It was one of those nights. You what kind I mean. One of those night that no matter how hard you try, you can't get to sleep. That was my problem on this night. I tossed and I turned. I tried several sure fire remedies. I took a sleeping pill. I drank some warm milk. I beat my pillows and as a last resort, even counted sleep -- all to no avail.
For the umpteenth time I glanced at my digital read-out clock on my bedside table --2:30 A.M.. Half the night was gone and I was still wide awake. Mumbling incoherently under my breath, I climbed out of bed and put on my work clothes. At least, if I didn't get back to sleep,I'd be dressed for work later on in the morning. But, what could I do to entertain myself for an hour or two? Suddenly I knew, and a big grin crossed my face. It was just about time to play another joke on Butch.
Butch is my beloved pet pig-tailed monkey, a shorter relative of the temperamental rock ape family. My wife Pat and I have had him now for over 15 years. He is a very important and dear part of our family.
I've played jokes on Butch before. Somehow, they've always been to my regret. But with the passage of time, memories of rue and regret always fade away in my mind. Maybe today would be different.
Rummaging through my bedroom closet, I found a hooded mask that I've worn on cold days to keep warm. I put it on and adjusted the eye, nose and mouth holes. Ther... just right. But to play it safe, I stopped in the kitchen and made up a peace offering for Butch -- just in case, you understand. I fixed a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I got a banana and four vanilla cream filled cookies and a glass of milk. That would do it.
I opened the back door and walked outside in the direction of Butch's cage. The sky was incredible clear. The stars were very bright with their many blinking and twinkling lights. Walking quietly up to his cage, I found Butch sitting in his swing. He Appeared to be peacefully asleep.
Only for a moment did I feel a twinge of guilt and consider calling off this dangerous joke. But that moment passed quickly and then with reckless abandon, I shouted and banged on his cage.
Wow! Did he ever come out of that swing fast. With a scream of bewilderment, bafflement and rage, he sought the author of his concern. Seeing me on the outside with a hood pulled over my face and thinking that I was a stranger and a threat to him, he hurled himself against the bars of his cage in front of me. He violently shook his cage and screamed at the top of his lungs. In spite of myself, I was taken aback with the ferocity of his rage. I began to entertain serious doubts as to whether the cage would continue to withstand his terrible onslaught.
I had hoped to have a bit of amusement at Butch's expense, but this silly joke had completely lost all of its humor. I opened my mouth to calm Butch down and reached toward my face to pull the hood from my head. Suddenly my soothing words turned into screams of pain as three sets of dog teeth chomped down on my legs and butt. Damn! I had forgotten my other pets. Only now, they weren't so friendly.
As I wheeled around to face this new threat, my back was against Butch's cage. Seconds later I felt fingernails digging into my flesh. My practical joke was certainly getting out of hand. I suddenly felt the sensation of being the main course at a frenzy piranha feeding.
Breaking away from Butch, I reached up and ripped off my hooded mask. Seconds later, the dogs released me, recognizing me as their beloved lord and master.
Butch was still extremely upset with me. It was a good thing I brought my peace offering with me. I held the glass of milk while he drank it all. Then he stuffed the peanut butter and jelly sandwich inside the pouches of his mouth, along with the vanilla creme filled cookies and banana. After a few more minutes, he was his old self again.
A short while later, I was in the bathroom doctoring my scratch marks and dog bites. I smelled like a medicine cabinet when I was finished.
Walking back into the bedroom, I saw that Pat was still sound asleep. Wearily, I climbed back into bed. Checking my digital read-out clock on the bedside table, I saw the time was now 4:30 A.M. Only 30-minutes left to sleep. Blaming Butch for all the trouble I had last night, I eased my head back onto the pillow. Two-minutes later -- I was sawing logs. Needless to say, I was a tad late for work that morning.
Duce is the penname of Carman J.W. Vance at the Crest Yard in Fort Worth.
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