The Tale of El Guapo

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Part 7

Disaster Strikes Again

I am free to roam the house, so I go to visit the kitchen. The lingering aromas left from supper are still lolling around the room. My mouth is watering as I search wishfully for a path to conquer either the supper table or the countertop, but there is none to be found. I am barred from getting to the food sources any more because everything I might use for hopping and climbing has been warily moved out of the way.

I swallow a few laps of water, and sniff at this and that among my squeaky toys found in my basket, but I finally head back to the front room with my mouth empty. I can’t help but think that no one is in the mood to play with the dog tonight.

Before entering, I survey the area. They are all situated around the TV. They hardly even notice as I saunter into the room. I’m being ignored by all. I don’t know why, but this makes me feel bad inside.

They are watching a favorite show called “Funniest Home Videos.” It usually has people doing stupid things. Sometimes it shows dogs doing funny things: that I like to watch. Sometimes it has stupid cats: I despise cats.

The little girl lets me hop up beside her and I make myself comfortable. With nothing better to do, I pick at the bandage on her hand. It has that tasty “seeps out from within” smell that attracts me. She keeps pushing me away, but as soon as her eyes refocus on the TV, I return to nipping at the bandage.

Finally she cries, “Stop it, El Guapo, stop it!” (I don’t know what that means, and I don’t like the way it sounds.) I make a final move to simply sniff at the bandage one last time, but the girl abruptly sweeps me away and I topple ungracefully onto the floor. (I’m beginning to feel unappreciated.)

That strange, hurting feeling from deep within resurfaces again, so I scurry beneath the couch, hiding myself away. Mere moments later, the girl’s mother shrieks, “Look! Look!” while desperately pointing to the TV. She seems unable to utter anything more.

I glance at the TV and immediately comprehend: “Funniest Home Videos” has finally arrived with the good stuff—dog videos. Now all four of us are enthralled. I dart from under the couch and stand face to face with the TV.

Someone, recording from a distance, has videoed a scrawny, little black dog wearing giant pointed ears. And that dog is frantically pulling and tugging with all his might and determination. He has his jaws locked onto one of those huge, heavy crossties. (I’ve done that before.)

Look at that little rascal work. He’s no bigger than a rat, and yet he’s dragging that tremendous crosstie through the brush.

I keep yipping to the family, “Look at him go! Look at him go!”

But wait! The camera unexpectedly swings away from the mighty little dog, and zooms in on a stupid little goat. He appears to be intently following that crosstie. (I’ve seen that before too.) The family is suddenly in an uproar.

What is the deal with little goats and crossties? Are they actually little magical dryads attached to and caring for their crossties?

Or could it be that little goats are so fond of, so emotionally attached by invisible ropes to crossties, that they’ll follow them anywhere? I think goats are just plain stupid.

The family, however, is of a different opinion. By their reaction to the video, they have a high regard for little goats. In fact, they used to have one of their own. By coincidence, he disappeared the very same day that I arrived.

He was a winner of countless ribbons, trophies and such, but in the end, he still foolishly dived headfirst into a deep abyss, and has yet to find his way home again. (I know of this, because I saw it with my own eyes.)

The camera swings back to follow the progress of the busy little dog, and moments later a second dog comes into view. This one steps aside as the little dog arrives with the big crosstie.

The camera then zooms in on the second dog: and what a magnificent creature it is...NOT! I have never, ever seen such a hideous, shag-nasty mess of a dog in my life.

There ought to be a law against such things. Any dog that wretched looking should have to wear a sign that reads: I’m too ugly for a dog—I must be a cat. (Funny! Sometimes I cannot help but laugh at my own wit. I can’t wait to report all of this to Maggy.)

Oh, but wait. The scrawny little dog has jumped to the other end of the crosstie and started pushing on it. He can barely move it, but suddenly the crosstie just disappears into thin air! How’d he do that?

And there’s the little goat...how totally unexpected. But—now you see it, now you don’t. Just like the crosstie, the goat disappears. Go figure.

Finally I notice the house around me has erupted into complete chaos. The TV can’t be heard for all the screaming, shouting, and sobbing. And guess who it is they’re all screaming at. Another big surprise: they’re all mad at me—again. I don’t know why; it’s goats who are so incredibly stupid and oblivious.

—El Guapo (rabid by choice)
(via ghost writer)

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