How Dogs Ruin Scrabble

The last racks: The end game would not be pretty.

Back in the 1949 Broadway production of Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, singer Carol Channing belted out that "Diamonds are a girl's best friend." Well, I happen to have some diamonds and they have never done a damn thing for me. In fact, I couldn't care less if I ever see them again, although once I paid a plumber $210 to open up the bathroom sink drain and retrieve my wedding band, but that was mostly for sentimental reasons. Similarly, the thinking that "a dog is man's best friend" is way off. Actually, when awake, a dog is often a pain in the ass. Case in point: last night two dogs wrecked what would otherwise have been an enjoyable evening for two humans.

My brother-in-law came for dinner and brought his puggle, Leo. Knowing what I know about dogs and cats and dogs in general it was against my better judgement, but Neil didn't want to leave him home alone as a thunderstorm was in the forecast and we all know how well dogs handle those. (Who can blame them; they have no idea that thunder is just God bowling.)

Daisy, snoozing.

Things were fine after the initial freak-out by my cat Lurch who saw the beast and fled to his happy place hidden somewhere deep inside our house I have yet to discover. My other cat, Daisy, was raised with dogs and was bored by it all, barely opening one eye to inspect the intruder and then returning to her nap. After the early chaos, things settled down and Leo finally shut his trap. Dinner was cooked, served and eaten, and Neil and I got down to the real reason for the visit, our all-important Scrabble game. But before we had even counted out our tiles, two things happened: The storm arrived and the next-door neighbor lady ran outside, frantically calling for her dog who had apparently escaped and was now missing.

She shrieked "Shadow!" every 30 seconds non-stop for about the next 90 minutes, louder and louder to be heard over the storm. It was pretty pathetic, I must admit, but still quite annoying.  Making matters worse, each time she shouted "Shadow," Leo went nuts: Insane barking, running from open window to open window, racing from the front door to the back porch, rain pouring through the screens, thunder and lightning, clueless lady screaming "Shadow! Shadow! Shadow!" as if that would bring him back in a steady downpour, like he was just outside her front door, right? It was all so intense that I decided to write a short play about it. There are just two characters. Here's the opening scene:
        
       (Night. It's raining. A woman's voice can be heard offstage.)
NEIGHBOR: Shadow!
LEO: Bark, bark, woof, arf, yip!
NEIGHBOR: Shadow! SHADOW!
LEO: Woof, woof, arf, yip, yap, bark!!
        (Thunder almost drowns out the woman's voice. Almost)
NEIGHBOR: Shadow! SHADOW!!!!!!
LEO: Bark, bark, woof, arf, grrrrrr, yap!
NEIGHBOR: Shadow!
LEO: Arf, arf, yip, yap, grrrrrr!
       (Loud thunder can be heard.)
NEIGHBOR: Shadow!
LEO: Yip, bark, woof, woof arf!
NEIGHBOR: Shadow! SHADOW! Shadow!
LEO: Bark, bark, bark, woof, arf, yip, yap!
NEIGHBOR: Shadow! SHADOW!
LEO: Bark, arf, yip, yap!
NEIGHBOR: SHADOW!
       (Intense thunder and lightning, with rain pouring in open windows.)
LEO: Bark, bark, bark, woof, arf!
NEIGHBOR: Shadow! SHADOW!!!! SHADOW!!
LEO: Bark, bark, grrrrr, woof, arf, yip, yip!

Neil, who is hearing-impaired and so missed the calling of the dog's name due to the noise of the thunder, wondered aloud from time to time why Leo was barking so much. Meanwhile he was focused on the game and was gaining on me from the get-go. I was so distracted by all the dog commotion that I played quite poorly. Neil was clearly winning (342 to 274) but we called the game on our last turn, since he had all vowels and I had all consonants. Besides, I wanted Leo gone.

I have no idea if that damn Shadow ever came home. I also don't know the neighbor lady's name as we have never met. She's only lived here for two years now.