long line of VIDs.”
“Er …”
“Very Important Dogs.”
At that point, Scrappy took a flying leap and landed on Phil, and they began wrestling around, pretend-growling, an rolling over an over.
“So, fellas, what’s your day usually like?” I asked in my outdoor voice.
The rolling ceased. “Sometimes we go to the beach,” said Phil. “So fun! I rush out into the waves an body surf in. I also love our pool.”
He looked at his Dad, got the go-ahead, then jumped in and began swimmin’ in circles. “This is great! Come’on in, Mr. Bonz!”
Being a spaniel, I, too, love the water, but I was On The Clock. When Phil climbed out, drippin,’ I could see his skin was all spotty, like a Dalmatian. Or a giraffe. Or a cow. It was Super Cool Kibbles, an I told him so.
“Confidentially,” said Scrappy, “Phil can be a liddle mischievous. Like, I noticed there was a box of chocolates on the top shelf of the pantry, so I innocently pointed it out to Phil.” He smiled. “How was I to know he could get all the way up there?” He smiled a bigger smile. “It’s amazin’ how Phil got that box down, and carefully unwrapped every piece of chocolate without leaving a single toothmark.
“Whenever Phil does something he shouldn’t when Mom an Dad are gone, he gets in his bed an doesn’t rush to the door with me as usual when they return. So Mom knew right away there was Something Up. Sure enough, there was Phil on the bed with The Guilty Dog Look, Droopy Sad Ears, an a Chocolate-covered Face. He can open doors, too. Once he got in the pantry an ate potato mix, soup mix, an chocolate chip cookie mix. Huge mess. It was delicious. He stayed in his bed then, too.”
“OK. Scrapman,” innerrupted Phil. “I’m changin’ the subject. I don’t like thunder. Or that big noisy thing on a leash Mom pushes all over the floors. I always attack it an save her. An I bark to remind Mom to GO when the traffic light changes. Dad says I’m a Linear Thinker. I dunno what that even means, but I think it means I can figure stuff out. I patrol the bushes for lizards. An we dig the Dog Park. We hafta stay in the Liddle Dog side, but I go right up to the fence an race the Big Dogs back an forth. I usually beat ’em, cuz I’m so Fleet of Paw. An dinnertime’s extra fun cuz Mom always sings the Doggie Dinnertime song.”
“Hey, Phil,” said Scrappy. “Show Mr. Bonz that cellphone thing.”
Their Mom opened a video on her phone of Phil watching a video of himself on her phone. He jumped into her lap an watched it intently. When it was over, he bopped the screen with his paw to start it again. Amazin.’
“Me, I’m way more chill than Phil,” said Scrappy. “Like, when Mom’s gone, Phil’s mizz-rubble. Totally Soggy Dog Biscuits the whole time. I remain cool. ’Cept if he tries to grab my Antler Chew. Some things are just Off Limits.”
I was smilin’ all the way home.
Till next time,
The Bonz
