Squeaky toy time

Every so often I will visit the Grange Co-op to pick up a bag of dog biscuits, a couple of pig's ears and a new squeaky toy for you know who.

No, not for Annette, but for my loyal dog, Spooky. For those of you who guessed wrong I will simply forward your contact information to my wife, who knows of a guy in Akron who can change an irreverent and snide person into a door mat in a blink of an eye. Either be respectful of get ready to serve some serious flat time on the porch.

When I came home the other day with a new squeaky toy I suddenly realized that all of Spooky's other toys had gone missing, thus instigating a search in the house, through the yard and under the seats of the cars. What I ended up with was a large paper, err, cloth bag full of squeakless toy parts and scattered tuffs of stuffing. It was clear that it was time to open up the "B" Street Emergency Room and get the former favorites patched up.

I emptied the bag upon the kitchen table and, like a jig-saw puzzle, began to put like pieces in separate piles, which required a decent memory and a little luck. I grabbed a sewing needle, some stout thread and all the stuffing I could find or invent and began piecing the toys back together. Within each of these I placed a new squeaker from a bag that I had found in the pantry.

I started working on the one that seemed to have the best chance of a full recovery, then moved on to the next-best candidate. I have never really sewed anything of consequence and within a few minutes had pierced and bandaged all five fingers on my left hand, making for some clumsy handling. I soon found myself wearing my reading glasses and working very close, narrowly missing making my nose an appendage of a toy on the mend.

Things seemed to be going along smoothly until I came upon the once formidable Squeaky Tarantula, who had lost four legs somewhere. I was about to give him the toss when the dog barked excitedly, telling me that I had better think of a way of getting the tarantula back on his feet. I found two pairs of black dress socks, which I stuffed and sewed back on. At a distance of, say, 100 yards, you could hardly tell the difference.

The balance of the spare and unrecognizable parts went on to make a Mr. and Mrs. Squeaky Frankenstein, who instantly became the hit of the E.R.

I sat the toys on the sofa and admired my handiwork, even though my left hand felt like a pin cushion. Gathered before me were: Squeaky Mickey Mouse, Squeaky Frog, Squeaky Fish, Squeaky Grinch, Squeaky Santa, Squeaky Squirrel, Squeaky Rabbit and the house of Frankenstein.

I then looked at the clock and realized that I was late for a meeting downtown and hastened out of the house. About 10 minutes later I remembered that I had not left any dog biscuits for Spooky as a reward for guarding the house and hoped that he would not hold that against me.

Annette and I arrived home at the same time, so I opened the door for her as she stepped inside and audibly gasped. The floor of the living room was covered with toy stuffing with toy parts and squeakers rounding out the look. Spooky thought nothing of the mess and pranced over to greet us while squeaking up a storm.

"It looks like, again, you have not done a stitch of work all morning," said my wife. "Aside from doing nothing, how did the balance of your morning go?"

I reflected thoughtfully and only said, "Just so, so."

Lance@journalist.com was last seen with his hand in a sling as he prepared for another round of playing the elfin doctor.