As previously mentioned, Ernie Foster abhors being lonesome. And worse, he simply will not tolerate separation by water. Perhaps more than any other separation (you will remember the others: by door, space and time), water is by far the worst. SIMPLY because Ernie is NOT a water dog. And were he to jump into a significant depth of water without a lifejacket, his long handsome ears would fill up up UP and he would drown drown DROWN. And his legs would be no help as they are approximately 8 inches long on any given Sunday.
NOW, to get to the horrible thing he nearly did. I'm ready to tell you.
The year was 2006, the month undoubtedly September. Twas the last days of the Indian summer and just before fall wrapped its crisp fingers around the air, my parents took my pooch to spend one last weekend at Lake Cumberland. Had they known then what they know now, they would've surely left Ernie at home to rest. As it were, hindsight is 20/20 and Ernie was at the lake.
It just so happened that on this particular weekend, it was Dock Day. As I mentioned earlier, fall was approaching and the docks in the neighborhoods nestled into the treetopped hills around the lakeshore needed to be removed for the winter. My father, being a man obsessed with boating and doing capable, mechanical things involving ropes and pullies, was out with the other men helping to bring in the docks. My mother waited on shore in the golfcart with WHO ELSE but the murderous wretch-to-be, Ernie Foster. You will soon see the madness that ensued when Ernie, being separated by water from his favorite pal, (my father), finally CRACKED and lost his shit.
I must also tell you that Ernie is a meanderer. He expects to be petted by everyone who sees him because AFTERALL he knows what he looks like. He is accustomed to attention from everyone and anyone every time and any time he crosses paths will anyone and everyone. But he does tire of children who yank and pull AND he hates puppies (though that is irrelevant and in my opinion is rooted in cyclical abuse theories). So after a few minutes of meandering around the dock on his long leash being petted, praised and cooed over, Ernie decided that he was finished with the child who was now poking and prodding. He returned to the golf cart to sit with my mother. OR SO SHE THOUGHT.
Not but a few moments had he been seated quietly in the cart when the murderous urge struck him. AND THEN QUICK AS A FLASH ERNIE STAMPED HIS PAW TO RELEASE THE EMERGENCY BRAKE AND THE CART WENT DOWN DOWN DOWN SPEEDING DOWN THE DOCK (WHICH IS AS ALL DOCKS ARE QUITE AN INCLINE) FASTER AND FASTER. MOM STRUGGLED FUTILEY TO PULL ERNIE OFF THE GAS BUT FAILED. DOWN DOWN DOWN WENT THE CART UNTIL CRASH!!!!!!!!! CRASH!!!!! CRASH!!!!!!!!! INTO YOU-WILL-NOT-BELIEVE-WHAT BUT AN 80-YEAR-OLD MAN. The man fell to the ground screaming "MURDER MURDER!" But ERNIE'S BLOOD THIRSTY BUGGY CONTINUED DOWN DOWN UNTIL THE LAKE WAS ONLY MOMENTS AWAY. He was going to kill Mom too I just know it. But then with ALL her STRENGTH she gave one final MAGNIFICENT YANK and pulled the powerful beast off the gas and JUST before the water gulp gulp gulped up the golf cart she SLAMMED on the brakes and the murder mobile came to a SCREECHING halt. SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECH!!!!!!!!!!!
Thankfully the old man was only peaved and not dead. As was my mother. As for Ernie, he just sat politely in the seat from which he nearly did what he tried to do - ears back, nose trembling. Perhaps it was fear in his eyes- perhaps he didn't mean to release the emergency break and almost kill an old man. Perhaps. BUT PERHAPS IT WAS ANGER AT A FOILED PLAN AT DESTRUCTION OF LIFE AND PROPERTY THAT MADE HIM SO TWITCHY. I suppose we'll never know, really, but if anything can be learned from this terrible thing Ernie did (or nearly did), it is in fact most definitely that separation from loved ones by water, for him, is absolutely NOT an option. And if you ignore this simple fact about Ernie Foster, he will turn at best reckless at worst deadly. Let it be a lesson to you.
1 comment:
I have to admit that upon finding your blog I have spent the last thirty minutes reading every post about Ernie and laughing at his antics. He reminds me of my dog, Duchess, whom we affectionately call Duty. Duty is a name I made up in third grade, and now even my dad calls her Duty. She is a thirteen-year-old dachshund who has turned into a hilarious old lady. Duty and Ernie should meet. Duty is temperamental, sleeps when we sleep, snores, and has raging jealousy. Her best friend was a cat. If you make Duty mad, she bites you without question, but it just makes us laugh. She, too, is a schemer and suffers from people maladies such as skin problems and loose teeth! I've probably shared too much, but I enjoyed reading the entertaining stories about Ernie! He is very cute:)
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