Sol's Random Stories

(Disclaimer and warning: author reserves all rights to make no sense whatsoever. See comments below.) Gallivanting about in their old suspenders and britches, those wily codgers made up their phony rigmarole just to hoodwink all the gullible ragamuffins. So, all the fiddle-faddle was fiction, a story, the kind of humbug meant to fuel the rumors and skullduggery surrounding the crashed jalopy in the vacant lot. Even Dorazela, the town's flibbertijibbit gossip, wasn't bamboozled by all the hullabaloo. At first, all were flabbergasted by the early morning accident, and how no one could find the driver. The mayor heard about the brouhaha in town, and became discombobulated upon learning that police were just lollygagging at the scene, collecting malarkey stories from folks who knew nothing. Obviously, with the car perched catawompass beside an old tree, the nincompoop driver had already skedaddled away somewhere. For some neighbors the crazy shenanigans were just too much drama for...

Feel compelled to write about this again because my suspicions have only grown stronger. It's regarding my pooch, my alleged Pomeranian Chihuahua, and I only say that because everything about her has been sort of questionable. We suspect she's not an earth dog. Yes, somehow she got teleported to a litter in a Santa Clarita suburb. We saw her, snatched her up, and brought her home at nine weeks, everything seeming normal and wonderful. But, then the questions. For example, every dog loves to be brushed. Not mine. You get a quick look of disdain, maybe some teeth shown and half-snarl. After ruling out any hidden issues, and the veterinarian literally shrugging her shoulders, I remained puzzled. "Hey, dogs are different, like us.", it became the explanatory mantra for Widget's peculiar ways; we trusted nature.  But then, more incredulous traits. I discovered that my dog isn't too crazy about bacon. Now, what earth dog doesn't go into absolute conniptions over...

The minutes and hours roll off into the absent afternoon, no work shift today, President's Day, and I have nothing to do. A gift at times, the day finds its own way without me, I just go along.  Stay off my phone, keep the doggie on my lap, that's already big improvement. It's raining outside anyway, for days now, we stand in the doorway, watch the downpour.  'No walks, again', she says in a low whine; as gray clouds pass, uncaring.