Danny and Mike

I have written about my friend Mike before in other venues, he of Mike and Beth fame. But now, I want to go into a little more detail concerning him.

However, before we discuss Mike, perhaps I should introduce myself to all you neophytes out there. Not that there are many. Everyone knows who Danny the Dog is, or at least they should by now. Oh yeah, there is also my hapless human, Andrew. We live together on a boat. I keep him around for laughs. Now on to Mike.

Last night just after sunset, I’m reading the collected works of Friedrich Nietzsche and Andrew is playing with his yo-yo when the phone rang. Because it takes all of Andrew’s concentration to get the yo-yo back up, I decided to answer the call. Now, I understand human, but I cannot speak it; something to do with my vocal cords or my tongue or something. I don’t really care because when I have something to say to a human, he or she understands me just fine.

It was Mike on the phone and he invited me to a cookout featuring hamburgers—my favorite next to hot dogs and turkey slices. He didn’t mention anything about Andrew, so I woofed once into the phone. Mike knew what I meant and said, “Okay, just for you. You can bring him along if you want, but if he gets drunk and falls into the water again, I’m not pulling him out this time!”

I can’t leave Andrew alone. One time I left him for just a few minutes to go and bark at a dog walking its human down MY street and when I got back, Andrew had locked himself in the boat. He was pounding on the door and crying like a little girl. So I have to keep him on a short leash, so to speak.

Anyway, we get over to Mike and Beth’s boat and Andrew goes right to the bar—as usual. And I situated myself right in the middle of the throng of humans to make sure I’m close by when the food comes out.

Beth came over, rubbed my head, and gave me a kiss. I love Beth! Then everyone else welcomed me. Mike was in the galley getting the food ready to put on the grill. Nobody spoke to Andrew.

When Mike came out and saw me, he came right up and said, “Thanks for coming, Danny. And please see what you can do to keep Andrew from drinking all my booze tonight.”

Mike was holding a bowl of raw hamburger meat and when he noticed me sniffing it, he dipped his hand in, came out with a big glob of the stuff, and put it down on the deck for me to eat. Now, this is my only complaint about Mike. Who or what does he think I am? I’m Danny the Dog! I have a sophisticated palate; I’m a gourmand. I do not eat raw food! I don’t care if you call it steak tartare or sushi; I’m not eating it if it’s not cooked.

After Mike picked up the meat, put it to my mouth, and me turning my head away a few times, he finally got the message. He shrugged and told me he’d make a special hamburger just for me and asked how I wanted it cooked. Two woofs meant well done. And that’s how I got it. Mike sure makes great hamburgers. He puts a lot of stuff in them, but the ingredients are top secret. He won’t even trust me with the recipe.

Just one more thing: As Mike was mashing up the meat to make into patties, Big Joe, who lives on the boat next door, put on some music, and Mike started to do a little jig. Having no hands, I can’t clap, so I barked along with his dancing. Mike ain’t no Fred Astaire, and he ain’t no twinkle toes, but—for a human—he has a certain rhythm.

So that was my night out. Somehow, Andrew did not fall in the water and I got him home in one piece. As I was putting him to bed, I noticed he still had the yo-yo in his hand. I gave him a questioning look. He told me he had tied the string too tight around his finger and couldn’t get it off. As I turned off the light, I looked at the poor guy; he was clutching his precious yo-yo to his bosom like it was a teddy bear.

That’s about it for now. Reckon I’ll get back to meditating on the meaning of life. I kinda already know what it is—attaining unlimited turkey slices.

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