Post by goldenmyst on May 27, 2018 19:55:37 GMT -6
Ruthie the Dog's Birthday Party
Ruthie gazes into the face of the St. Francis statue. She remembers how her human Mom used to weed the garden there before she left this earth. Ruthie speaks to the image of the saint. “Are you what God looks like?”
To Ruthie’s amazement, the stone comes to life and answers her. “Yes, and so are you, Ruthie.”
The man from the past raises his arm and points to the vacant lot just outside the fence. Suddenly the scene is replaced by a meadow with pink bunny rabbits bouncing across the grass. “Follow me,” says the robed man. Ruthie leaps with a strength she hasn’t known since her younger years.
The resurrected saint opens the door for Ruthie. Ruthie looks up at him before deciding to accept his chivalry. “Sir, if I were tall enough I’d open the door myself. I am a feminist after all. But this being a beautiful day I accept your gentlemanly gesture.”
She enters the room and low and behold there are presents scattered around a birthday cake. “Whose birthday is this good sir?” she asks.
“Why none other than your own,” he answers.
“But I was rescued from the pound. No one knows my birthday.”
“God does my little one. God loves all his creatures great and small.”
“Are you implying that my intellect is diminutive?”
“Heavens no, your stature is great in every way.”
“Are you referring to me as portly?”
“Perish the thought,” the old saint says.
Ruthie looks around and there before her very eyes is her Homo sapiens mother sitting on a chair. “Ruthie, has John taken good care of you?”
Ruthie dashes up to Mom and jumps into her lap. Mom rubs her head like yesterday. Mom reaches over and holds a piece of the cake with a candle up to Ruthie’s mouth. Ruthie blows the flame out and the wick smokes. Then Ruthie decides that in heaven some manners can be discarded. So she devours the cake until her mouth is covered in frosting. “Mom says, “Oh my you did make quick work of that.”
Ruthie says, “Do you mean to say I’m being a pig?”
Mom says, “Not on your life. You just look like a girl who enjoys a good cake.”
Ruthie says, “Of course. Well, John doesn’t feed me human food as much as you did. So I guess I did get carried away. Chalk it up to a diet of dog food.”
Mom says, “I bet you could use a chicken leg smothered in gravy.”
“Oh Mom, you always knew the way to my heart.”
Mom says, “Here it is my darling. The meat is just melting off the bone.”
Ruthie says, “Now you’re talking my language. You wouldn’t happen to have two of those? I don’t want to sound like a glutton. But I’m making up for my lost years without your cooking.”
Mom replies, “I sure do honey. Dig in my sweetness. And there is more where that came from. You ain’t no chowhound in my book. Your pedigree is indisputable.”
“Oh Mama, I wish John were here so you could show him how a Boston Terrier is meant to dine.”
Mom says, “You just remind him when you get back to earth. Tell him Mama said to feed you like an empress.”
“I sure will Mama. But you mean I have to leave you here?”
Mom says, “Oh sweetheart, the big boss told me he has plans for your downstairs. But this haloed dude will surely bring back a drumstick for you to share with John. You won’t mind will you ole Francis?”
St. Francis says to Ruthie, “Of course not. Let’s see if we can find something to put that in so it doesn’t drip all over my robe. We saints have to look good to welcome the folks into our ranch upstairs. Oh, there is a paper bag. I thought we’d run out of those. Ruthie, the door to your world is about to close. You must return to live out the rest of your days on earth.”
Ruthie says, “You mean I just get to be with my Mom long enough for dinner?”
He tells Ruthie, “I know you’d rather stay with your Mama. But John would go crazy and report you to the missing dogs if you didn’t show up tonight.”
Mom tells Ruthie, “You know I’ll miss you like the dickens. But I’ll wait for you here. Don’t ever think I’ll forget you. There will be a place waiting up here at my table for you. Now go back home my sweet one. Tell John all about me and that I love you both dearly.”
The room around Ruthie recedes into the distance until the gate to heaven closes and before her is the fence with St. Francis holding the bag. But the juice drips through the bag and stains his robe. “Well, I’ve got an extra vestment. No biggie.” Before Ruthie’s wonderstruck eyes, he turns back into the rock-hewn St. Francis. John walks up to her and says,
“Where in the world did you get that delicious chicken leg, Ruthie?”
Ruthie says, “Mom gave it to me to share with you.”
John crouches down and dips his finger in the gravy. He tastes it. He says, “Sure tastes like Mama’s cooking. Ruthie, your dreams are so much better than mine. Let’s go inside where you can lie on the couch and tell me all about it.”
Ruthie gazes into the face of the St. Francis statue. She remembers how her human Mom used to weed the garden there before she left this earth. Ruthie speaks to the image of the saint. “Are you what God looks like?”
To Ruthie’s amazement, the stone comes to life and answers her. “Yes, and so are you, Ruthie.”
The man from the past raises his arm and points to the vacant lot just outside the fence. Suddenly the scene is replaced by a meadow with pink bunny rabbits bouncing across the grass. “Follow me,” says the robed man. Ruthie leaps with a strength she hasn’t known since her younger years.
The resurrected saint opens the door for Ruthie. Ruthie looks up at him before deciding to accept his chivalry. “Sir, if I were tall enough I’d open the door myself. I am a feminist after all. But this being a beautiful day I accept your gentlemanly gesture.”
She enters the room and low and behold there are presents scattered around a birthday cake. “Whose birthday is this good sir?” she asks.
“Why none other than your own,” he answers.
“But I was rescued from the pound. No one knows my birthday.”
“God does my little one. God loves all his creatures great and small.”
“Are you implying that my intellect is diminutive?”
“Heavens no, your stature is great in every way.”
“Are you referring to me as portly?”
“Perish the thought,” the old saint says.
Ruthie looks around and there before her very eyes is her Homo sapiens mother sitting on a chair. “Ruthie, has John taken good care of you?”
Ruthie dashes up to Mom and jumps into her lap. Mom rubs her head like yesterday. Mom reaches over and holds a piece of the cake with a candle up to Ruthie’s mouth. Ruthie blows the flame out and the wick smokes. Then Ruthie decides that in heaven some manners can be discarded. So she devours the cake until her mouth is covered in frosting. “Mom says, “Oh my you did make quick work of that.”
Ruthie says, “Do you mean to say I’m being a pig?”
Mom says, “Not on your life. You just look like a girl who enjoys a good cake.”
Ruthie says, “Of course. Well, John doesn’t feed me human food as much as you did. So I guess I did get carried away. Chalk it up to a diet of dog food.”
Mom says, “I bet you could use a chicken leg smothered in gravy.”
“Oh Mom, you always knew the way to my heart.”
Mom says, “Here it is my darling. The meat is just melting off the bone.”
Ruthie says, “Now you’re talking my language. You wouldn’t happen to have two of those? I don’t want to sound like a glutton. But I’m making up for my lost years without your cooking.”
Mom replies, “I sure do honey. Dig in my sweetness. And there is more where that came from. You ain’t no chowhound in my book. Your pedigree is indisputable.”
“Oh Mama, I wish John were here so you could show him how a Boston Terrier is meant to dine.”
Mom says, “You just remind him when you get back to earth. Tell him Mama said to feed you like an empress.”
“I sure will Mama. But you mean I have to leave you here?”
Mom says, “Oh sweetheart, the big boss told me he has plans for your downstairs. But this haloed dude will surely bring back a drumstick for you to share with John. You won’t mind will you ole Francis?”
St. Francis says to Ruthie, “Of course not. Let’s see if we can find something to put that in so it doesn’t drip all over my robe. We saints have to look good to welcome the folks into our ranch upstairs. Oh, there is a paper bag. I thought we’d run out of those. Ruthie, the door to your world is about to close. You must return to live out the rest of your days on earth.”
Ruthie says, “You mean I just get to be with my Mom long enough for dinner?”
He tells Ruthie, “I know you’d rather stay with your Mama. But John would go crazy and report you to the missing dogs if you didn’t show up tonight.”
Mom tells Ruthie, “You know I’ll miss you like the dickens. But I’ll wait for you here. Don’t ever think I’ll forget you. There will be a place waiting up here at my table for you. Now go back home my sweet one. Tell John all about me and that I love you both dearly.”
The room around Ruthie recedes into the distance until the gate to heaven closes and before her is the fence with St. Francis holding the bag. But the juice drips through the bag and stains his robe. “Well, I’ve got an extra vestment. No biggie.” Before Ruthie’s wonderstruck eyes, he turns back into the rock-hewn St. Francis. John walks up to her and says,
“Where in the world did you get that delicious chicken leg, Ruthie?”
Ruthie says, “Mom gave it to me to share with you.”
John crouches down and dips his finger in the gravy. He tastes it. He says, “Sure tastes like Mama’s cooking. Ruthie, your dreams are so much better than mine. Let’s go inside where you can lie on the couch and tell me all about it.”
