They nodded in silence and I saw Marty stifle a giggle and poke Louie in the ribs from the rear view mirror.
The campground store was closed when we arrived. I left a brochure labeled “Ask me about Skin-So-Soft Bug Guard!” in bright orange print hanging on the door and began to walk back to the van.
“Hey Mom! Look!”
Louie pointed behind me, to the “Wood Fires Not Permitted” sign hanging off the store’s peeling siding. A fat raccoon scuttled around the corner, to the door of the store, and grabbed my brochure. She yanked hard and the plastic of the bag gave way, sending the brochure and Skin-So-Soft samples sliding across the dirt drive.
“Hey! Hey! Raccoon! Leave it alone! Drop it!”
I ran toward the mangy beast, raising my arms high over my head like those zombies in old horror flicks and stomped my feet. She looked at me as if I were a nuisance of a human, like a kid acting up in a hotel lobby, and she continued sauntering away from the store, brochure in mouth, bloated belly with fully extended nipples swaying from side to side. I dropped my arms, picked up the samples, and walked back to the car, slammed the door shut, sighed a weary-to-the-bone Avon Lady sigh and started the engine.
Marty and Louie giggled the entire ride home.
A Leap into the Unknown
Marty woke me at four a.m. with a scream and the crash of a plastic star ship careening off the dresser.
“Mom! Mom! Mommmmmmmmmmm!” He yelled across the house as I struggled to wake.
“Mom! Mom! Mommmmmmmmmmm!”
“Hey shut up! I’m sleeping!” Louie pounded on the wall separating their rooms.
“What’s going on out there!” I headed for the hall, tripped over the dog and smacked my elbow against a corner. “Ouch! Hey! What’s all the ruckus about?”
Marty sat on the lower bunk, shaking, pointing to the window.
“Someone’s outside! I think it’s a ghost!”
“Oh Lord, there’s nobody outside. You must have heard the wind. I’ll go outside and check, come on, come with me, we’ll check together.” I grabbed his hand and dragged him to the front door, Louie and dog on our tail.
Suzie heard it first. She growled, white hair up in Labrador Mohawk shackles, and she leaped to reach the door, growls erupting into barks. I let go of Marty’s hand, pointed to the couch and turned to stare at the boys.
“Sit down and wait!”
I snuck up to Suzie, peered out the opaque etched glass, saw no reflection of person or ghost, but something small, low to the ground, moving in circles, tangled. A lost dog? I pushed Suzie aside and opened the door a crack.
A baby pot-bellied pig lifted his snout and gave a grunt. A long black leash snarled through his legs and neck, one end tied to the handle of my door. He wore a red leather harness with silver studs and a three-sentence note was duct-taped to the collar:
My name is Frankie Bacon. Please give me a good home. We know you love animals.
I scooped him into my arms and headed to the laundry room. I folded two Mexican blankets and lay them on the floor near the furnace. I filled a tin pie plate with water and set it on the floor. The pig watched my motions with interest but offered no opinion.
The boys did their best to wear me down. They pleaded, begged, swore up and down they would clean all the mess, cried, moaned, and sulked. I almost caved watching Frankie chase the dog through the house. They tumbled and played and the boys cheered and rolled with them across the floor. I looked at the clock. Five.
“Ok, fellows, we’ve all got to get a little more sleep. Get back into bed and I’ll mind Frankie.” The little pig’s ears perked up when I said his name. He turned his head to look at me, and I swear I saw him smile.
I tucked the boys in bed and led Frankie back to the laundry room and plugged in the Sponge Bob night-light. I turned on all night AM Talk Radio so he could hear the soothing sounds of political clap trap and shut the door. All was wonderful. For twelve
The campground store was closed when we arrived. I left a brochure labeled “Ask me about Skin-So-Soft Bug Guard!” in bright orange print hanging on the door and began to walk back to the van.
“Hey Mom! Look!”
Louie pointed behind me, to the “Wood Fires Not Permitted” sign hanging off the store’s peeling siding. A fat raccoon scuttled around the corner, to the door of the store, and grabbed my brochure. She yanked hard and the plastic of the bag gave way, sending the brochure and Skin-So-Soft samples sliding across the dirt drive.
“Hey! Hey! Raccoon! Leave it alone! Drop it!”
I ran toward the mangy beast, raising my arms high over my head like those zombies in old horror flicks and stomped my feet. She looked at me as if I were a nuisance of a human, like a kid acting up in a hotel lobby, and she continued sauntering away from the store, brochure in mouth, bloated belly with fully extended nipples swaying from side to side. I dropped my arms, picked up the samples, and walked back to the car, slammed the door shut, sighed a weary-to-the-bone Avon Lady sigh and started the engine.
Marty and Louie giggled the entire ride home.
A Leap into the Unknown
Marty woke me at four a.m. with a scream and the crash of a plastic star ship careening off the dresser.
“Mom! Mom! Mommmmmmmmmmm!” He yelled across the house as I struggled to wake.
“Mom! Mom! Mommmmmmmmmmm!”
“Hey shut up! I’m sleeping!” Louie pounded on the wall separating their rooms.
“What’s going on out there!” I headed for the hall, tripped over the dog and smacked my elbow against a corner. “Ouch! Hey! What’s all the ruckus about?”
Marty sat on the lower bunk, shaking, pointing to the window.
“Someone’s outside! I think it’s a ghost!”
“Oh Lord, there’s nobody outside. You must have heard the wind. I’ll go outside and check, come on, come with me, we’ll check together.” I grabbed his hand and dragged him to the front door, Louie and dog on our tail.
Suzie heard it first. She growled, white hair up in Labrador Mohawk shackles, and she leaped to reach the door, growls erupting into barks. I let go of Marty’s hand, pointed to the couch and turned to stare at the boys.
“Sit down and wait!”
I snuck up to Suzie, peered out the opaque etched glass, saw no reflection of person or ghost, but something small, low to the ground, moving in circles, tangled. A lost dog? I pushed Suzie aside and opened the door a crack.
A baby pot-bellied pig lifted his snout and gave a grunt. A long black leash snarled through his legs and neck, one end tied to the handle of my door. He wore a red leather harness with silver studs and a three-sentence note was duct-taped to the collar:
My name is Frankie Bacon. Please give me a good home. We know you love animals.
I scooped him into my arms and headed to the laundry room. I folded two Mexican blankets and lay them on the floor near the furnace. I filled a tin pie plate with water and set it on the floor. The pig watched my motions with interest but offered no opinion.
The boys did their best to wear me down. They pleaded, begged, swore up and down they would clean all the mess, cried, moaned, and sulked. I almost caved watching Frankie chase the dog through the house. They tumbled and played and the boys cheered and rolled with them across the floor. I looked at the clock. Five.
“Ok, fellows, we’ve all got to get a little more sleep. Get back into bed and I’ll mind Frankie.” The little pig’s ears perked up when I said his name. He turned his head to look at me, and I swear I saw him smile.
I tucked the boys in bed and led Frankie back to the laundry room and plugged in the Sponge Bob night-light. I turned on all night AM Talk Radio so he could hear the soothing sounds of political clap trap and shut the door. All was wonderful. For twelve
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