Mrs. Beasley's Millennium au Gratin

a tale of desperation

I don't know how you celebrated
the new century/millennium thing, but I'd be willing to bet my celebration was just a bit weirder. I've pondered the events that follow and can't quite see how a series of logical decisions went so far off as to strand me on the resulting island of abnormality.

The thing about real weirdos is that they never really set out to be weird, but weird just keeps happening to them.

Case in point: In preparation for the big event I had an ultra-conservative evening planned. It did involve drugs, but don't leap to conclusions. I planned to stay home and try to keep one of my dogs, Mrs. Beasley, from dying of fright when the fireworks and gunshots went off. My other dog, Bunny Shmenkleman, would be fine, but whenever Mrs.B hears certain noises she paces compulsively and becomes an inconsolable, trembling blob of terror.

Mrs. Edweena Beasley

Earlier in the week I took the precaution of going to the veterinarian and getting strong sedatives, which they assured me would do the trick. Mrs. Beasley would snore her way into the new year, century, whatever. Great.

I'll admit, I was feeling a bit let down. After all, in some ways this new year was a big thing, and I did feel just a teeny bit like I should make it somehow meaningful, special. And I thought it would be fun to do something extra nice for the dog girls too, but as the week wore on I was just too wiped out to energize myself to the point of action. And a small part of me also thought something like, "whatever you're doing at midnight will speak volumes about who you are and what the future holds." I brushed this nonsense aside, the big evening arrived and I resigned myself to a boring beige new year's eve.

About nine p.m. little skirmishes of booms and whistles started going off and Mrs. B went into terror mode. I had been hoping to hold off on the sedatives until eleven but it was clear she needed them pronto. I smushed the small tablets into a piece of cheese and she inhaled them without further incentive. Half an hour later she was passed out on my bed, and so was I, with the radio on full blast just to mask further sounds. So far everything was going according to plan.

About 11:30 I drifted back to consciousness. The radio was playing a sappy old cowboy song and Mrs. B. was stretched out across ninety percent of the bed, as usual. I drifted off, thinking the fuss at midnight would wake me again, alerting me to the big event passing me by, so I could start the new millennium by feeling sorry for myself.

Suddenly a forty pound dog was walking over me, jumping off the bed, pacing wildly to and fro. Damn! She was awake, wide awake, and in a total panic. Now what?

Over the years I've taught her to go to the refrigerator when she's scared, so I can entertain her with scraps of food to get her mind off her fright. No one had to teach ME this reaction, but I digress. I grabbed the hunk of cheese, but realized it wouldn't last for the hour or so I had to keep her occupied. THE GRATER! I could grate the cheese to make it last longer. And WHERE could I get her away from the damn noise? Unfortunately, the kitchen was too close to the sounds. I could run a bath, and the noise of the water might do it, oh, and the fan in the bathroom, yeah, that would help too. Perfect. And totally logical.

The cheese was such a strong lure that both dogs followed me into the bathroom, although they had a moment of doubt when I turned on the water. They're not fond of baths. It was chilly, so I turned on the heat lamp, and switched off the regular light, which transformed the scene into an eerie red tableau. And there we were, my two strange mutts and I, in the middle of the night, wedged into a tiny bathroom bathed in a moody red twilight. The black and white checkerboard pattern of the floor glowed and Bunny Shmenkleman's fur, patterned like a black and white cow, looked dramatic against it.

It was at this point that I decided it would be a shame to waste the water, so I got into the tub, but I had to do something to keep
Mrs. B calm, so, still in the tub, I reached over and grated a little cheese and sprinkled it on the lid of the closed toilet. That did the trick for a few minutes. Meanwhile the water was running furiously, and I had to keep it from overflowing without turning it off because I needed the noise, which meant pulling the plug every few minutes to let more water escape, then back to grating cheese, then the bath plug, then the cheese. Then the hot water ran out.

I got out of the tub but left the water running. After all, this was an emergency. It wasn't even midnight yet. We couldn't leave the bathroom. I sat on the toilet, wrapped in a towel, and began to grate cheese onto the floor. The radio blasted, the water blasted, the bathroom fan hummed and under the red glow of the heat lamp, I grated. Small bits of cheese rained onto the floor and into the eager maws of my beasts. It was working. Mrs. Beasley was totally occupied in mine-sweeping the floor of my bathroom. I began to toss the cheese, confetti-like into the air. Wheee! Happy new year!

Bunny Shmenkleman

Suddenly it was midnight. Here was my telling snapshot, my deep insight into who I was and what I could expect from the next year, decade, century.

TOTAL

NUT

I could picture the item on the society page:

"Miss Susan Bean hosted an intimate new year's eve benefit party in the bathroom of her villa. Mrs. Edweena Beasley and Bunny Louise Shmenkleman, two charming pit bull terriers were the guests of honor.

Miss Bean, wrapped in a delightful black strapless terrycloth towel, held court enthroned on her water-saver toilet. Special lighting washed the room in magical crimson hues. With cheese grater in hand Miss Bean kept her guests so enthralled that they hardly noticed the stroke of midnight.

Both confetti and hors d'ouvres were composed of imported cheese. Music was provided by a charming water spout, a local vent fan and a nearby radio playing cowboy favorites. It was indeed an unforgettable evening. All proceeds will be donated to the local Home for Pixilated Dog Fanciers"

Then I remembered the digital camera was in the other room. I couldn't resist. I grated extra cheese onto the floor to keep them busy and made a dash for the camera. The scene looked artsy beyond my wildest dreams. The girls posed perfectly, looking anywhere I held the cheese.

Self-snapshot number two. It's half past midnight and I'm in the bathroom taking photos of my dogs. There is a cheese grater on the toilet. I think I'm making great art, the dogs are full of cheese and sedatives, hoping we do this every night and hideous cowboy music is twanging down the hall. This is not normal.

The next morning Mrs.B was not eager to arise. She finally jumped off the bed when breakfast beckoned, staggered and reeled, tried to regain her dignity and fell on her face. SHE WAS DRUNK! Hung over from the sedatives, actually. She finally made it to her bowl, ate a few bites and headed back to bed with a dopey expression on her face, blinking and staring into space. She needed help getting back on the bed because her legs kept going awry. There's no sight quite like a drunken dog. My besotted pet slept it off well past noon. The only other signs of the night's debauchery were stray bits of grated cheese in a corner of the bathroom floor. I tried. I tried to be a normal beige pudding-of-a-person. Maybe next millennium...

Bunny Shmenkleman