Beau Ain’t No Lassie

Oldtimers such as myself, who watched the TV show Lassie, or younger folks who have seen re-runs of the show, probably remember Lassie rescuing Jeff or, later, Timmy.  A familiar joke was, “What is it, Lassie?  Timmy is in the well?  Show me, girl.”

In a 1988 vice-presidential debate, Senator Lloyd Bentsen said to Senator Dan Quayle, “Senator, I knew Jack Kennedy and you, sir, are no Jack Kennedy.”

I knew Lassie, and you, Beau, are no Lassie.

Rather than save Timmy from the well, as did Lassie, Beau is the one who needs saving.

Miss Sugar is more like Lassie and Beau like Timmy.

Sugar called to me, “Al, Beau is whining and barking.  I think you locked him in the barn when you put the rake away.”

I went to the barn, bravely, on my bum knee, enduring the pain for 100 yards.  Very John Wayne-like.  Very tough.  Very manly.  I did it for Miss Sugar more than for Beau, the whiny baby.

He was not in the barn.  Sugar had falsely accused me.

He barked again.  He sounded hurt.  Since I was in the barn, and the sound was not coming from there, I determined that the sound came from the west, maybe by the river.  I limped to the river.  Maybe Beau is hurt.  Maybe a snake bit him.

Sadie went with me to the river.  She was no Lassie.  She was unconcerned, actually glad to have time alone with me.  She swam in the river.  We found no Beau there.

Sugar was calling Beau repeatedly.  He would answer.  It was like the game in the swimming pool.  Marco.  Polo.  Marco. Polo.  You know the drill, except Sugar was saying, “Beau.”  Beau was saying, “Whine, whimper, bark.”  Again, “Beau!”  Then, “Whine. Whimper. Bark.”

Sugar was worried.  She was distressed.  So, as usual, I stepped in to save the day.  Again.

We have, between the barn and the river, a huge hole which we euphemistically call The Pond.  It is the low point where run-off gathers and actually fills to be a temporary pond in the spring.  The rest of the time is is a dry hole.  It is, more accurately, a burn pile/trash dump.  We throw old Christmas trees in there.  We throw scrap lumber there.  I hate to admit that we throw old tires in there, which are not burnable.  There is an old dresser in there.  Also, I confess to putting other discarded items.  I have been collecting such for years because I am afraid to start a fire when there have been so many wildfires.  I need a burn permit.  I don’t have one.  I doubt that I can get one.  I could haul stuff to the county landfill, but that takes work, plus they charge a fee.  So, I have been using my own personal landfill.   So have the rabbits.

Under the pile of trash, a colony of rabbits found safety, or so they thought.

Beau was somewhere under that pile, trapped.  He could not come out on his own.  He was stuck.  We could see his tail.  Like I said before, he was whining.  He was whining like a baby.  He was whimpering like a wimp.  Naturally, we thought he was hurt.  So I flung tires, plywood, fence poles, and such in order to clear a way to where we saw Beau’s tail.

We called him, but he did not come out.  He still thought he was stuck, I guess, or he was too lazy to back out.  Or too stupid.  Take your pick.  I moved more stuff out of the way.  Finally, he climbed out, just as pretty as you  please, with no injuries.

There was no apparent reason why he did not back out.  There was no reason to whine.  I suppose, unlike Lassie, who rescued Timmy, Jeff and others, Beau just waited to be rescued.  He identifies with Timmy, not Lassie.  He does not see himself as a hero.  He has that victim mentality.

I was the hero, like usual.  Ain’t I somethin’?