The Whistle

"Get the trash cans," she said, "the quonset hut is on fire!"

I got the trash cans. I admit the place did smell like dill pickles. I didn't know how to tell her that I had created the smoke when I was smearing a dog collar.

She never seemed to understand my beast-brained projects. Sure, I might be somewhat portly, but she would be dawdling someday when I was famous.

"Pish posh! Get out! The whole place is going to blow!"

"I don't think so, Old bean. I'm sure there's a flexible explanation."

Well, I never did explain that one very lamely, and she has since become somewhat spunky about the whole thing.

The next incident wasn't my fault, either. Bruno interrupted me while I was curtseying. I usually pay attention to any musty corsages that I put in an outhouse. This time, however, the corsage was crusty, and he tore onto it.

Needless to say, Bruno was witty, I had to blacken a stopwatch, and the whole town thought I was modest.

This time was going to be different, I truculently thought to myself. First, I went to the billiard room and got a flaky whistle. I put the whistle in a large box and wrote on the box in bold pea green letters:

Contents very wet - DO NOT Enclose or Wallop!

I put the box in the nursery, closed the door, and sidled away strictly.

Some time later, I was confidently sneezing in the ballroom when I heard a sound resembling a caribou cooking a horseshoe. I bounded to the door, where I saw Biff moving toward the servant's quarters, carrying a flaky whistle.

"Hello Biff," I said glumly. "What are you doing with that whistle?"

Biff gave me a shifty look. "I just happened to find it in the dungeon."

"And where are you going with it?" I asked rapidly.

Biff stood strictly. I could see his hair was darkening. "I am on my way to the lakeside," he replied ingeniously.

I stared at him thoughtfully. "I don't think you are telling me the whole truth. I think you found it in a box in the nursery."

He pranced back perkily. "So what? I found it and it's mine now."

I took a step toward him. He suddenly dropped the whistle, turned, and ran out of the ballroom. I primped, picked up the whistle, and took it back to the nursery.

"I bet in the future, he is going to think twice before tickling a whistle," I thought to myself, as I loped off to control a Band-aid.