November 2003 Issue - Essay # 1
A
Laughable Invention
By Kate Ayers
According
to the package, which had never been opened -- due, no doubt, to the
fact that it was a gift and the recipient had the good sense not to take
it seriously -- it required “no training”. That was a definite
plus. It entailed a painless installation of a gizmo designed to allow
your pets to notify you when they want in.
A sensor worn on the collar communicates with the indoor unit and
rings each time the animal gets within range. This is a good idea? I
imagined my Derwood wearing this human torture device. Once he figured
out its true purpose, he would have more fun ringing my chimes than he
has sliding his water-sodden face across my freshly-laundered trousers.
As it stands now, he gazes in the glass slider, wearing an
earnest expression that says, “Please, please, please let me in.”
Nearly every time, I believe those forlorn, pleading eyes and
reach out to pull the door open. Suddenly, the devious creature I call
my dog hears something behind him in the yard (more likely, inside his
shrewd but psychotic mind) and slings around to check it out. He dons an
alertness that he otherwise saves for late nights when I’m alone and a
bit jittery because of it. At
these times, I instantly grow impatient and command him to “Come,”
wearing my most stern expression. Naturally,
the impending danger lurking somewhere in the shrubs takes precedence
over obedience at that point. In
his rule book, at least. My
belief is that he’s either ornery or loony -- or maybe both.
God help me if he’s both. Nonetheless,
he runs to the edge of the deck, ears all perky.
Well, as perky as those tiny flaps that masquerade as ears can
be. His tail is at
attention, which means it’s mostly upright, except for the floppy
curl. And I could swear he
shushes me when I repeat, “Come!” two or three times, deepening my
voice – and my irritation -- each time. So
you can understand my skepticism, not to mention amusement, at the
notion of spending a buck for a Pet Doorbell, no matter how simple it is
to operate. Obviously, it
isn’t the money. While the price sticker proclaimed $1, I’m sure I
could have talked her down to fifty cents.
Or, if she’s as smart as she appeared, she’d likely have just
given it to me, figuring she’d never find another fool to take it off
her hands. My
g-sale friend wandered over to the table I was skulking around.
I showed her this unique item.
She exploded into giggles, “Yeah, right,” then looked twice
at me to be sure I wasn’t planning a purchase. She was, I’m
confident, envisioning Derwood with such a gadget. You see, she’s met
him on his contrary days, which numbered in the hundreds by age three. I
dropped it back among the treasures. This day no one would be calling me
fool. However, right next to
it, a contrivance calling itself the Wakeyoo Wakeup Call -- “Record
your own wake-up noises” -- was beckoning.
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Author's Biography Kate Ayers is a semi-retired court reporter in the Great Pacific Northwest. She splits her time between writing, training an irascible Shar Pei and playing with her best friend, her husband of almost 20 years. She recently slid into the editorship of Anzeiger magazine. Her online work can be seen at SevenSeasMagazine.com, The Pink Chameleon and BookReporter.com.
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Essay
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