Writing Doodles: January 2012

Rilo was a dog born to ordinary dogs, but he wanted to be more than the rest of his litter. He wanted a life of glamour, prestige, and extra kibble.

After many hours of watching movies and cartoons in the afternoon when no one else was home, he decided what he needed to become that extraordinary dog. He was going to become a pirate. Just like Errol Flynn, except he'd let someone else wear the tights.

Pirates have adventures.

Pirates, in the movies anyway, get the girl.

Pirates have great names. Or so it would seem.

All pirates have to have a 'good name' to give them credibility. At least that's the way they tell it in the Princess Bride about the Dread Pirate Roberts. It is likely that no one would have ever taken the Dread Pirate Wesley seriously. Maybe there should be a Dread Pirate Rilo?

Rilo knew that he had been granted an amazing name, but he didn't know what it meant (or if it meant anything at all). He just knew that words that began with an R at the beginning sounded cool to his own ears.

Rilo the Rowdy. Nah. It sounded like he started food fights in the school cafeteria.

Rilo the Rambunctious. Meh. It sounded like he was just a bundle of energy and nerves with no real goal or destination in mind.

Rilo the Rambler. No way. It sounded like a rusted out car sitting in some poor sap's backyard.

None of those names could ever portray his image. His Brand.

Plus, Rilo lived in a large family with lots of other dogs. He needed a way to stand out and be noticed.

What he needed was respect. (Rilo the Respectable would never get anyone to give up their goodies or shudder in fear.)

Thinking logically he knew that there was once a pirate who terrified hordes of people. Bluebeard. The question always remained, why a blue beard? Did he like blue? Did he eat copious amounts of blue berries? Was he color blind? Why not purple? Green?

Rilo's favorite color was also blue, but Rilo the Bluebeard sounded too off putting. Besides, Bluebeard had already been taken so he'd never get any points for originality. Yellow was good, too. But Yellowbeard sounded like yellowjacket and bee stings were never fun and most people killed bees.

Orange was good, too. But then he'd have to decide if it was about the color or the fruit. The color was fine, but the fruit gave him indigestion.

Rilo the Redbeard. Now that had a definite ring to it.

There was one minor problem. In order to really be the real and official redbeard, he had to turn his beard red.

Crayons? Taste great and less filling, but do nothing for the beard.

Teas? Too leafy.

Juice? The woman he lived with only drank coffee and water. No luck there.

One day when the house was quiet, Rilo was feeling a little peckish. The kibble bowl was empty with a capital EMPTY. Water was available but boring.

Rilo paced the length of the kitchen several times hoping something lucious and delicious would fall from the cabinets ready to eat.

After an hour, he sat in the corner of the kitchen with his back to the cabinet. Eventually, boredom overtook Rilo and he settled in for a nap on the kitchen floor.

When he got up to see if the woman or her kids had left behind any cookies in the sofa cushions, the cabinet moved all by itself.

Rilo inserted his nose into the top shelf and breathed deeply. This was where the keys to heaven, also known as bacon flavored treats, were kept. He pushed his nose against the shelf and it began to rotate very slowly.

When all hope was gone of ever getting to the bacon nibblies, a cardboard box fell from the shelf and spilled its liquid on the floor.

Ever diligent, Rilo went to investigate the treasure. It was lukewarm, thin, orange, and after a tentative lick, he realized it was savory.

He'd heard the woman tell her daughter, "Don't cry over spilled milk."

It sounded like good advice. Instead of hiding from the mess, Rilo decided to help clean up the kitchen mess.

One lick lead to two and soon there was no stopping Rilo. He licked until the entire puddle that turned out to be called tomato bisque was gone.

It was so good, he decided to open the box and make sure there was nothing left to drip on the floor. The job was much bigger than Rilo could have guessed and it exhausted him completely by the time he was done.

When the woman came home from running errands, she found Rilo next to the carton. She woke him up and said, "Rilo, what have you done? My stars, your beard is red!"

A legend may have been born at that moment.

The rambunctious, rollicking, and boisterous Sealyham terrier knew that he was a dog. A full sized, well adjusted white dog named Rilo. Alright, a mostly white dog with curly fur. He'd seem himself in the mirror often enough to know what he looked like and how he was supposed to behave.

Except when he didn't.

Rilo the rowdy, as he liked to think of himself, had had an identity crisis for several months. Years if he were honest with himself.

When he thought of himself he knew that in fact he was the king of his domain and the commander of all he could see. His white coat was a determinant when he went undercover to find hidden caches of foodstuffs in his territory, so he rolled in things to make him appear less white. His gentle and subdued demeanor was really a front to fool his captors, the ones who didn't understand the importance of feeling the wind in his fur when he ran or the significance of obtaining the favor of a new lady every evening.

One night, in the fall of the year, he went to a party. A dog party. There were large dogs and small ones. Thin ones and thick. Young and old.

At this party, most of the dogs were all having an identity crisis. One dog went as a shark, tiny but lethal. Another as a bee, a very over grown bee who probably couldn't fly very well. Another was dressed as a cow. There was even a dog who was dressed like a dog, but a different kind of a dog.