Charlie’s Corner is the domain of Charlie, the furry four-legged lady’s man of Market Common. Each month, he’ll share information to help all new, visiting, and existing doggie community members get the most out of life alongside their human companions. Here, we’ll feature his reflections on what it’s like to be a dashing downtown doggie, as he reminds all of our how to play well together. This month Charlie escapes the clutches of his would-be paramour, and meets a hapless seasonal buddy.
Continued from last month….
I wait until Petunia falls asleep, then make a beeline for the door and freedom. Running from my problems has never felt so good, I think as I bound through the forest. Suddenly I round a bend and see stars. It’s not because I’m in love for real this time, it’s because I’ve collided at full doggie velocity— into a short little man dressed in green. “Mmmhph!” We both simultaneously exclaim on impact, before falling backwards and over into the snow. The little man has lost his top hat; I have lost my pearls and what remains of my dignity. “Oh could my day get any worse?” he moans rubbing his head and searching in the nearby drifts for his hat. “You’re telling me,” I moan in reply, rubbing mine. “Who are you?” I ask once I’ve recovered. “Name’s Juliano Ferralatte,” he says with a sigh. “I know, I know, it’s hardly the name for a leprechaun, right?”
“Well, I’ve only met one other leprechaun,” I reply. “So I’m not sure I’m a great judge…” He cuts me off with a look of despair: “Well it’s not. My mother had romantic notions and insisted on it. I’ve been a failure ever since. I can’t trick people properly, or remember where I buried my gold, or even come down rainbows the right way, apparently. Where am I? I was aiming for County Cork.”
“You’re in a snowglobe,” I reply. Juliano moans again and sticks his head into the snowbank. I look up to see a rainbow and sunlight above. “The sun reflected off the glass of Snowglobe world and created a prism, making you think it was a rainbow. It could have happened to anyone.”
“No, no,” comes the muffled reply from inside the snowbank. “Only me. I don’t see any other leprechauns here. I can’t even grant wishes properly.” “Cheer up,” I say, tugging him out of the snowbank and sending us both tumbling over backwards into another one. “I just escaped from a polar bear named Petunia who smothered me in her embrace, ruined my lunch, and stuck me in a pink tutu. But you have to look at the positive side of things.”
Juliano blinks at my declaration: “I say, that is rather rough luck. How did you manage without dinner?” “Miserably,” I confess. “Well, I’ll fix that!” he exclaims eagerly, bouncing suddenly back to life. “Leprechauns are obligated to grant three wishes to whomever finds them. Go for it!”
“Well, okay,” I say hesitatingly. I’m happy my new friend is no longer in the doldrums, but I’m trying to interpret the whole, not-granting-wishes-properly statement; then conclude dinner can’t be too terrible. “I wish for an elephant-sized portion of dog bones with a small side of chicken.” As the words leave my mouth, I suddenly feel quite odd. “Why am I talking funny?” I ask, then stare down, nonplussed, to see a collection of four fuzzy baby chicks clamoring to snuggle up to my legs and my nose(?)… which has suddenly grown three feet long in front of me. There is a long and terrible pause in which no sound can be heard except for the gentle squeaking of the chicks. Juliano’s eyes have grown huge. Then we both start screaming and running in circles. All is chaos for several minutes until we both calm down in another snowbank. The chicks have followed me, attached to my side.
“Juliano what have you done!?” I cry. “You turned me into an elephant dog with chicks attached to my side!”
“The tutu looks better on you though,” he says.
To be continued…