Tag Archives: humor

That Dog Won’t Hunt! for Uncle Bill #fridayflash #amwriting #fiction

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Thank you for stopping in to read my #fridayflash. Be sure to visit the Friday Flash Community for more great flash fiction by outstanding authors!

That Dog Won’t Hunt is rated PG by my standards. Please note: there is no specific reason the dog’s name is the same as my dad’s, it’s just what came to me.  🙂

For Uncle Bill, who loved his dogs, and a good joke

Annie, Uncle Bill's dog
Annie, Uncle Bill’s dog

That Dog Won’t Hunt, by Deanna Schrayer

“I told you Mabel, that dog won’t hunt! It ain’t gonna do you a bit of good to ask him to go get your newspaper. The darn thing is lazy!”

Ralph growled.

“Now James, he’s a good dog and you know it. Why, he always does what I ask him, watch this.” Mabel rattled the treats in her pocket and looked down at the old basset hound, “Ralph? Ralphie? You’re a good boy ain’t ya? I know you are.” She bent down and ruffled the fur around his neck, glanced at James to make sure he wasn’t watching before she took a piece of bacon out of her pocket and waved it under Ralph’s nose. She stood back up, “Okay Ralph, go get Mama the paper.”

Ralph took off down the walk, his floppy ears slapping the concrete and his tail wagging with pride.

“Humph” James said.

Ralph returned to Mabel, holding the paper perfectly in his mouth, just sideways enough to keep his slobber off of it. She stooped down and patted his head, took the paper and gave him the treat, “That’s my baby,” she crooned, “You’re mama’s boy, ain’t ya? Yes, you’re such a good boy, yes you are.” She went further and further into the baby talk until James couldn’t stand it any longer. He stood and stared at his wife, incredulous.

“How in the world do you do that?” he asked her, “He won’t do a darn thing for me, but he’d kiss your butt in a coon’s eye.”

“I’m just good to him, that’s all,” she replied, “You gotta show him you appreciate him James, just give him a little love.”

 “Come on boy,” Mabel told Ralph, “Let’s go upstairs and leave ole’ grouchy Daddy alone.

“Humph,” James grunted as he walked out of the basement.

Ralph followed his real master upstairs to the kitchen, growling his frustration along the way. He imagined himself standing on his hind legs and wagging his paw in James’s face, “Well of course I won’t hunt for you, you grouchy old man. Why don’t you try treating me like a human being now and then, huh? Would it kill you just to give your faithful dog a treat every once in a while? Darn right I won’t hunt, not for you, no how, no way!”

“Here you go sweetheart,” Mabel sat a plate of biscuits and gravy down at the table and Ralph jumped up in his chair and put his bib on.

“How long we gonna keep this charade up anyway Mabel?” he asked her, “Don’t you think we need to tell your old man I’m not a dog, that I’m really your cousin that didn’t truly get lost in the woods that day? Quite frankly I’m getting tired of fake bacon.”

“Now Ralph, you know his ole’ heart couldn’t take that kind of a shock. We can’t tell him and you know it.”

“Well I’ll tell you one thing right now,” Ralph replied, “I don’t care if he ever did start treating me better. As long as he goes on telling everybody and their brother I won’t hunt, then I won’t, ya hear? I won’t!”

Ralph and Mabel both jumped when they heard a boisterous thump! They turned to the kitchen door to see James sprawled across the threshold, his normally beady eyes bulging from his sallow face; he was panting and pointing a long bony finger at Ralph. 

“Ahahahaha,” Ralph hooted, “Guess I won’t have to worry about hunting for that ole’ grouch no more now will I? Ahahahahaha!”

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Surviving New Year’s Eve with teenage sons = ONE resolution

Have you made your 2014 resolutions or have you been procrastinating as I have? At least I was…until last night….Now I have defined my one resolution for this glorious new year: on December 31, 2014, I will either sleep through the day and go out that night or I will sleep through the entire day and night, period.

Oh yea, I may miss the first twenty-seven seconds of 2015, unlike the first twenty-seven seconds of 1997 – 2013 when I roamed between rooms trying to find something less painful than toothpicks to hold my eyes open with while my sons cranked up the music and bounced wall-to-wall between those same rooms. But – it will be worth it.

Yesterday, (after an hour of scraping the remains of what was supposed to be my infamous butter-pecan cake for Christmas from my oven), I spent approximately eighteen hours in my [small] kitchen creating glorious dips and appetizers, slicing veggies, fruit, cheese, and, eventually, my finger, while my 14-and-16-year old sons seemed to be waiting patiently to consume all these heavenly dishes, the youngest battling with his friends on his PS3 while the oldest downloaded seventeen editing programs, and quite probably a virus, to my computer in order to slow it further down than it already was.

After loading the dining room table up with this beautiful food and giving the signal for them to dig in, they didn’t move. Not an inch. Okay, fine. “I’ll eat it all myself,” I told them, and proceeded to load my plate up.

When the youngest finally did glance up and saw that I was eating his favorite food, (that he specifically asked me to make) – sausage and pepperoni Stromboli – he said “Oh,” and grabbed a plate and placed two slices on it. I was happy. Then he sat his plate on the coffee table and picked his game controller back up and commenced to slaughter zombies with his buds. The Stromboli sat unloved on his plate for hours while my oldest swore, when I asked him every ten minutes if he’d eaten anything, that yes, he’d been grabbing stuff here and there. But I could see he was not telling the truth – the fruit and veggies and Stromboli, even the banana pound cake, was wilting on the table.

But I let it pass. They both normally eat like the teenage boys they are and I figured that when they finally did get hungry they’d eat.

And I was right. About an hour later the oldest says to me, “Can I make Ramen noodles?”

Are you kidding me?! “Absolutely not,” I said, and continued with a tirade of “after I spent all dang day in the kitchen cooking for you guys” and “If you’re hungry you’ll eat what I cooked for you,” and yadayadayada…..But of course I gave in, though he did have to make the noodles himself.

At twenty-seven-after-midnight, I had no energy at all to clean up, so this morning my kitchen and dining room were loaded down with all manner of dishes, (how the boys can seemingly not eat a thing but dirty every plate, bowl and glass in the house is beyond me), and I sit here writing while my home begs for attention.

I’ve heard tell that whatever you do on New Year’s Day is what you’ll do every day for the rest of the year. In that case, for the remaining 364 days of 2014, I will ignore my poor neglected home, and I will write, write, write! Sounds like a good resolution to me!

So how’s your year thus far?

Deanna on New Year's Eve 2014 image via wallcg.com
Deanna on New Year’s Eve 2014
image via wallcg.com

P.S. The truth: I would frankly be lost without having my sons to cook for and I’m fairly certain that this one small resolution will be shattered. I am beyond grateful that God has given me such kind, loving gentlemen to share my life with. I am blessed.

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Ah, the memories….. #fridayflash #Christmas #holiday

Image by Deanna Schrayer
Image by Deanna Schrayer

I love to flip through memories as a way to relax during this hectic time of year. As I reflect in my essay, There are Stories to be Told, if we don’t capture the myriad memories of our lives by writing them down, they could too easily fade into the distant past and be forever lost. Had I not jotted down the conversation [below] with my youngest son, Noah, eleven-years-old at the time, I may have forgotten it. I stumbled upon this from a past blog and just had to share, again. I hope you get as much of a kick out of it as I have.

Conversation between mother and son, Christmas time

Noah: I want a power scooter for Christmas, and that’s all.

Noah: I want a skateboard for Christmas, and that’s all.

Noah: And I want swords like Tyler and Skyler, and that’s all.

Noah: I want a flashlight and batteries to make it work, and that’s all. That’s all I want for Christmas.

Me: Do you know what I want for Christmas?

Noah: What?

Me: I want all my family to be happy.

Noah: *rolls eyes*

Me: And I want tickets to see Bruce Springsteen, and tickets to see Keith Urban, and tickets to see the Tennessee Vols play football, and a new car, and someone to remodel my house, and a new wardrobe and a make-up artist, and a hair dresser, and a new bathroom, and a mud pit, and…

Noah: I’m sorry, I don’t want to listen anymore.

Me: But I didn’t say that to you.

Noah: That’s because I was done!

********

During that same time, in 2010, I wrote a Friday Flash inspired by something my oldest son had said when he was four-years-old. I hope you get a chance to sit back, relax and enjoy the story Christmas is Over!, on my former fiction site The Other Side of Deanna, here.

I wish you all a blessed Christmas and fantastic New Year!

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Fireworks by The Lord – #fridayflash #amwriting #nashostomo #flashsense

Thank you for stopping in to read my #fridayflash. To celebrate NaShoStoMo (National Short Story Month) the Friday Flash Community is hosting a senseless challenge.

Each Friday throughout the month of May we’ll tell a story related to one of the five senses; this Friday is sound week. Be sure to visit the Friday Flash Community to learn more about this challenge and to discover more great flash fiction by outstanding authors!

A great big Thank You to both Steve Green of The Twisted Quill and Estrella Azul of Life’s a Stage for presenting This Side Over Yonder with the Liebster Award, and thanks to Estrella for the Sunshine Award!

 

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I am quite late in accepting the award from Steve, for which I sincerely apologize. Both the Liebster and Sunshine awards require a bit of thought, hence my belatedness – ha! In any case, I will post formal acceptance soon. Thank you both very much! And now, my “sound” #fridayflash, Fireworks by the Lord, rated G according to my standards.

Fireworks by the Lord, by Deanna Schrayer

All the way down the road Timmy had whined about not getting to play Halo with his friends, and on a weekend no less, just so his parents could buy a new vehicle. So unfair! He dragged himself into the dealership office behind his mother. “Timmy, I don’t want to be here any more than you do so just straighten up right now.” His mom leaned into Timmy’s face and bit the words through bared teeth.

“What did I do?” Timmy yelled, drawing all eyes towards them.

“Shhh!” his dad this time, shushed them both. The salesman, Ken, cleared his throat and led the family to his office, (which was no more than cheap fiberboard slapped up haphazardly between the break room and restrooms). “If you’ll just have a seat,” Ken said, waving his hand with a flourish, as if presenting a leather couch for their comfort, rather than the once-orange plastic chairs they were, “we’ll just sign a couple of forms and you’ll be on your way in your new Tahoe!” He smiled brilliantly.

Lee and Mary McDevon sat as instructed and Mary reached under Timmy’s arms and lifted his stout body, pulling him towards her lap. The boy scoffed, squirming out of his mother’s grasp to slide down onto the floor where he lay grumbling. He was seven-years-old, he certainly didn’t need his mother to hold him!

Lee put his hand to his forehead as if feeling for a fever and released a heavy sigh.

Ken, being the veteran salesman, lifted the lid from the candy jar sitting on his desk and sang, “Ah-ha-ha-ha, what do we have here?” He pulled out something that may have once been a peanut-butter nugget, the concoction now melted into the plastic containing it. He offered it to Timmy who stuck his lip out and scowled at the man. “Well then,” Ken said, setting the candy on the edge of his desk in front of Timmy. He sat and took several sheets of paper from his printer, placing them one by one on his desk; the printer continued to spit out more and more pages. “We’ll just start with these,” he said and handed both Mr. and Mrs. McDevon a brand new pen with the company’s logo and byline imprinted on them: Drive away today! the pens screamed.

“Ummmm,” Lee uttered, “what’s all this? I thought we only needed to sign a couple pages since we’re not using your finance department.”

“Oh, well,” Ken laughed, “you know how it is Mr. McDeveon, they won’t take your first born, or even your car, as long as they have your signature all over the place.

Lee sat back and grunted.

Timmy whined, “Can we go now?” He was still on the floor, now lying flat on his back and mopping the dirty tile with his head.

“Not yet honey,” Mary said, “We have to sign some papers.” She scooted closer to the desk, inadvertently scraping the chair leg across Timmy’s shin.

“Owwwwwww!” Timmy yelled.

“Sorry honey, I’m sorry,” Mary flung her arm towards her son as if to comfort him. But she didn’t touch him.

Lee sighed again.

Ken cleared his throat again. “Now,” he said, “If you’ll just flip through these and sign and date on the line at the bottom of each page we’ll get you out of here as quickly as possible.” He flashed the brilliant teeth, smiled, smiled.

“Ouch!” Mary yelled. Timmy had scratched her leg. She flung her arm towards her son again but this time made contact, smacking his bare leg so hard the noise echoed through the room.

Timmy began crying at a low pitch, almost you couldn’t hear it. But the intensity of his complaint gradually grew louder and louder until the cry was like a screech owl that’d lost his mate.

Lee tossed his pen on the desk and scratched his chair across the floor, the squeal of which threatened to drown Timmy’s performance. “All right,” he said, “Let’s go, we obviously can’t do anything if that boy has to be with us.” He stood up and Mary grabbed his arm, urging him to sit back down. “Come on honey, we need to do this now, we won’t have another chance for a while.”

Lee planted his fists on his hips and nodded towards his son. “Can you make him stop?” he asked his wife, raising his eyebrows in challenge.

Timmy’s wailing only grew more incessant. Ken threw his own pen down now and sat back in his chair, defeated.

Mary stood and grabbed hold of Timmy’s wrists, attempting to pull him up but only succeeding in tripping over his feet and almost falling on top of him, making him scream even louder.

A clamorous BOOM rang through the room, piercing all their eardrums. They looked at one another in astonishment and time seemed to stand still. But after only a second they all ran towards the door, rushing to find the source of the cacophony which seemed to have come from outside the dealership.

“Oh my God!” Ken cried, and ran for the phone.

“Wow!” said Lee.

“Oh man, cool!” Timmy squealed, running for the door.

“Oh no you don’t,” said his mother, reaching for her son as if she were made of elastic and pulling him back to safety.

Mary held tight to Timmy’s wrist as they stood staring out at the flames dancing above the telephone pole. Apparently a transformer had blown.

“Fire truck’s on the way,” said Ken as he joined the family at the door.

After a moment of complete silence the salesman took advantage of the situation. “Should we sign the papers now?” he ventured.

“Sure,” Mary laughed, “Now that the Lord sent fireworks to hush everybody up maybe we can get through this thing.”

Timmy placed his hand over his mouth as they walked quietly back to Ken’s office. *

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