(Photo courtesy of Apertome)
In the last post, I introduced you to my dog Rex, the only dog I ever loved died when I was fourteen. When the story ‘DOGGONE’ came to me, I thought of Rex.
The picture above, although not Rex, reminds me of him. Rex was smart, cool, and he had heart; he didn’t take any mess, not even from me. But he loved me and I him. I like to remember him as a dog on a journey.
This is for you boy.
“Hank, wake up, wake up!”
Hank woke with a start and looked over at the clock.
“Boy, it’s six o’ clock in the morning. What the fu–”
“Spare me the obscenities.”
“Okay, okay, what is it?”
“What? How do you know?”
“Trust me, I know.”
“Is there anything I can do for you?”
“Thanks, but no. But there is something I want to do for you.”
Hank sat up.
“Take this map and this envelope. Promise me you will follow the map to the letter. And you won’t open the envelope until you hear the sirens, promise?”
“I promise, boy. Hey, Rex, maybe you’re wrong, maybe you’re not dying, maybe–”
Rex hit the floor with a slam.
“Oh, boy. Right again.”
Hank unfolded the hand-written map, which detailed the many places that Rex, during his lifetime, had buried money.
Hank, over the years, the many times money came up missing I was the one who stole it, not the few friends you chased away.
Now that you’re broke and I’m dead, I would like to tell you where I buried a small fortune in several places on our property.
“Why that lousy mutt!”
Hank! Hank! Calm down and listen!
Four feet from the oak tree in the back yard is buried five-thousand dollars. So get your shovel and bury me nearby – then get digging.
Hank buried Rex in two shakes of a dog’s tail, then went sniffing and dug up the money.
“Whoaaaaa, good boy, Rex, good boy.”
All right, all right, let’s keep moving.
Near the back fence under that smelly bush you planted is ten-thousand dollars.
After some digging and cursing, Hank dug up the loot.
“Rex, you were the best dog. Ever. I miss you already.”
Yeah, yeah, let’s keep moving.
Four feet in front of my doghouse you will find fifteen large.
The doghouse was in a sad state of repair. Hank now wished he’d taken better care of Rex.
Three feet down, just as Rex had predicted, lay the dough wrapped in plastic like the others.
“Awwww, boy, how did you ever do this? Thank you, boy, thank youuuu.”
Hank! Get a grip. Onto the last stop.
Near the patio, four feet from that stupid rock you call art is twenty Gs.
Hank found it so.
“Oooh, Rex, I loved you so much, boy. Why did you have to die? Why? Why? Why?”
“Hey, Hank, are you okay?” asked the neighbor.
“No, Phil, as a matter of fact, I’m not! And for your information, Rex died.”
“Good! I never like that mutt, anyway.”
“Why you no good–”
Hank leaped the fence, grabbed Phil and punched him near to death. Phil’s wife came out screaming, and then rushed to call the police.
Within minutes, Hank heard the sirens then he remembered the envelope.
I knew one day you would do something stupid. Whatever it is, I hope the fifty helps.
And to quote the best quote you ever stole: ‘May the fleas of a thousand camels invade the crotch of the person that ruins your day. And may their arms be too short to scratch.’ I love you, my friend, take care.
Love and happiness,
For our GOOD FRIDAY, tell us your most heartwarming story about your four legged friend. And as always, keep your head up.