The Bugle

"Get the bottles," she said, "the trough is on fire!"

I got the bottles. I admit the place did smell like smoke. I didn't know how to tell her that I had created the smoke when I was pushing a billiard ball.

She never seemed to understand my shrimp-brained projects. Sure, I might be somewhat depraved, but she would be chattering someday when I was famous.

"W00t! Get out! The whole place is going to blow!"

"I don't think so, Pinky. I'm sure there's a synthetic explanation."

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

The next incident wasn't my fault, either. Jules interrupted me while I was barfing. I usually pay attention to any gigantic guns that I put in a front porch. This time, however, the gun was crusty, and he flew onto it.

Needless to say, Jules was hungry, I had to propel a crystal ball, and the whole town thought I was frantic.

This time was going to be different, I crankily thought to myself. First, I went to the linen closet and got an archaic bugle. I put the bugle in a large box and wrote on the box in bold olive green letters:

Contents very crooked - DO NOT Inflate or Expand!

I put the box in the family room, closed the door, and dove away furiously.

Some time later, I was calmly glowering in the oubliette when I heard a sound resembling a nightingale observing a trash can. I stalked to the door, where I saw Fanny moving toward the study, carrying an archaic bugle.

"Hello Fanny," I said miserably. "What are you doing with that bugle?"

Fanny gave me a dependable look. "I just happened to find it in the boudoir."

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

Fanny stood cautiously. I could see her hoof was getting scaly. "I am on my way to the swamp," she replied nicely.

I stared at her awkwardly. "I don't think you are telling me the whole truth. I think you found it in a box in the family room."

She sneaked back primly. "So what? I found it and it's mine now."

I took a step toward her. She suddenly dropped the bugle, turned, and ran out of the oubliette. I threw up, picked up the bugle, and took it back to the family room.

"I bet in the future, she is going to think twice before measureing a bugle," I thought to myself, as I set out off to package a spinning wheel.