Scarlett and Rhett Redux

An elderly couple approaches pushing a baby stroller, perhaps taking a grandchild or a great grand for a walk, a scene reminiscent of the St. Augustine of my childhood, forty years before.

North Florida boasts a year-round mild climate perfect for strolling the historic district, with its cobblestone streets, quaint cafes, unique shops and bed-and-breakfast inns. I am visiting my parents who own one of those quaint cafes. However, apart from visiting them, I also relish the opportunity to get away from big city life for a while and escape to a town with fewer crackpots.

We exchange greetings and pleasantries about the weather, which is indeed pleasant. Meanwhile, the couple reminds me of an upscale version of my grandparents.

Although I'm not an expert on babies or strollers, the push carriage boasts an impressive design. In the traditional English style with a chromium plated chassis, it also has stylish chrome and white wheels whose spokes sparkle in the sunlight. A ride befitting royalty. Enclosing the fortunate passenger, is a refined privacy curtain in delicate light blue organza.

When I lean over with a smile to offer the expected oohs and ahhs, shrill barks ensue, causing me to mutter profanities and take a rapid step back while clutching a tall skinny latte to my chest.

“Scarlett is frightened of strangers,” the elderly woman says.

“And Rhett doesn’t give a damn,” the gentleman chuckles with a smile.

He lifts the privacy curtain to reveal two small dogs—the kind Paris Hilton might sport—that look like blonde rats. Scarlett and Rhett wear costumes. Scarlett a little tutu—pink—with ruffled lace, and Rhett, a simple black bow tie befitting a tux.

As I step closer, Scarlett lunges with a high-pitched growl toward my crotch.

“Whoa, there,” I say, and position a protective hand over the zipper of my khakis. From the side, I think I see Rhett smile.

Scarlett’s small chest heaves her excitement, as Rhett begins to lick his private parts with the dexterity of a Cirque du Soleil performer.

“Rhett, darling, where are your manners?” The woman places a polished fingernail under his chin and scratches.

While Rhett receives this attention, Scarlett pouts and pushes her tutu into Rhett’s face. With a snorting gasp, Rhett renews his quest for the family jewels.

Am I on one of those television programs where hidden cameras film unsuspecting chumps? I wonder.

Flashing a smile toward a cluster of nearby palm trees, I suck in my gut and offer by best profile. Scarlett is not impressed.

“Do you have dogs?” the woman asks.

“Not anymore,” I say. “Did when I was a boy, of course, but Duke was a German shepherd.” And could have eaten these blonde rats for breakfast, I want to say.

The tutu still in Rhett’s face, he lets out his first growl, as though he’s heard my thought. Then Scarlett lets out a whimper that could turn the head of any male.

“You two behave,” the older gentleman says.

Since television crews have not arrived, I now ponder what might have happened to cause this seemingly normal couple to transfer all their affection onto two dogs. Did they lose two infants in some devastating tragedy? Perhaps while Gone with the Wind played at the local theater?

In my imagination, the tiny mongrels sleep in handmade cribs wearing tiny diapers instead of being walked at night, which sparks another question: Why aren’t these dogs walking? Isn’t this what canines are meant to do? To walk, run and sniff where other dogs have been and then to lift their tiny legs to relieve themselves in the same place? They aren't frail like their owners. They appear in robust health.

“Well, we must be going,” the woman says. “We’ll be late for the dog groomers.”

My eyes widen. I can’t begin to imagine why these dogs need to be groomed. They are already more presentable than I am.

“Enjoy your walk,” I say to the elder couple, since it seems Scarlett and Rhett are out of luck.

Before I leave, Scarlett winks like her southern vixen namesake and a bejeweled Rhett raises his head, his bow tie slightly askew, and a panting smile on his face. As the man lowers the curtain, Rhett’s smile fades and his eyes plead for rescue. I offer an apologetic look.

Aren’t we all captured by love in one way or another? At least he has a nice set of wheels.