Devil Dogs

When I started first grade at Job S. Gidley Grammar School in North Dartmouth, Mass. nobody gave much thought to first graders walking a few blocks unescorted or crossing a steet by themselves. Smith Mills was one of those little groups of stores that would be at a country intersection, a hardware store, a drug store, a package store, a grocery store. Mr. Smith's mill, probably where grain was milled, and the water wheel to power it, were long gone but the dammed up creek and the sluiceway below the dam were still there.

One day after school one of my classmates and I walked up to the little market. I was planning on spending my nickle on a Milky Way but he ordered a Devil Dog and the name alone intrigued me. It was in a glassine bag. The open end looked like it had been cut with pinking shears, and yes, the end was open, not sealed. I decided to try one. The first taste had me addicted. I'm still addicted.

Time For A Change ~ Monkette Can't Wait

Nothing seems to happen fasten enough for Monkette! The run-off election was still ten days away and she couldn't wait to replace the Blynn sign with a Bonnie Schwartzbaum sign in the reserved parking lot behind City Hall. I tried to reason with her, told her that the city would put up the new sign after the election if Bonnie wins.

It ain't easy reasoning with a toy monkey. Brain neurons and cotton fibers just don't seem to process information in exactly the same way. She grabbed the sign and bolted from the truck, ran into the parking lot, and jumped up on top of the hedge. Finally I decided to try a different tack. I appealed to the girl in her. "That sign is yellow with red letters while the other signs are white with black letters. It just won't LOOK right! You know how careful Bonnie is to always color coordinate her outfits, don't you? She's NOT going to like this. No way!"

After a brief discussion she put the sign back in the truck. I took her over to Publix in search of Devil Dogs and bananas.

Paranoia!...But Why Is It Banana Yellow?

Monkette freaked when we came out of the post office. "CRITTER CONTROL" was right there on the door of the banana yellow truck that was parked right next to OUR truck.

It took awhile to calm her down. Sometimes it ain't all that easy explaing things to the cotton stuffed head of a toy monkey. First off, I told her that she wasn't "Wildlife" in need of management. She was a very civilized toy monkey and lived with me in our house, not in a tree in the back yard. "See, that's a picture of a racoon, and they live in the woods when they're not knocking over garbage cans!" I told her. She'd never seen a racoon but she'd seen knocked over garbage cans before.

In retrospect, though, I think that her making a scene was just a ruse. I stopped off at Publix on the way home and picked up some fresh bananas and a box of Devil Dogs. Everything was good again.