The Phone Call 72

Not a 'sex story' but a bit racy and hopefully funny.

The Phone Call

As is my routine when I travel on business, I called my wife from my hotel room after I got back from dinner. She was, as always, in a very good mood.

"I'm so glad you called."

"I call every night."

"Ah, but you don't have to, so I am glad when you do."

"How was your day?" I asked, following our routine. It's nice to have a routine, something you can count on, like a good American-made lawn mower, if you can find one. There was a pause, that was unusual, not like our routine at all.

"My day was very routine, well, until the dog got a woodie."

"What? Um, we don't have a dog."

"I didn't say it was OUR dog, I said THE dog. Don't confuse pronouns with definite articles."

My wife is a substitute in the local High School, she's been covering the class of an English teacher on extended medical leave from injuries sustained while spelunking in Burkina-Faso, no further explanation was offered, or requested, "I'm sorry dear, my mistake. What dog?"

"It's that hairy monstrosity, the one that looks like a hirsute horse that barks."

Her vocabulary was also improving, "Ah, the Irish Wolfhound."

"Oh, how well named. Yes, that beast. The one that belongs to the Horvatethniks. You know them, the ones that live in that wretched raised ranch at the end of the circle with those planters made from old tires and the swing-set constructed entirely out of water pipe and railroad ties. They put out that weird flag at the end of November and play gibberish songs on a wheezy accordion while they parade across their front yard in those funny clothes."

"Yes, dear, I know them. I think they are Albanian and are celebrating Albanian Independence Day."

"Well, they should celebrate good American holidays like St. Patrick's Day and The Feast of St. Anthony, like normal people."

I was still curious, "Um, the dog?"

Now she was back on track, "Oh yes, that horrid quadruped. He got stimulated. Do you have any idea how BIG the thing is on a dog that size?"

I was not in a comfortable conversational neighborhood, "No dear, I am blessed to claim ignorance on that topic."

"Well, I'm tellin ya; you do not want to be around when the S.S. Wolfhound launches that pink torpedo, That's for sure."

It was apparent that my wife had surpassed her usual one glass of wine. I suspected we were in uncharted conversational territory, "I'm sure, but how did this affect your day?"

"Well, you know those young people that descend on the neighborhood, knocking on doors, always smiling, all dressed up, white shirts and neckties, and handout those watchtower things?"

"Yes, the Jehovah's Witnesses, they are quite harmless."

"You're at work. You never see them walking around, never on anyone's grass, picking up stray bits of litter they encounter, always smiling and saying, 'Good morning'. Ugh, who wants to suffer the presence of such good examples? Well, today it was a group of girls...."

"Oh my God, the dog didn't..."

"Oh, don't be vulgar. You watch too much of that Game of Thrones thing and it's warped your mind."

I watched part of one show and nearly got sick three times. That was the end of that. I went out and mowed the lawn.

"Sorry dear, my mistake, please continue."

"Well, Maggie O'Donnell, you know her, the skinny runner, lives in that lovely center-hall colonial with the Wisteria wrapped around the mailbox post. Anyway, she was walking her dog, that rat-faced little chihuahua, I think she calls it Josephina. Poor Maggie got all the way down to the circle before Ol' Wolfie caught sight of the Hawk Burrito on a string and went nuts. You probably never noticed but the Horvanoodnicks..."

"Horvatethnik, dear."

"They should have an American name too. Now, stop interrupting. The Albanians have a six-foot electrified fence to keep that menace contained. Well, the horny bastard took a run and cleared that fence like a prize jumper. I think maybe the fence tickled his thing on the way over. Poor Maggie saw this hellhound and took off. She's pretty quick, even dragging the dog, and had a head start, but that Wolfhound has legs like a gazelle and was covering distance like a Corvette on jet fuel.

She looked behind her, shrieked, and bolted for that huge oak in Harv Simpson's yard. Well, Maggie scaled that old tree like a chimp on meth, and in a flash, she's ten feet up there and screaming she's scared of heights. Meanwhile, she's still holding the leash and the dog is swinging back and forth in midair like a pinata, and the hound is running around the tree, leaping at the poor Chihuahua. I'm tellin' ya he wanted that bitch like a fat man wants a donut. That's for sure.

The Jehovanites saw all this and came running over, trying to distract the dog like rodeo clowns while avoiding touching the thing and getting their nice clothes dirty. Maggie was blubbering about a ladder or the fire department, clamped to that branch like a limpet. By now, Ol' Wolfie was getting frustrated and tired and just lay down. The Jehovians formed a circle around him, locked hands, and started singing some lovely church songs.

The gas crew that had the street dug up in front of Harv's house were quite distracted by the goings on and I think they got their valves misconnected because, pretty soon, Harv's pool is bubbling away, and I could smell gas. Well, Harv's in the pool lounging on his Donald Duck float with a Bud tall-boy..."

"I thought Harv was in AA? I guess he fell off the wagon."

"Well, I'll tell ya, based on what I see in their recycling can, he didn't fall, he leaped. That's for sure. So Harv and Donald are oblivious to all the gas, and he goes to light a cigarette..."

"Hmmm, Harv's Doctor is not going to be pleased he started smoking again."

"Ha, when Harv can recognize his doctor, that will be the least of his problems, and you're interrupting again. Well, Harv shoves a cancer stick in his mouth and flicks his zippo."

"Oh my!"

"Oh my ain't even the first page. All that gas in the pool went off, and Harv and Donald got launched like Apollo nine straight up into the air and over the fence toward the Collards. You know Millie Collard, the head of the Association, the one that goes around with a clipboard and a ruler measuring everybody's grass. Well, they just finished that beautiful pergola sort of thing by their pool, the one that's all-cedar beams and closed in with those tasteful canvas curtains, and here comes Harv and Donald, zeroing in on that pergola like the A-Bomb on Nagasaki. Bam! Direct hit. Knocked that thing from hell to breakfast. And who comes scrambling out of the wreckage and runs into the house, but that young man that takes care of the pool, I think he's one of the Simpson boys over on Jefferson, and Millie, naked as the day they were born. Well, I'll tell ya, that's gonna liven up the next HOA meeting, that's for sure."

By now, I was quite out of breath hearing the plight of all these poor people, "What happened next?"

My wife paused and I heard glass clinking, more wine I suspect, I'm going to have to speak to her about that.

"Oh, thing's quieted down, sort of. The mounted police officer that patrols the park behind the development showed up on his horse and lassoed Wolfie with some garden hose. The Fire Department showed up and rescued Harv and Maggie, the gas company supervisor came and yelled at the crew saying that they were so stupid they thought Taco Bell was a Mexican phone company. Oh, and a little while later one of those cute cars from the Progressive insurance company showed up, but it wasn't that black-haired girl in the white suit with the big ass, it was a small Indian man who was impossible to understand."

"Well, all in all that was quite a day."

"Yes, dear it was. I think tomorrow might be even more exciting."

"Oh, why?"

"I put the video up on YouTube."