Cecil Vortex

I just told my kids that Scooby-Doo has a speech defect. But now I’m not sure.
Even though the dog speaks and functions in a very human way, is he not still essentially a dog? And given that, should we not therefore judge him as some sort of super-freak dog speech genius, relative to the dog-normal-speaking-ability curve???
If I spoke Chinese as well as Scooby speaks English, compared to how most dogs speak English (eg: not at all), let’s just say: I’d speak really good Chinese.
Perhaps the so-called “defect” lies not in Scooby’s speech, but in our hearts and their collective inability to judge things relative to a dog-normal-speaking-ability curve.

The deer liked to race around this particular meadow. Maybe it was the grass. Or the smell of the grass. Or the smell of last year’s deer. Whatever the pull, the meadow was packed with deer, and they were running.
Across the lake, Spencer sat against a hard rock that didn’t quite fit against his back and shoulders. Squinting he could make out individual deer as they sparked in and out of the herd. The echoing roar of their hooves pushed out over the lake surface. He kept waiting for a warm rain to fall. The air was heavy that way. Cozy.
It all reminded him why he’d parachuted down to this lake in the first place. Better to bleed to death hundreds miles from nowhere with a sack of money at your side than to slump your way into old age, clanking trays around some prison messhall.
Of course, that would be great if he actually had a bag of money instead of stolen laundry. Or if he was bleeding instead of just a little bruised on both thighs from where he’d squeezed his way out that window. What a surprise — to find it so small. It hadn’t looked that small.
As it was, no one was hunting for him. And odds were he had several years of hard living ahead. Plenty of time to relax, sort through his bag of clothes, wait for the rain, and listen to the thunder of the deer.

I am the just fy
the optional information
the only information
you do not need
to act on me.
Have no fear old friend.
No change no motion
no response
required.
Remain as you were
more or less
absorb me and
roll on.

and really might well do if I left him alone in the house for twenty minutes, a partial list:

• turn on the burner, light things on fire.
• shave off all his hair, put it in the sink to clog it up. a trick that’s not funny, never been funny, never will be funny.
• put physical pressure on the cat — just put both his hands on the side of the cat and sort of gently press in until the cat says “meew.”

And that’s why I won’t be leaving him alone in the house while I go to get coffee this morning.
Anything you fear he might do?

Steer clear of the drunk barber. His
blade sways. He shaves shapes
in the air.

Putting on the ritz everlasting.
Broad headed. Forever young.
Frankenstein.