ON THIS EPISODE OF "LIFE AT SPINSTERS' CORNERS"

Scene: Early morning. Indiana, USA.  A little dog wearing a silk smoking jacket stands at the patio door watching the activity in his mo-ther's recently installed bird sanctuary.  He notices that all of the bird feeders are duly filled and cleaned, and that there is fresh water in the newly purchased bird drinking fountain/refreshment station.  He glances at his empty tea cup and the remnants of his burnt-toast breakfast and sighs heavily.

STEWEY:  Mo-ther, please come to the patio window.  There's something I would like to show you.

MO-THER: Not now, Stewey. I'm trying to figure out the Jumble.

STEWEY: The answer is "leading man", Mo-ther, but you're never going to arrive at that answer because you have incorrectly assumed that the third word is "sandil".  It is not.

MO-THER: (looking confused) What's it supposed to be?

STEWEY: It's "island". (He shakes his head in disbelief that an accredited university like Notre Dame could have blundered badly enough to have given this woman a diploma.)  And, for the record, "sandil" is not a word that one finds in any dictionary.  The correct spelling of the word you're thinking of is "sandAl".

MO-THER: OK, OK.  Don't get your panties in a knot.  I never said I was a good speller-er.

STEWEY: Will you please come here?  I think it imperative that you witness what's happening right outside our window.  Bring your little notebook, please.  There's going to be a test on this later.

MO-THER:  (ha-rumphing her way out of the Happy Chair with notebook in hand.)  OK.  What?

STEWEY: Do you see that mo-ther duck? 

MO-THER: Yeah.  So what?

STEWEY: Do you happen to notice that she is carefully standing guard while her seven little ducklings eat their breakfast?

MO-THER: (shrugs)

STEWEY: Mo-ther!  You almost stabbed me with a fork when I so much as suggested that you consider a lovely quiche today, and when I asked for extra marmalade on my toast points you said (and I quote) "You're a freakin' dog.  You'll eat what I give you and be glad it's not store-brand puppy chow."

(For a brief moment, the mo-ther considers arguing with the little dog.  Then she glances at the freshly laundered drapes and mentally calculates the difference in time between just giving him what he wants and the time it would take to fetch the step ladder, take the drapes down, wash them, dry them, re-hang them, and then put the step ladder away.)

(She stomps to the kitchen muttering something about animal shelters and pet-free assisted living facilities.)

The little dog takes one more look at the mo-ther duck, admires the plumage on the seven duckings, and decides that it was indeed quote fortuitous that they happened to come by today.  As the sounds of quiche-making comes out of the kitchen, he grins devilishly, lifts his leg, and pees on the drapes.

THE END