Spring 2024
I strenuously try to avoid uttering, or even thinking, profanity. I’ve been around sailors, and non-sailors, who could, and did, swear like a sailor; and I somehow always found problematic the glaring lack of imagination in such terms. Vulgarities are, in my fertile opinion, always found wanting for originality.
The past few years, however, have borne witness, as have millions of Americans, to the Brandon Bonanza of Unrealities, as well as to the Bronx cheer of FJB, a ripe and ribald Americanism that got picked up ‘round the world!
I’d once studied, to the point of memorizing, the Radio Operator’s Phonetic Alphabet. One never knows when the urgent need to speak in code will emerge in one’s daily existence.
During my early years In the Home, I posted a notecard on the fridge with the code words, just in case I found the need to express my ire in more eloquent terms than the cuss words that my ears are so disinclined to hear. I’ve since moved the Reference Chart to a spot in the garage, and to an online folder.
Last week, on St. Patrick’s Day, Dear Husband came into the abode late in the afternoon. He could not locate Jolene who, with her electronic collar, has figured out a way to manipulate the boundary-beeping. If you own a beagle, you come to realize the problem-solving capacity knows no bounds!
I stated that since it is St. Patrick’s Day, she might be paying a call to Whisky.
Whisky is the doggie-girlfriend that lives about 1/4 mile away from our house. She’s a Brittany spaniel, of orange hue, about 5 years of age. Little Leprechaun Jolene wanted to celebrate the holiday with one of her own kind!
Yes, indeed, Jolene had paid a visit to the Neighbor’s House. She’d entered the domicile through an opening in the sliding glass door, snatched a toy avocado, and run out the door. Dear Husband found the sneak-thief-beagle, coming across the fence, on her way home.
Chance was a snatch-and-grab expert in the household. He would sniff out a new pair of my leather shoes, or a purse, on a shelf, and take off with them, usually when the adults were engaged in watching a vintage Western on the wide-screen. Jolene, however, has one-upped the dear rascal, filching the toys of her best dog-friend!
Dear Husband brought the toy avocado back to Whisky with an apology to the humans in the house. He then bought a brand-new smiley-fabric-veggie for Miss Jolene who seems to have no sense of guilt over her appropriation of a toy belonging to another dog, a pally in particular.
It was a definite Whisky-Tango-Foxtrot moment. I’d like to keep my usage of the code-words on a personal basis, the way it’s always been!
Several days later, Jolene returned to visit her doggie-pal. A pool party was underway (yes, in March, in this rural stretch of California, although, right now, it’s 45 degrees). The six children all sang:
“Jolene, Jolene, Jolene Jo - leeeeeen.”
And Whisky added,
“I’m begging of you,
please don’t steal my toy.”