“I’d like to have a Happy Hour.”
Fido’s funny like that. He comes up with things that are so out of the blue that I hardly know what to think.
“It sure sounds like fun,” he said. “I just don’t know what it is. Let’s have one.”
“We can have as many as we want,” says I. “What’s your idea?”
“Idea? I’m a dog. I don’t have ideas. I have instincts.”
“Tell you what. After work, we’ll have a Happy Hour.”
“Hey hey hey hey!”
And so the day wore on. Me, I had a few meetings to attend, then scampered back to the office to scribble the salient news. We went home at lunchtime, and then came back to the office for more scribbling.
Sometimes, Fido will shake awake and say something like, “Beware the passive voice,” then drift back to wherever he was.
The phone rang. I did an interview, and the afternoon began to drag.
“Is it time for Happy Hour?” Fido said.
“Almost. Lemme finish transcribing this interview and I think we’ll just about be there.”
We clambered into the car and set out for one of the Happy Hour spots that has a deck and welcomes (leashed) dogs.
“I’ll have one of your very best Mammoth Community Water District water bowls,” Fido said.
For me: “I’d like a gin Martini, as dry as the Sahara, with olives. In a bowl, please.”
“In a bowl?” said the waiter.
“Yes, as in a cereal bowl, or a soup bowl.”
Fido’s water arrived before my Martini.
“This is great! I feel very happy. But I have a question.”
“At this time of day, everybody has questions.”
“I’m looking around, and for a Happy Hour, people don’t look all that happy.”
“Give them an hour or so. That’s the whole point.”
Fido put his snoot on his front paws and gazed. He saw a lot of feet, legs, and, across the plaza, another dog.
“Hey hey hey hey!”
Soon, my gin Martini arrived, perfectly presented, in a glass bowl with two fat olives floating in the concoction. I set it next to Fido’s water bowl.
I left my chair and got down on all fours, next to Fido. A few people noticed, to say the least.
I dipped my snout, such as it is, into the bowl and lapped up the gin. It did not go well.
“The trick,” said Fido, “is to let your tongue do all the work. If your nose gets wet, just lick it off with your tongue. It’s easy, once you get the hang of it.”
“My tongue isn’t that, umm, prodigious when it comes to drinking on the ground, from a bowl.”
Fido took another slurp of water. He licked his nose.
“I can’t do that,” I said. “I am baffled. Luckily, I have moveable thumbs. Moveable thumbs let you hold things, and drink from a Martini glass, among other advantages.”
Fido stared across the plaza at the dog.
I asked for a proper glass and climbed back into my chair.
We were happy.