Weird Shorts | Page 9

my watch to my ear. I know that I have seven days to spend with him.
Seven ticking days. I know that when those seven days are done, All I'll
have is the sound, The sound of my ticking watch.
TIMEX
It ran on human blood, And when the owner died, They buried it, With
him. They didn't have a choice.
Chapter 6.
Real Life
I understand that, "Funeral Dog," is not an uncommon occurrence, but,
"Prehistoric hare," was a real challenge to figure out. I later learned that
my experience was a mere bleed-through.
Illusions commend themselves to us because they save us pain and
allow us to enjoy pleasure instead. We must therefore accept it without
complaint when they sometimes collide with a bit of reality against
which they are dashed to pieces.
Sigmund Freud
FUNERAL DOG
I had gotten out of bed late that day. Great! Late for a funeral! I
showered and dressed in a hurried manner and hauled myself to the
funeral of a man, who had died at another man's funeral. I had been in
attendance at that funeral, also.

It was a beautiful Saturday afternoon. It was the kind of afternoon that
I'd much rather have gotten up three, if not four hours later than the
time that I actually had gotten up! Then, I'd do some shopping, maybe
hang out at the library for a bit and retire for the evening with some
movies that I'd picked up during my jaunt. But, this was not one of
those days. This was a day of finality.
As I drove to the funeral home, I noticed that I was dissociating more
than usual. Staying focused on my driving was a particular challenge. It
was much easier to think about any and every other bit of minutia that
crossed my busy mind. I even contemplated what I'd be doing, if I
weren't headed to a funeral. Fruitful, huh?
One of the things I like to do, as I drive, is look for dogs in other
vehicles. I really don't like to see them in the beds of pickup trucks,
unless they're tied up, but I look for them from behind my wheel.
Dumbly enough, I figure that they'll hear me, if they're cute enough.
I'd been driving on Arlen Avenue for about ten minutes when I spotted
him. This was a particularly and typically crowded Arlen Avenue and I
was very late and very frustrated, as I considered which of the two
lanes would get me there any quicker than the other.
Sitting in the left lane, I spot a really rough looking, must have been
thirty year old, greenish pick-up truck. The truck had a patchy, if not
antiquated paint job and the guy driving it was pretty scary. I couldn't
see him, but I knew that he was scary. I could see his slicked-back,
black hair and white t-shirt, after all.
There was something about the dog that compelled me to stare outright.
After an initial glance of recognition, I look again at the dog and realize
that there's something about his eyes that isn't quiet right. I don't know
what it is, so I look a third time. I am focusing on his eyes this time. I
am getting too close to the bumper of the car in front of me, so I back
off a little and try to look into the dogs eyes.
Finally, I do look into the dogs' eyes and he goes nuts! It's like he

knows that I'm looking into his soul. He's barking and fussing and
foaming and trying to snap off of his chain and maul me, right there on
the street. He's pulling furiously at the chain that constrains him and I
envision a non-King Arthur, trying to remove the sword from the stone.
Realizing that the dog has been demonized and that there is extreme
tension between our spirits, I focus once again on the road and on not
getting the t-shirt's attention.
Two minutes later, I am pulling into the funeral home parking lot,
which is overrun with other vehicles. I do a brisk walk into the home
and stand at the back door, overlooking an overflowing parlor.
Signing the guest log, I look around for a seat and find one in the
waiting room, where others, are also sitting.
PREHISTORIC HARE
Clack. Clack. Clack. Clack. Clack.
Typing away on the computer, I barely noticed Sacchi's gentle pawing.
She's needing to go outside and I am her caretaker and friend. She's the
last of any Chow-Chow that I will ever own again and my love for her
has grown quite tender since my last Chow's passing.
Rubbing her ears, I acknowledge her request and proceed to the front
door. Trouncing along behind us is