Butts & Kelly

I know I said I would change the names in this book, but it’s imperative that in this next story I maintain the truth that is Butts and Kelly. Butts and Kelly are two small, mixed-breed dogs that belonged to a piano teacher I had—Miss Donna.

My parents were more of a sports family, rarely pushing me and my brothers into the creative arts, but we did have family friends who had a daughter my age and would often sign me up for things like drawing class or piano lessons. I can’t sing, but around middle school I saw Divas Live 1998 and figured if I can’t sing like those queens did during the “Natural Woman” finale, at least I could play an instrument near the women who could. So Mom signed me up for weekly piano lesson at Miss Donna’s house, a quirky woman in her late sixties who lived alone with Butts, Kelly, and a wide array of horse photos adorning her walls, which she would talk to as if they were in the room.

“My horsey!” she’d say in an adult baby voice that would send chills down anyone’s spine, pointing to a framed image above the piano. The equestrian decor was all different, some were oil paintings, others looked like they were drawn in the style of Bob’s Burgers. The only through line was that there were horses featured in every hung piece. You know how some people have kitchens filled with word art from HomeGoods? It was like that, only instead of Live, Laugh, Love signs, there was horse art everywhere.

Detour

HomeGoods is my favorite place on earth. I’m never more at peace than when I’m walking the aisles, browsing the cooking oils, shuffling through the racks of towels, or rummaging the holiday merch section for seasonal gnomes. It’s pure bliss, but it’s imperative that you curate your shopping trip. We’ve all made mistakes there before, getting a little too excited after grabbing the cart, throwing everything that sparks joy inside of it. You ladies know what I’m talking about. Marie Kondo wants us to get rid of shit, but I can only assume that’s because she’s never been inside of a HomeGoods. Whenever I’m there, like Ashley Tisdale in High School Musical 3, I want it all. Regardless, you MUST look at your cart before you head to the checkout and remove some stuff. Count your word art and remove at least one item. There’s a famous saying about removing an accessory before you leave the house, and I beseech you to remove one Rae Dunn original from your HomeGoods cart before you’re even close enough for a cashier to say, “Who’s next?” While I’m here offering tips, be sure to leave enough time in your shopping experience for those items near the register, which is where some of my favorite finds are. Plus, you should have extra room in your cart after giving up a find. I love the artisanal orange slices and creative s’more-type treats that you can’t get anywhere else (except TJ Maxx, Marshalls, etc.). Don’t let anyone rush you when you’re looking through those candies and cards. Relax. Settle in. Let patrons go ahead of you if they are in a rush. Savor the moments near the register, and if you’ve curated the items properly, you can add a few extras from the checkout area to your cart before paying and leave the heavenly store with pride. These rules also apply to the aforementioned TJ Maxx, where I’m a certified Maxxinista, and Marshalls, which, together with HomeGoods, make up the triumvirate of Midwest shopping, all of which would be flawless experiences if it weren’t for the hellish way they put price stickers on their items. Why must it be so hard to get the $12.99 tag off my candle? Whose idea was it to plaster it on the middle of my glass mirror? When will our elected officials take this on?!

The first time I went to Miss Donna’s house, I was overwhelmed by the smell of urine, but I initially didn’t quite know how to place the scent. Hoarders had not been on the air at that point, so I didn’t have the language to describe exactly what I saw, but this woman had definitely collected way too many knickknacks and had very clearly never left her home. Kids would stop by after school, she would teach them hand placement on the keys, and then I can only assume Miss Donna would cuddle up with Butts and Kelly to watch Dharma & Greg.

When I would arrive at her house for my 4:30 p.m. lesson, Butts and Kelly would be sanctioned off in the kitchen, while Miss Donna’s piano was a few feet away, ready to be played. There are yappy dogs, and then there’s Butts and Kelly. They were very protective of Miss Donna, so anytime anyone would arrive, they would bark like hell from the kitchen, and the woofs wouldn’t stop for the entire hour. It felt loud, like Man of Steel–soundtrack loud. I’d be playing “Chopsticks” and Butts and Kelly would be barking along, off-key, just a few steps away from me.

I don’t know what exactly Miss Donna should’ve done about Butts and Kelly. Perhaps she could’ve put them in another room or found some space outside for them to hang while she taught her students. Instead, she would spend the hour yelling at them while I tried to learn the notes. She would be so kind, gentle, and sweet with me but lost it on them.

“C-E-F-G…” she’d softly say in that adult baby voice as I played “When the Saints Go Marching In.”

By the time I hit the G, Butts and Kelly would begin their bark.

“BUTTS! KELLY! SHUT UP!” she would shout in a deep baritone at them, going from zero to one hundred like the best Real Housewives do, only instead of a designer wrap dress, Miss Donna was wearing a T-shirt with Flicka on it.

“Should I keep playing?” I’d ask.

“Yes, hun, keep going, I’m listening.”

C-E-F-G-

“Ruff!”

“BUTTS! KELLY! SHUT UP! I WILL HIT YOU WITH A TWO-BY-FOUR!” Miss Donna screamed.

“Is everything okay?” I queried.

“Hun, yes, of course, just keep playing.”

“Ruff! Ruff!!”

“HEY, BUTTS! HEY, KELLY! SHUT UP! IF YOU DON’T, I WILL GET THE TWO-BY-FOUR! You know who doesn’t bark? HORSES DON’T BARK!”

This continued for exactly one hour, every single lesson. Each week. Pure chaos. For what it’s worth, I never saw any physical abuse, and I truly don’t think she had a two-by-four handy, but she did continue to threaten them.

After the second lesson, I talked to my friend who also had classes with Miss Donna.

“Does she yell at Butts and Kelly while you’re in there too?”

“Yeah, she tells them she is going to hit them with a two-by-four,” my friend replied.

“Have you ever seen her do it? Like, does she have wood?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Isn’t it distracting? I can never get through one song because she has to keep stopping and starting,” I admitted.

“Yeah, but my mom says she offers the cheapest lessons in town.”

Turns out we were getting budget lessons. We could’ve gone to the local music school and paid an arm and a leg to take professional classes from an expert, but we decided to drive over to Miss Donna’s house once a week and get the knockoff version, complete with an out-of-tune piano and the aggressive relationship she had with her two dogs.

Miss Donna never planned on using lumber. She used to live on a farm and moved to the suburbs, where there was no space for horses, and she figured dogs were the next best thing. Butts and Kelly barked because they knew they would never live up to the horses Miss Donna held so dear. Every day those cute pooches had to look around the room and see endless horse paraphernalia, knowing that they would never be the animals that Miss Donna wanted them to be. Sometimes when I’m on Instagram, looking at my feed, which is filled with hot male models, I think about Butts and Kelly. Those dogs were constantly faced with the image of the ones they would not live up to. And Miss Donna was frustrated because the life she built for herself didn’t allow her to spend time with the creatures she really loved.

After less than a year of not learning anything at the lessons with Miss Donna, my mom stopped taking me. I can only play one song (“When the Saints Go Marching In”) on the piano, but I did learn some valuable lessons: You get what you pay for, and life is a compromise. Oh, and horses don’t bark.