Blue Hawaii

As she sat at her desk, Bree mused how much alike her clients and her basenjis were. Both seemed to spend their days coming up with one seemingly impossible idea after another. For example, what could be crazier than a BBQ and specialty coffee restaurant? However, Pork and Beans' business was booming. As for her dogs, this morning they had figured out how to open the pantry door somehow. The house seemed too quiet—never a good sign with basenjis—so Bree left her desk to see what the dogs were up to. She found them in the pantry.  Harper was neck deep in a bag of treats gorging herself. Poppi looked up innocently from outside the pantry door, but the crumbs at his feet and bulge in his mouth belied the look. 

Reclosing the door and making sure it was firmly latched, she secretly admired their ingenuity in getting the door open. She couldn’t let them know that or they would start ruling the house, so she told them they were, “Bad dogs,” and shooed them out of the kitchen.

Cupcake Cuties, her latest client, had an almost impossible idea, also, and yet it seemed to be working. The Franco sisters had opened the business last month. Nina and Darcie baked specially-designed cupcakes and hand-delivered them to parties dressed in theme appropriate costumes. Brenda Carter’s family Thanksgiving dinner was the talk of the town thanks in large part to Cupcake Cuties. Nina had worn a Pilgrim costume and Darcie a turkey get-up to deliver the delicious pumpkin cranberry cupcakes with candied ginger icing.

Their most recent job was a Bon Voyage/Anniversary party for Pam and Barb Courtney who were going to be taking a three week Hawaiian vacation. Pam and Bob had dreamed of visiting the islands since their first date in 1961 when they’d seen “Blue Hawaii” at the 422 Drive-In. Their four adult children were going to surprise them at their 50^th anniversary party with an all-expense paid trip.

When Nina called this morning she said they’d been working for two days to perfect a recipe for Blue Hawaii cupcakes. Bree was happy to hear that the ladies’ business was going well, but she was surprised Nina had called to tell her.

“We finally found a cupcake that is just sublime!” Nina said. “The cake part is pineapple and rum and the icing is made with Blue Curacao. Darcie had the brilliant idea of soaking coconut in the Curacao, letting it dry and then sprinkling it on top of the icing, so they look as great as they taste!”

“They sound wonderful,” Bree replied gently pushing away Harper who was batting at the phone in an attempt to get her attention. “I wish I could taste one.”

“Well, you can!” Nina paused and then continued, “I really need your help and I’ll  give you 1/2 dozen of the cupcakes if you can lend me a hand.”

“Do you need me to pick something up for you? I'm working on your flyer right now, but I might be able to help you later today," Bree answered without thinking.

“I’m so glad you won’t be busy later! Because I actually need you to help me deliver not pick up something,” Nina quickly replied.

“Deliver?” Bree answered confusedly as she removed a piece of paper from Poppi's mouth. He'd stolen a design off her desk when she wasn't watching.

“Yes, you see Darcie is sick and you’re about her size . . .” Nina started.

“Oh, no, you don’t!” Bree began.

“Don’t say, ‘No,’ please,” Nina pleaded.

 “We promised the Courtney kids we’d come dress up like characters from the movie ‘Blue Hawaii.’”

“I am NOT wearing a bikini,” Bree shouted into the phone causing Poppi to jump away from the desk where he was reaching for another design.

“No, no, I’m going as Elvis’ girlfriend. I’ll be playing the ukulele while you carry in the cupcakes.”

“If you’re going as Elvis’ girlfriend who am I going as?” Bree asked.

“Well, Elvis, of course!” Nina answered excitedly. “We’ve made a platter out of a surf board and you’ll carry the cupcakes in on it as I play the theme from the movie. Won’t that be great?”

Bree was speechless. Nina took the silence for consent. “Thank you so much, Bree! You’ll love the cupcakes!”

“Elvis,” Bree sputtered.

“Well, you could go as the Joan Blackman’s character, but I don’t think you know how to play the ukulele.”

“I don’t,” Bree weakly replied as Harper seized upon her distraction to bat the receiver out of her hand.

“I’ll bring the costume over at 7:00 tonight. Thanks!” she heard as the receiver hit the floor.

At 7:30 Bree found herself in front of a roomful of neighbors and strangers, wearing a jet black wig, fake side burns, a white short-sleeved shirt with matching shorts and balancing 50 Smurf blue cupcakes on a surf board as she attempted to swivel her hips in convincing Elvis fashion. Nina, looking cool as a cucumber in an early 1960’s bikini, strummed away on a ukulele behind her. Bree was sure she would drop the cupcakes but managed to get them safely off the surf board and onto the table with Nina’s help. The table covered with luau food was in the back of the festively decorated room. As soon as she finished laying out the cupcakes, Nina said it was time to go. She started strumming the ukulele and whispered in Bree’s ear, “Time to dance again, Elvis.”

Bree grabbed the nearly 6’ surf board that was leaning on the table and quickly turned around. She wanted to get out of there as soon as possible. Unfortunately she didn’t realize anyone was standing behind her. She heard the “thunk” before she felt it. The offending board blocked her view, so she had no idea who she’d run into in her haste. Then she heard a nasally voice say, “I think my nose is broken.” Jason stood in front of her holding a hand to his bleeding nose.

“Oh, my gosh! I’m so sorry,” Bree squeaked. “I didn’t see you.”

“I was coming over to say hello!” he replied as the blood kept pouring out of his nose.

“You need to go to the hospital,” Bree said. “Do you have your car here? I’ll drive you.”

Bree got in behind the steering wheel as Jason climbed in the passenger seat. “I really am sorry, you know,” she said.

“Yeah, I know,” he replied and popped in a CD. “Surfing USA” blared from the speakers as Bree hit the gas.

“Wrong singer,” she said.

“Just make sure you leave your surf board in the car when we get to the hospital, Elvis,” he replied with a chuckle. That was when Bree remembered her own clothes were in the Cupcake Cutie van she’d ridden in to the party with Nina.

“Oh, crap!” she said.

After spending two grueling hours in the ER hearing every Elvis joke possible from the waiting patients, Bree was relieved when the doctor determine that Jason’s nose was not broken. The bleeding having stopped, he dropped her off at home and bade her a wistful good night. She was in no mood for visitors.

All she wanted to do was get out of this ridiculous outfit and soak in a nice hot tub as she sampled one of the cupcakes Nina had left on her counter as payment. She opened the front door to find a trail of blue paw prints on her living room carpet. An empty Cupcake Cuties box lay in the middle of the floor, and two very content basenjis raised their heads off the sofa to gaze at her with innocent deep brown eyes. Unfortunately the blue noses and muzzles under those eyes couldn’t lie as easily.

Bree sighed, picked up the empty box and drew herself a bath.

You Knock Me Off My Feet, Baby!

Bree looked out the window at the snow which had fallen onto the grass in her small back yard. She figured there was almost a foot on the ground. Her neighbor's German Shepherd Benito was running around in his yard barking noisily as he chased snowball Mr. Gato threw for him.  The barking is what had drawn her from her desk to the window in the first place.

She'd been working on a flyer for Cupcake Cuties for the past two hours and was surprised to see that the snow had stopped. While Bree admitted to herself that the neighbor's snow covered Arborvitae and oak tree looked beautiful adorned with their blankets of white, she was no fan of snow. Harper and Poppi  were not fond of the snow either. As Basenjis, small hunting dogs originally from Africa, they would rather spend the winter lying next to a fireplace and dreaming of their homeland than face the white stuff.

Opening the side door Bree called, “Come on, Harper. Come on, Poppi! Time to go out!” Neither moved from their place on rug in front of the hearth.  “Okay, cowards, I’ll shovel a pathway for you, but then you are going out—like it or not,” she grumbled. Harper opened an eye to look disdainfully in her direction. Poppi continued to snore.

Bree grabbed her thick blue jacket and fuzzy black gloves. She slipped her favorite boots over her wool socks. They were leather with fake fur pompoms on the end of the laces and trim on the top. The matching faux fur hat went on over her long tightly curled black hair. Grabbing the shovel from the side porch, she started shoveling a path from the bottom step to the end of the fence line before clearing the sidewalk. The snow was heavy and each time she tossed a shovel full of it out of the way, an inch or more would stick to the bottom. By the time she was finished, her hands had gotten cold and wet through the gloves from trying to scrap off the layers of icy white, she’d slipped twice on the slick ground and she was cursing winter in general and snow in specific.

She stomped her boots on the concrete porch to knock off the snow coating the bottom of them, shook out her hat and went inside to get the dogs. “Time to go out, you two!” she yelled. “Let’s go!” she said staring down the dogs from across the room. Finally Harper got up. She was always the most obedient. Poppi was younger and more hard-headed about some things, but Bree glared at him until he too got up and went out the door.

She stood at the door encouraging them to “go potty.” Despite the path she had cleared, no amount of cajoling would get the dogs off the porch and into the lawn. Knowing the dogs had no shame about peeing on the carpet in the winter, Bree decided she would have to walk them. She saw that most of the neighbors had shoveled their sidewalks although packed snow stuck in many places.

Dogs’ leashes and sweaters in hand and plastic bags in her pocket, she closed the door behind her before the dogs could get back in the house. “Okay, you two, we’re going on a walk,” she told the shivering Basenjis as she put their fleece sweaters over their heads. “Time to get your precious little feet cold.”

Once the leashes were securely hooked on, she opened the front gate and stepped through with the dogs. She caught a glimpse of her Jason’s patrol car rounding the corner down the block. She hadn’t seen much of him since their disastrous date at Casinetti’s where she’d fallen off her heels and into the restaurant’s fountain.

Her mind wandering back to that night, she determinedly took off in the opposite direction with the dogs. She was directly in front of her neighbor’s house when two rabbits dashed up across the yard.  Both dogs bolted after the rabbits which unfortunately took off in two separate directions upon seeing the dogs. Bree held onto their leashes and tried to pull them back to her side, but her boots lost their grip on the packed snow under her feet. The dogs’ dash toward the rabbits dragged her around until she totally lost her footing and landed on her jean clad bottom in a snow pile.

Poppi continued to pull hoping to get a bite of rabbit for breakfast, but faithful Harper came rushing to her side to see if she was hurt. “You knock me off my feet,  baby,” Bree said giddily as she looked up into her concerned dark brown eyes.

“I’m glad to hear you admit that,” came from the other side of the snow pile where Jason was standing in his uniform and heavy police jacket. His car was parked behind him. “I’ve got two tickets to the annual Policemen’s Ball  at the station. Let’s make it a date. Maybe you should wear flats though,” he said as he reached out to help her up.

Hell in the Hallways Has Moved

My blog Hell in the Hallways has become a fiction blog, now called Days of Whines and Cold Noses. Watch for the first installment of Bree and her dogs' adventures by the end of the day Saturday April 20th. Thank you for your patience.

Dog Tired: Prologue

Harper's persistent pawing at my face and nuzzling of my ear woke me up.  "'Harper' my middle-aged butt," I thought.  "'Harpy' was more like it!" I'd been up until 3:00 working on a graphic for a new BBQ joint getting ready to open in town. Specializing in pulled pork and specialty coffees, Pork and Beans, wanted me to design a logo around a dancing, gas-passing pig.  It had taken most of my contracted time to convince them that a pig juggling bags of coffee beans might attract more customers.   Being a freelance graphic designer is not as glamorous as it sounds.

Which is why at 8:01 AM, I wanted nothing more than to pull the covers up over my head, but Harper didn't care.  Harper, kennel name CH Sunstroke's Tequila Mockingbird, JC, is a 5 year old brindle and white Basenji with a stubborn streak as wide as her kennel name is long. Her normal breakfast time is 8:00, and apparently she felt she had "starved" long enough. I remove her paw from my nose and reluctantly got up--cursing her and her entire breed under my breath.

This wasn't at all fair to the only male in our household, Pop Tart, aka "Poppi," who truth be told, was always willing to sleep as long as possible. Talk about my kind of dog! However, he jumped out from under the covers immediately when he heard the kibble going into bowls and charged into his crate for breakfast.  A crated Basenji is a Basenji who will not try to chew his other Basenji friend's face off while eating.

Both their trim dog bellies now full, they were ready to come out of their crates. Poppi began playing his favorite game--try to put the leash on me while I run excited circles around the room! My peace lily took a header off the end table as he bounced off one of its legs.  At least during the time it took to clean up the mess, the coffee finished brewing. Pork and Beans had given me a sample bag of their "Jump out of Bed and Squeal!" ("JOBAS!") breakfast blend, so I could better understand the concept they were tryng to sell.  All the coffee in the world will never make me a morning person. After tasting a sip of  "JOBAS!" I felt all the real coffee in the world may never make me feel like a person again.

In need of caffeine nonetheless, I grabbed the coffee added low-fat creamer and managed to corral Poppi by luring him with a blueberry treat into a corner near the pantry.  Harper had been impatiently waiting at the door to the pantry as she knew where Poppi's juvenile antics would lead. At only one and half years old, once he wakes up he has more energy than a Pork and Beans large espresso. 

The sun gleamed on the basenjis' coats as I stepped out the door with my hot coffee in hand. Harper's light stripes became more visible and Poppi's black, tan and white coat (called "tri" for short by Basenji enthusiasts) shimmered like glass. Looking at the dogs frolicking ahead of me as we approached the sidewalk, I thought maybe I actually could face the morning.

That's when all hell broke loose. A German Sheppard came flying out my neighbor's front door closely followed by his owner, Mr. Gato yelling, "Aqui', Benito, Come!" Benito obviously did not speak Spanish or English, as he took off at a run and headed straight for Harper and Poppi--mostly straight for Harper since he adored her. Like an 8th grade cheerleader being forced to endure the attentions of the captain of the chess team, Harper glared and snarled.

I tried to place myself in between Benito and Harper, but Poppi picked that moment to come to Lady Harper's defense. Poppi's leash wrapped around my right ankle tipping me off balance. Benito jumped back at Poppi's unexpected challenge, and Harper sensing weakness lunged after Benito.

My left shoulder headed in one direction and my right ankle turned in another, I learned why yoga will never be my exercise of choice. My coffee flew up in the air and completed a beautiful arc before crash landing on my back, sprawled with the rest of my body on the ground. 

Mr. Gato finally had his hand on Benito's collar and was dragging him away.  "You have such mean dogs!  Benito just wanted to play! You should get nicer dogs," he proclaimed as he dragged his paragon of virtue out of my yard.

 By now my "vicious" beasts were standing on me licking the coffee off my soaked tee shirt.  "Caffeine, just what they need," I thought as I lectured my neighbor in my head on our suburb's leash laws.  I struggled to get up and was forced by the impatient Basenjis to continue their walk in spite of the fact that all the caffeine was now in their tummies and on my shirt. 

Five blocks later and the sounds emanating from my Basenjis made me wish I hadn't convinced the owners of Pork and Beans to rethink their logo. A flatulent pig would have been the perfect symbol for the eatery if my dogs were any indication.  By the time I got back to my yard, I had a whole new understanding of what the "Squeal" in the breakfast blend was, also.  I was almost ready to thank Benito for my only getting two sips of coffee until I saw the other mess he'd caused on my grass.

Follow along for the rest of Bree's day in upcoming posts.