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“A pear a day keeps the mosquitoes at bay.” – P.D.
I’ll never forget where I was when I heard the door open that evening. I was sitting on the settee, with both hands submerged in a dish of assorted nuts and sugar candies. My cousin, Sammy, ran down the entry hall, slid around the corner, and entered the parlor. His face was red, and his clothes were all rumpled. Come to think of it, I can’t recall a time when Sammy wasn’t red and rumpled. Perhaps he suffered from some unknown ailment throughout his life. “So, it’s true, Ann. Pritchard’s here.” Sammy’s eyes widened, and a smile spread across his face as he turned to face Ann. “And he brought his mule... inside.” His head swiveled to where Zippy sat, perched on the credenza.
I raised my index finger and clarified, “Daughter. Zippy is my mule daughter. I’d show you the official papers, but they don’t exist.” I paused. “I mean, they did exist once, but not anymore. A fire in the records room, or so they told me.”
Sammy took off his hat and wiped his face with a handkerchief. He began pacing before the fireplace. “Feel free to sit, Cousin. You can take Zippy’s seat if you’d like. Zippy, come here!” I whistled, and Zippy jumped down from the sideboard, shuffling over to me. She hopped into my lap. Ann rose and walked over to Sammy, whispering faintly in his ear. Sammy left the room, and Ann hurried after him. She poked her head back into the parlor and explained, “This has been quite a surprise for Samuel. You’ll have to excuse him. I’m going to check on dinner. I’ll be back shortly.”
By this time, Sammy’s children had all hidden themselves in cabinets and clocks to avoid Zippy’s skilled hooves. They peeked from their hiding places, but growls from Zippy and me sent them bolting for cover. At the time, I seriously considered asking around to see if Zippy and I could become nannies for Annapolis’s social elite. My mini mule has always been great with kids.
“Did you even attempt to get rid of him?” Sammy’s voice boomed from the upstairs apartment.
“I was trying to be polite,” Ann murmured.
I covered Zippy’s ears, because it was clear they were talking about her. Patting her head, I reassured her, “It’s not your fault, Zippy. They don’t understand how hard it is for a little mule like you to make your way in the world.”
“What are we going to do? We can’t have them staying here. People will talk!” People do talk—from a young age, too. I remember thinking that my cousin was making a lot of sense up there.
“We’re going to have a nice dinner, and then you can handle it. You’re the lawyer.”
“Oh, Ann, I love it when you call me that!” I’ll take this opportunity to cease my play-by-play remembrance of events, since it would relegate this volume to the category of those considered morally improper. We’ll tap the proverbial hourglass, so to speak, and resume our story at the dinner table.
Sammy and I occupied the respective heads of the table. Ann sat to Sammy’s right, while Zippy was seated in a chair atop several cushions to my left. In between, Ann’s grandfather and Sammy and Ann’s numerous children were seated at the table, bruised but not otherwise worse for wear. Ann’s grandfather, poor bloke, had to be restrained with an old bedsheet, so he wouldn’t run away to duel the first person to cross his path. Sammy cleared his throat and spoke through gritted teeth, “Pritchard, would you... honor us by saying a prayer before we begin?” It was as I’d suspected. Sammy mustn’t have been too preoccupied with matters of faith, or he wouldn’t have passed the buck like that. It’s a good thing I had a generic prayer ready which was fitting for all situations.
“Why, of course, my most effusive and religious cousin.” I pushed back my chair and stood, one hand raised to Heaven, and the other gripping the nearest of Zippy’s hooves. “Family—what can be said of family, oh Lord? You have truly blessed us by giving us each other. But we know that it shan’t be forever. This beautiful moment that has transpired today when... our friends were joined before you in marriage.” In hindsight, that prayer might not fit every situation. “To conclude, Lord, please bless this food. Amen.”
“Blergy-mmh-dingy!” Ann’s grandfather was visibly touched by my prayer. My zealous devotion tends to have that effect on people.
Ann lifted her head and murmured, “That was well said, Pritchard.” I bowed and returned to my seat.
As the buttered rolls were being passed around the table, Sammy piped up, “So, when are you planning to head back home? Ow!” Sammy keeled over and gripped his leg. I can’t recall a time when he hadn’t had those spells, either. “I mean.... Are you just passing through?”
“Cousin, the truth is that I’m really starting to dig the groovy vibes I’m getting in these parts. At first, I thought—back me up on this, Zippy. I thought, ‘Man, this place is a dump. I can’t see myself living here until I take my final, labored breath.’ But, you know, Annapolis is growing on me. I can’t put my finger on it, but I think I’m gonna be here for a long while.”
“Is that so?” Sammy began laughing in a way that caused the children and Zippy to sink down in their seats. “Well, that’s fantastic! Isn’t that great news, children? I’m so happy I could... could!” Sammy grabbed the carving knife out of the cooked goose and threw it right over my head into a portrait of some dead goober.
“Samuel!” Ann whispered, bringing her napkin to her mouth.
“Woo-hoo-hoo. Looney looney looney!” Ann’s grandfather bounced about in his seat with glee. The old man had started to grow on me too.
Sammy resumed his meal as if he hadn’t just thrown a cleaver at an oil painting from across the room. I felt it only necessary to recognize his achievement. “That was fantastic! Bravo, Cousin. You hit the man right between the eyes. You had me going there for a second. Thought you were going to strike down old Pritchard, but you were just mad at the painting. I would be too. It’s a grotesque likeness.”
Dinner proceeded for some time, and we ate in near silence. I noticed that Zippy wasn’t her usual talkative self that evening, barely touching her food. I leaned in to have a word, “Now, Zippy dear, please take a few ‘no thankyou bites.’ Ann went to great expense directing the cook to make an alfalfa salad just for you.” It was then that I noticed Sammy’s prior outburst had caused Zippy to make a bit of a mess—the messy kind.
“Bad Zippy! I can’t believe you’d make a mockery of me like this.” I raised my hand to strike my daughter mule—you could do that then—when one of Sammy’s tykes spilled the beans about spilling the beans which I had unfortunately confused for Zippy’s you know what.
“I’m so sorry, Zippy. I never doubted you for an instant. You were a victim of circumstance, dear. I only wish I had a trinket or trophy handy to give you to bribe your happiness—I mean, ensure that you know I still love you.”
Zippy excused herself from the table and scurried from the room. Everyone at table stared at me. Ann wiped her mouth with a dainty swipe of her napkin before speaking up, “Pritchard, don’t you think you should—” Ann gagged on a stray crumb. After throwing herself against the table and dislodging the obstruction, she continued, her voice a bit scratchier, “Don’t you think you should go after her?”
“Me? Zippy? No, she’s probably headed to the garden to transact some... business. Could someone pass me the mashed potatoes? I do love free potatoes.”
*******
I was startled to my senses when Ann’s grandfather struck midnight—he’s got a gong in his crib. I’d fallen asleep on the dining room table, and someone had draped a blanket around my shoulders. While my eyes were still adjusting to the dim light, I finished off the remnants of my cold, half-eaten meal which had become adhered to my face when I’d dozed off and fallen into my plate. By the glow of a full moon—a convenient happenstance, I might add—I attempted to leave the room. Due to my poor depth perception, I had a heck of a time getting out of there alive, but after much bashing of shins and other sensitive areas, I managed to crawl into the hall beyond. “Zippy!” I whispered. “Zippy, where are you?”
I searched several rooms on the main floor but could find neither hide nor stench of my mule companion. Something furry brushed up against me at one point, but after giving it a sound beating, I realized it was just one of the children hiding under the bear rug in the parlor. Skulking about the house left me winded, so I decided to suspend my search and take a twilight stroll in the street.
Rolling down the entry hall, I came to a painful halt after slamming into the front door. I fumbled for the knob. When I managed to shove open the door, I fell into a crumpled heap on the stoop. Guess who else was there, looking as though they’d just learned how sausages are manufactured? I’ll give you a minute to form your guess. Okay, I’m tired of waiting, and the nature of the author/reader relationship isn’t conducive to dynamic dialogue anyway. Since I may be dead by the time this is published, know that this paragraph was written under the assumption that you did form a guess. If you didn’t play along, you will be visited by an apparition three days hence. The whole thing is out of my hands.
It was Zippy! As I lay there, beaten and bruised from my romp about the house, Zippy was resting on the stoop, her little hooves folded up under her plushy body. She was lying so still, I poked her to make sure she hadn’t been stuffed by some rogue taxidermist. My jab was met with a low growl. Zippy stood and turned away from me, lying back down on the far edge of the stoop.
“Zippy, what’s gotten into you? First, you storm out of Sammy and Ann’s wonderful dinner. Now, you’re sitting out here in the weather. You’ll be lucky if you don’t contract a tropical disease.” My mini mule made no sign of hearing me.
I cupped my hands around my mouth and tried again, bellowing “Woohoo! Zippy, have you gone deaf? I said, ‘What’s gotten into you?’” Somewhere not far off, a cat screeched as it lost one of its many lives falling from a downspout. Zippy snorted. “Hold on a second. This isn’t about what I said at dinner, is it?” I received no response. “I didn’t mean a word of it! Okay, maybe at first, I did, but I was worried you’d stained the rug. It would have ruined the whole visit.”
My little mule remained, sitting and sulking, and I wasn’t sure what to do. Every parent is faced with a troubling situation like this at some point. “Zippy, we’ve only known each other for a few weeks, but you’ve been the best friend I’ve ever had. Will you forgive me?” Still nothing. I realized then that drastic measures had to be taken. Words alone would do nothing to mend our damaged relationship.
It took some doing, but I managed to scoot over to Zippy, wrapping my arms around her and embracing her tenderly. When that didn’t seem to brighten my mule’s crushed spirits, I resorted to tickling. That set Zippy to hee-hawing, and we were friends once more. After I finish this one, I should write a book about parenting. I’m sure most of the material would translate well to human children.
