The Adventures of Beezer and Barkevious by Leila Allison

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I heard toenails slipping on linoleum in the kitchenette off my office. Only Dogs create that sound; and sure enough, upon inspection, I discovered the “Baw Brothers,” Beezer and Barkevious, teaming to raid the refrigerator. I am guilty of leaving the fridge door ajar, so this situation happens almost constantly.

Everyone says they are brothers, but I find it unlikely that Beezer and Barkevious are blood relatives. Yes, both are three-year-old, talking Fictional Character (FC) Dogs, native to my fantasy realm of Saragun Springs–there’s no disputing that–but I cannot imagine Beezer the English Bulldog and Barkevious, a Scottish Terrier, having the same natural parents.

But it doesn’t matter because they certainly fight like brothers.

“Brisker, fatty, brisker, It’s been an hour since lunch, you ain’t gettin lighter, and the view’s far from pretty” said Barkevious. Beezer was standing on the crisper drawer, examining the contents of the fridge while Barkevious stood on his hindlegs behind and below Beezer, front paws on Beezer’s ample butt to prevent him from falling. Just why the smaller Dog was holding up the far heavier one is another of those impenetrable mysteries we sometimes encounter in the fey parade called life.

“Mind your tongue, toilet brush-face!” Beezer said.

“Hello boys,” I said, turning on the light.

Beezer and Barkevious belong to my Imaginary Friend, and second in command of our realm of Saragun Springs, Renfield. She owns them. She’s neither their “hooman” nor sister nor mom–if anything else I would say she’s their parole officer. I believe that when a four-footed, furry someone who lives in your house digs up the neighbor’s garden or shits on the walk, then you own that situation. Renfield also has a Black Cat named Professor Moriarty. Like their master, all her pets are corrupt in an endearing manner. But if I had to choose, I’d say Barkevious is the most ethically bankrupt of the lot; he’s certainly the easiest to bribe.

The Scottie saw me grab a sack of “Putrid Pup Dog Treats” out of a cupboard too high for them to reach. He rushed over to get his without hesitation, thus dropping Beezer on the floor.

“I will make you the King’s proctologist for that!” Beezer howled. He has his own way with language, but it’s definitely all bluster and it blows over quickly. Anyway he landed on an especially heavily padded area of his heavily padded anatomy and was unharmed.

“Sorry, ol’ chum–that was my fault,” I said, helping Beezer to his feet. I fed both a few of the treats that come in a variety of revolting flavors, like novelty jelly bellies.

“Ooh, Kitty roca,” said Barkevious.

“‘Mystery vomit,’ here,” said Beezer. “Camel, with overtones of Yak.”

A slight shiver of disgust ran down my spine. But then again if people were as inclusive and undemanding as are Canine taste buds the world would be a far less persnickety place.

We have an abundance of Dogs in Saragun Springs. But only a small percentage “act” in the stories we produce the same way films are made over there on Earth. Although Dogs are natural actors they aren’t keen on memorizing lines and greatly prefer playing, eating, lounging about, raiding the fridge and such to that four letter word that starts with “W.” They also believe that Corporate Canines like Lassie and Rin Tin Tin served the man a bit unrealistically and allowed for the cultural appropriation of all things Dog. This was the basis of the #LetTimmyDrown movement–which fell apart due to the presence of the W word.

It’s always Beer-thirty in Saragun Springs. I grabbed myself a PDQ Bitter (similar to Boddingtons–PDQ is expanding its empire) from the refrigerator and I also removed a carton of leftover pizza, which I figured the boys were after. I split it between them.

I’d been trying to get the Baw Brothers to appear in a story ever since day one, but my efforts had always failed. But then I remembered a project in need of a pair of actors that required no lines to be memorized. All improv. A “point and shoot” natural piece that I thought the fellas would be suited for.

“Guys,” I said, “how’d you like to earn a sack of burgers each?”

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I had to include two buckets of take out chow mein to seal the deal. Then Goddam Renfield pulled the “Owner Card” on me and she too had to be bribed. She demanded that her Cat, Professor Moriarty, have a role as well and that he be paid with a case of tinned Sardines. When it comes to putting your snout in the public trough, no realm in the multiverse is more “for hire” than Saragun Springs.

It was a bit of flash fiction called How Not to Move a Piano in honor of the great comic duo Laurel and Hardy. A 500-word piece directed by my Lead FC, Miss Daisy Kloverleaf, who, like all actors, believes (incorrectly) that she can direct. Daisy is addicted to using adverbs, so to get the piece in under 500-words I had to promise to support her long dreamt project, “Springly Spring-timely-time for Adverbly Adverbs in Adverbastan” (think “The Sound of Music” starring an Adverbally inclined version of the Vonly Von Trapply Trapp Family). She used many in her directorial debut, but most have been edited from this piece for the sake of the word budget.

And the edited version goes like this…

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How Not to Move a Piano

Starring

Beezer and Barkevious Baw

Featuring

Professor Moriarty

A Daisy Kloverleaf Joint

(The time is the 1920’s, when the world was in black and white)

Beezer Baw was positioned on a city street while his brother Barkevious, using a pulley and winch system, eased down a grand piano from the top floor of a building.

The landlord, Professor Moriarty, saw that the boys were attempting to sneak out on the rent. (Although too poor to pay for a five-dollar a week room, they were in possession of a grand piano. Yet another one of those impenetrable mysteries found along the fey parade called life.) The Professor leaned out a lower floor window, twirled his whiskers in an evil sort of way and cut the rope with a single swipe of a well clawed paw. The piano dropped like a meteor and left a crater where Beezer had been standing.

“I will make you the Consort’s butt-plug for that!” Breezer yelled up to Barkevious as he crawled out from the crater, unaware of the Prof’s role in the “accident.”

“Quit bellyaching,” Barkevious called down. “It was the gravity pull of your meaty ass that sucked it down.”

finis

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I was reading the final draft of Daisy’s “Piano” when once again I heard the sound of toenails sliding on linoleum in the kitchenette.

Sure enough I’d left the refrigerator door ajar again, and there was Beezer standing on the crisper again being “spotted” by Barkevious, whose front paws were on the Bulldog’s rather wide behind, his back legs running in place to keep Beezer up, thus causing further sounds of toenails on linoleum.

Comic “traditions” must start somewhere in the multiverse of realms. For example, one day there was no “Lucy” snatching the football away at the last instant when “Charlie Brown” ran up to kick it, then one day there was, and has been ever since. Anyone familiar with Peanuts understands that Charlie will never kick that football, and yet he will always be lying flat on his back, because he somehow believes things will be different this time.

And so it goes in the early stages of the Beezer and Barkevious saga.

So, again, I located the bag of Putrid Pup Treats, gave it a shake, which caused Barkevious to let go of Beezer to get his share and left poor Beezer, again, to experience the downside of gravity.

“I will make you Bojo’s chaps for that!” Beezer yelled.

And I again helped him up and dusted him off and gave both a few treats.

“Oooh, ‘Dead fish long in the sun,’” said Barkevious.

“Gotta another ‘Mystery Vomit,’” said Beezer. He rolled it around in his mouth like a wine taster. “Rabid Skunk with a dash of Thatcher’s remains.”

I reached in the fridge, removed a PDQ Bitter and the leftover pot roast the boys must have been after. After once again cogitating over the impenetrable mysteries that are the fey parade of life, I split it between them.

“So, you boys up for another feature?”

Leila