TheBanyanTree: The Dog Ate It

[Monique Young]

When I was in school I had a variety of reasons for not doing my homework,
but I don't believe I ever used, "the dog ate it." I never had excuses quite
that interesting, nor even that believable. My excuses were more along the
lines of, "what homework?" which is not particularly effective when used
week after week. The dog once tried to eat me, as a matter of fact (well,
twice, to be quite factual), but never showed much interest in my homework.
In that, he was startlingly similar to all the other members of my family.

                I am a bit older now, and have different dogs than the one
who would not even oblige me by eating my homework. One of these dogs will
eat anything at all, and just yesterday ate my glasses. 

                It's not that I needed my glasses, they're really only used
for seeing. When I'm sleeping I get along quite well without them. I can
even swim without them quite well, assuming there's no need for me to know
where I'm swimming, as I'm likely to get quite lost without my glasses. Most
other things in my life are accomplished with the use of glasses. (Even
stopping to smell the roses, for how can one stop to smell something when
one can't even see it?)

                It was all my fault, of course, as these things typically
are. In theory, I'm the brighter sentient being. In reality, I don't have
much evidence to support that claim. I took a nap. No good can ever come
from napping. It is a horrible thing to do, and it is no wonder I was
punished for my actions. When I awoke a short time later (I think it was a
short time, but it's hard to tell when one has been asleep), I heard a sound
that sounded rather like crunching. This in itself is not particularly
ominous, as there could be a variety of reasons for this type of noise.
Nonetheless, I panicked, because crunching indicates that something is being
destroyed, something, no doubt, that shouldn't be crunched. I opened my
eyes, trying to pinpoint the source of the crunching by careful listening.
That didn't work, so I reached over to the ottoman, which is the size of a
small closet, for my glasses, but my hand fell on nothing but ottoman. I got
up. I walked over to the one we call Ash, who was laying on the floor
happily munching  my quite expensive and vital-to-my-survival spectacles. 

                Well. I did the most logical thing under the circumstances.
I screamed. This is not particularly helpful, and it doesn't even really
distract Ash, as he's quite used to hearing me scream since he's often
engaged in scream worthy pursuits. I grabbed my glasses away from him,
hoping for one of several things: 1) I was mistaken, and they weren't my
glasses, but toy glasses left behind by someone who thought it would be a
good joke, 2) he hadn't actually broken either lens, or 3) this was a bad
dream. 

                Both earpieces were chewed to oblivion, and if I were to put
the glasses on, the wire earpieces would puncture my head, as they weren't
even aiming in the proper direction anymore. Even this I could have made
work to my satisfaction, but there was the matter of the left lens. It was
gone. Well, perhaps gone is too strong a word. It wasn't entirely gone.
Pieces of it were on the floor. Pieces of it were in Ash's mouth. In theory,
it was still THERE, it just wasn't in one piece. The bottom wire was twisted
so that if I put the glasses on, it would poke out my eye. But why would
that matter? It wasn't as if I could see anyway. 

                I put the glasses on, walked out to Andrew's office, and
showed him, though he was on the phone with a client at the time. I then
went back upstairs, sat down, and pondered my next move. When Andrew had
finished his call he came upstairs. I was sitting on the couch scrunching
one eye closed, the one without a lens, so I could see out the other one.
Neither of my eyes is very good, and this was just not working out for me at
all. It didn't help that I kept scrunching the wrong eye closed, having very
little, if any, motor coordination. 

                Andrew did manage to find, after a rather extensive search,
my old glasses. The ones I gave up when I got my new ones because they're
hideously scratched so it's like I'm looking through an extremely old and
cracked window. That, and my scrip has changed. I do not have one of those
scrips that can be formulated in an hour. No, mine must undergo special care
and handling that means there is no such thing as quick service, nor
inexpensive service, even with insurance. Obtaining new glasses will be
expensive and time consuming.

                But Ash seems to have suffered no ill effects. Why, after
eating my glasses he consumed a pretty pink ribbon he found somewhere, which
he excreted just this morning, so his internal organs are functioning just
fine, with all sorts of things going in and out that shouldn't. The status
quo remains.