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From My Short Story Archives – ‘Mitzi’

| Sandra Pavloff Conner

I haven’t had much time to write new stories this past month, but I have a lot of new followers on this site, so I decided I’d dig back through my archives and give a few of the old stories some fresh air. They will be new for many readers, and, hopefully, enjoyable the second time around for a few others.

KENT'S DOG - EXTRA - creditsMITZI

As Mitzi sat on the bus, she enjoyed the rhythmic movement. And she enjoyed the respite from the heat she’d been walking in for the past hour. She leaned just slightly against Pete’s leg, both for the comfort of knowing he was there and the reassurance that he was all right. He was her responsibility, after all, and she never forgot that for one moment.

Her nostrils flared slightly as she gradually identified and responded to all the various scents that wafted through the air of the full vehicle. There was the expected scent of human sweat, and that was a natural part of Mitzi’s life, so even though one or two of the passengers had probably failed to bathe that day, Mitzi’s sense of smell was not insulted by it. Then there was the unmistakeable scent of cigarettes that clung to the clothing and hair of half the people on the bus – a scent that just couldn’t seem to be erased or camouflaged effectively by any order eliminators. There were pleasant scents too, of course, as various degrees of perfumes filtered through the air, surrounding Mitzi as well. She couldn’t have told anyone which flowers, which wood essences, or which spices had been used, but she most certainly recognized the scents as natural and non-threatening.

However, dearest to Mitzi’s heart during most of her bus rides were all the delicious scents that emanated from the grocery bags and baskets carried by some of the passengers. Many days Mitzi found this trip on the bus thoroughly enjoyable because she could sit and sniff the tantalizing aromas of pork, or fish, or – her favorite – salami from the Italian market at the end of Jasper Street. Her nose was hard at work now, sorting through all the variety of groceries, trying to determine exactly who it was who had that salami. There! Mitzi’s gaze zeroed in on a lady in a green coat, sitting just three rows up from Mitzi and Pete. Delicious! Mitzi was hungry.

But right after identifying the owner of the salami, Mitzi turned her head to the side just slightly and sniffed harder. There was something else in the air. Something new. Something unusual for the interior of this bus. Something … not right somehow. She wriggled in place a time or two, turned her head the other direction, but then brought it right back to where she’d been focusing. Some sixth sense stirred a warning so deep inside that it put every sense on high alert. Even the hair in her coat bristled. She whimpered and moved again, restlessly. Pete reached a hand over and patted her head, then scratched her ear slightly. “You getting’ restless, old girl?” he asked tenderly.

The young man sitting in the seat that faced Pete spoke now. “That’s a beautiful dog you have there, Sir. A guide dog, if I’m not mistaken?”

Pete turned unseeing eyes toward the young man, his hand still resting on Mitzi’s head. “Yes. Yes, she is … and the best in the world. Been with me for ten years now.” He chuckled and ruffed Mitzi’s fur affectionately. “We’re both getting pretty old, but we keep sojourning on together.”

“She seems very affectionate,” the young man replied. “I noticed how she leans against your leg constantly.”

“Yes, that’s her habit. Feels responsible for me, I think.” He turned his head as if to look down at Mitzi, who had glanced up at him. “Good girl, Mitzi,” he said. His voice had grown gravely with age, but there was still a tone of kindness that over-road everything else when he spoke. His eyes didn’t see the look in Mitzi’s. It was a look of concentration … wariness. She was puzzled by what she smelled – by what every nerve in her body was beginning to pick up on – and she wanted her master to know.

Aware, by training, that he would not see her face or her movements, she understood that she would need to convey her concern by sounds and movements he could feel. So she wriggled agitatedly and leaned harder on his leg, still sniffing the air, her head turning several directions, trying to get a reading on exactly what and where the problem came from.

All of her senses eventually focused on a passenger across the aisle and two rows up from Pete. He was reading a newspaper, his black briefcase on the floor, held snugly between his feet. Her eyes focused and a low growl sounded in her throat.

Pete was concerned. Mitzi never behaved in such a manner on this bus. She was used to riding it, and she never had negative responses to people. But she whimpered now, pressing Pete’s leg even harder. He leaned down, wrapping one arm around the dog’s neck. “What is it, Mitzi? What’s wrong, girl?”

Mitzi whimpered again, then whined openly. “Shhhh,” Pete whispered. “Quiet, girl. We’ll be home soon.”

There were two more stops before the corner where Pete and Mitzi got off the bus. That meant at least 20 more minutes, and Pete was a little worried that some of the other passengers might become frightened if Mitzi continued growling – even though it was low.

But Mitzi growled again, and then immediately emitted a sharp bark.

“Mister, you’d better keep a tight hold on that dog of yours. She sounds mean to me,” said an overweight guy sitting behind Pete.

Pete turned in his seat to address the man face-to-face, even though he couldn’t see him. “Oh, Mitzi would never hurt you, sir. She’s as gentle as a lamb.” Just then, though, Mitzi’s growl and tug at her leash indicated things could be otherwise.

“Hey, shut that mutt up!” another man yelled from several rows up.

“Hey, Pete,” the driver called back. “What’s going on back there? Your dog never gave us any trouble before.”

“I know, Randal. I don’t understand it myself.” At that moment, Mitzi barked sharply again and pulled on her leash so hard that Pete only barely held her in check. By this time, she was up on her feet and pulling harder on the leash, whining, and giving Pete every signal she could give to say he needed to follow her lead. She looked toward the man holding the briefcase between his feet. Her eyes were focused on the briefcase, though none of the passengers realized that fact. They thought she focused on the man himself.

“Sir, you need to get that dog off this bus,” came from a middle-aged woman. She didn’t want to insult a blind man, but she was starting to become frightened herself. Pete stood to his feet to try to handle Mitzi better.

At that moment, the bus slowed to make it’s next stop, and there was still one more to go before Pete’s stop came along. But by this time, Mitzi was almost beside herself, pulling on her leash with all her strength, whimpering now, more than growling. It was as if she’d traded her natural instinct to attack the “enemy” for her well-trained instinct to protect her master.

Once the bus was stopped, the driver stood and called back to Pete. “I’m sorry, Pete, but I think you’re going to have to get Mitzi off of here now.”

Pete nodded. “Yes … yes, you’re right Randal. He turned his head in an effort to address the other passengers, just hoping they could see his face enough to recognize his sincerity. “I’m sorry, folks. Mitzi’s such a good dog —”

Before he could finish his sentence, Mitzi had emitted another sharp bark and jerked the leash so hard that Pete nearly lost his hold completely. “All right, girl. I’m coming!” he said and began to move down the aisle behind his dog.

The driver took the time to help Pete down the steps. He knew the old man could get down just fine under normal circumstances, but for some reason, today was anything but normal. “I’m sorry, Pete,” he said again. “You take it easy walking from here.”

“Pete reached out toward the voice to touch Randal’s arm. He made contact and patted the arm. “It’s all right, Randal. I’ll figure out what’s wrong, and we’ll be back to ride tomorrow with no problems, I’m sure.”

The door slid closed; Randal changed gear, and the bus moved on down the road. Pete knelt down to talk to Mitzi. How strange, he thought. The dog was completely calm now. No more growls, no more whimpers. She wagged her tail and licked his cheek. Sorely puzzled, he rubbed her back and spoke reassuringly. “Good girl, Mitzi. You’re a good, good girl.”

As he knelt there beside her on the sidewalk, the bus moved on to the end of the block, and then on to the end of the next block, where it exploded and burst into flames.

 

 

 

Wendell’s Angel Needs a Raise

| Sandra Pavloff Conner

Several years ago, I took part in a 100-word story challenge based on the photo below. The photo had no copyright identification, so I can’t give any either, and I’m sorry about that because it’s a great shot. But over the years, my imagination kept going back to that story and enlarging on it. In the updated and enlarged version of the story, I’ve taken a good deal of license with what scripture actually says about angels, but, hopefully, God being the good sport that He is, I can plead journalistic license for this particular piece and get away with it.

WENDELL IN MUSEUM

 

WENDELL’S ANGEL NEEDS A RAISE

Angel #47,000,000 smiled at Wendell, lumbering through the museum, camera in hand. Wendell Avery loved coming here on his day off work. One of those people who couldn’t seem to create art himself, he had an amazing appreciation of other people’s talent.

Number 47,000,000, whose nickname was Swoop, had been Wendell’s guardian since birth – about twenty-seven years. And what a ride it had been! In fact, it was working with Wendell that had earned #47,000,000 this nickname, because on any given day, he had to literally swoop in and out of awkward situations in order to defray one kind of catastrophe or another.

Wendell loved life! Though heavy and awkward – right at 300 pounds — he liked doing everything and seemed totally unaware that his large frame could be dangerous when he wasn’t careful. And he had a big, compassionate heart. Swoop was proud to see how generous Wendell was, especially to little kids and elderly people. The angel heaved a sigh now as he expressed his thoughts aloud: “If Wendell could just learn to be more careful how he moves!”

Even today, just visiting the museum for two hours had totaled up a pretty impressive list of incidents that added significantly to the stress of Swoop’s job. So far, he had rescued a $100,000 sculpture Wendell had accidentally jabbed with his elbow, a $60,000 clock that had skidded to the edge of the table it sat on – when Wendell had stepped aside to let an elderly lady pass him – and a glass case holding $200,000 worth of rare jewels which Wendell had bumped with his rump.

All three times, the alarm had blared, and the museum doors had locked down. People froze in position, some of them with fear in their eyes as they looked around wildly trying to figure out what was going on. Each time, the museum curator had made his way to Wendell as quickly as possible, fairly certain that the source of trouble lay in that direction. After all, the security cameras had recorded a number of such incidents almost every time Wendell visited.

But the museum directors – so far – had not seen fit to bar Wendell from the premises. It was a public museum, after all, and Wendell’s taxes helped pay for the expositions. If truth were known, the curator had a soft spot in his heart for Wendell, but he was facing a board of directors who were becoming more and more worried. In fact, Number 47,000,000 had been called into the main office in Heaven and encouraged to keep a tighter rein on his charge for everyone’s peace of mind.

But, at least, things would be settling down for today. Wendell wanted just one more picture – a hand-painted vase that had just been put on display this morning. So Number 47,000,000 took a deep breath and finally started to relax.

Wendell found the vase, prepared his camera, and then bent for a close-up.

Bump.

Wendell’s rump had made contact with the pedestal behind him, and one Ming vase was going down!

“Heaven help us!” cried Number 47,000,000, and he did indeed mean it as a prayer.

Swooooooop!

“Whew! Nice catch, even if I do say so myself,” Number 47,000,000 whispered. He gingerly set the vase back in place and looked over at Wendell, who was checking his watch. Wendell nodded to himself. “Yep, time to go.”

Number 47,000,000 sighed with relief and fell in step beside his charge as they exited the museum. As they walked down the sidewalk, Wendell started checking the pictures in his camera. He got excited about the great shots he’d gotten and didn’t notice when he walked right off the curb into the path of an oncoming semi.

Swooooooop!

“Heavens, that was a close one!” Number 47,000,000 whispered. He’d actually felt the heat of the exhaust as the truck brushed by within an inch of him. Wendell, unconcerned since he hadn’t realized he’d been in such danger, kept walking and concentrating on his camera.

Number 47,000,000 lovingly spread his right wing around Wendell, took a deep breath, and smiled. The truth was that he really did like his job. He wouldn’t want any other angel to have responsibility for Wendell. However, all things considered, he decided that as soon as he got Wendell safely home, he was going up to the head office and have a talk with God about a raise.

Weekend Coffee Share 8/5/18

| Sandra Pavloff Conner

COFFEE METAL POT POURING - Coyot - PX

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If we were having coffee together today, I’d tell you that I had the funniest thing happen concerning my writing this week. One of the students in my creative writing class stopped to talk with me after our recent class and told me that he had just finished reading one of my novels. He said he had enjoyed it, but he had discovered a discrepancy that he thought I’d want to know about.

He referred me to the scenes in question and explained that in an early scene I had mentioned a bathroom not having a window at all (something important to the plot), and then in a much later scene I had referred to the size of the “bathroom window.” My mouth fell open as I listened to him, and my response was what you might expect: “You’re kidding!!!”  And then, of course, I thanked him for telling me and told him I’d check it out immediately.

Well, sure enough, folks. He was right. Not only did I say there was no bathroom window in one scene, but later, in two different scenes, I mentioned there being a bathroom window. So … unless I want to bring in a construction company and allow them to remodel the house as part of the plot, I need to rewrite my description of that bathroom.

Now, the funny part is this: I had written the first four chapters of that book a few years ago and had gotten bogged down with it and just put it on a shelf. Last year I decided I really wanted to finish it, so I promised my website readers that I would post the story one chapter a day on my site in order to force myself to finish the story in a timely fashion. So people from all over the world read that story, one chapter at a time, and commented on it. A few got very involved with it. And of course, the book had two different editing sessions before it went into publication as a complete work. Yet not one person noticed that a bathroom window had suddenly appeared in a bathroom that had no window.

I told my student that he is the only living human being who caught that mistake. I also suggested that maybe he should get a job as a proofreader.  🙂  But I’m so glad he didn’t hold back, afraid to tell me about the mistake — particularly since I was his writing teacher. There are some people who probably would have been hesitant to say anything. And I’m glad that I no longer publish that book with the original publisher, but I currently have it published through a self-publishing platform with Amazon. So that means I can get into the system, correct my mistake, and make sure only the corrected text gets published from now on.

The whole episode was a tad embarrassing, but it was also a great teaching tool, in that it serves to re-emphasize the truth that editing and re-writing are, without question, the most important part of writing any book.

Hope you’ve enjoyed our coffee time. Would anyone like a refill? I think I could use another cup. I have some rewriting to do …

Thanks to Eclectic Ali for hosting our coffee share.

 

 

 

 

Red

| Sandra Pavloff Conner

RED SWATCH

I was talking recently with a good friend, a very talented artist, who also has a love for unique literature and for writing. Having spent a lot of time in Japan, he has an immense appreciation for that country’s culture and it’s literature. He’s currently working on a book of poetry in Japanese — poems with unique subject matter and perspectives on elements of the world and life. One of the things he’s experimenting with is being able to express color in words only — so that someone who’s never seen the color can get a true sense of what it is. He asked me if I had any ideas or concepts concerning the color red that might be worked into such a piece.

I shared with him that I had actually written a short piece like that a few years ago about the color green. And the idea of doing the same thing for other colors was intriguing. So I left the conversation with his asking me to think about the color and pass on any concepts that came to me in case they provided something more he might incorporate into his work.

Well, a challenge like that is just too much to withstand, so I found my mind delving into the subject repeatedly over the next 12 hours. And, sure enough, I came up with my personal version of describing the color red in words only. I shared it with him, of course, with permission to use any of the ideas or concepts he thought would be helpful. But then I decided that my followers here and on my poetry site might enjoy it as well.

And, no worries: my sharing it here won’t step on his toes where his own work is concerned. Because the only thing he’s considering using are some of the concepts I’ve shared,  not the poem itself. And, of course, since his book of poems is being written in Japanese, my English poem won’t interfere with the effect of his finished work in the least. So here’s my interpretation of that wonderful, unique color.

RED

Red is fire and passion.
It lives; it shouts; it takes possession
Of every scene in which it plays a part.
It is the exclamation mark of life.

It speaks of blood that flows throughout our veins.
It speaks of hate that steals away that blood.
It speaks of love that overcomes all hate.

It’s energy unleashed:
Invigorating, stimulating, titillating, aggravating.

Bold, emphatic, quite dramatic;
Life-inspiring, soul-empowering:
Red!

 

 

 

Inspirational Video – Drawing From God’s Well

| Sandra Pavloff Conner

I just finished another encouraging message from the Word of God for my ministry YouTube channel. Thought some of my followers from this site would enjoy it as well.

 

 

 

Coffee Makes the World Go Round … Well, At Least It Makes This Blog Go Round

| Sandra Pavloff Conner

cropped-coffee-being-poured-w-spoon-pdpics-px.jpg

It just came to my attention today that I have done 43 separate posts on the subject of coffee — not counting a story or two set in a coffee shop , posts about my favorite foods, or my “weekend coffee share” posts. Wow.  I guess I appreciate coffee. But then, that makes sense. Coffee is soothing, satisfying, comforting, energizing, and beneficial to health (according to some medical research I’ve read about.)

So, have a cup on me today — and make it a great day!

P. S.  If you’re interested in reading the coffee posts, you’ll find them by clicking on the two ‘coffee’ categories in the navigation bar right below the header photo.

 

 

 

 

Friday Funnies – 7/20/18

| Sandra Pavloff Conner

Running late this week, but I’m posting my Friday Funnies anyway. Don’t forget: if you want to share your own “Friday Funnies” just leave the link in the “Comments” section below.

POT ROAST -- zrenate -- PX

A man walked into the kitchen as his new bride Jenny was preparing a pot roast. He watched as she cut off a small part of one end of the roast and then proceeded to place the rest into the pot. There was plenty of space left in the pot, and he assumed she’d put the other piece in as well, but she did not. She put the lid on and proceeded with the cooking.

“Honey, I noticed that you cut off the smaller end off the roast before you put it in the pot. Why is that?”

His wife looked at him for a minute, trying to assimilate what he had asked. A questioning look came into her eyes, and she answered. “Well, I don’t know. I guess it’s because that’s the way Momma always did it, and she’s the one who taught me how to cook. So I figured that was what we needed to do.”

“Well, why did she cut off the end?” her husband asked.

“I don’t exactly know,” she answered. “I think I’ll call Momma and ask her.”

A few minutes later, on the telephone, the young wife addressed her mother. “Momma, I was fixin’ a roast today, and cut off the end the way we always have, and Randall came into the kitchen about that time. He asked me why I cut off the end of the roast. I told him that’s the way you always did it, and that’s the only way I know to make a roast. But then he asked me why you did it that way, and I didn’t know. So … why did you always cut off the end?”

“Well, Honey, I did it because that’s the way your grandmama always did it when she was teachin’ me to cook.”

“Well, why did she do it?”

“I’ll be darned if I know,” her mother answered. “I think I’ll call her and ask her.”

A few minutes later, Jenny’s mother spoke with her own mother. “Mama, I was just talkin’ to Jenny,  and she said Randall asked her why she cut the end off a roast before she put it in the pot. She said she did it because I always did that, and she asked me why I did it. Well, of course, I explained that I did it because that’s what you always did, but I’d  never asked you why. So, now my curiosity’s got the better of me. Why did you always cut off the end of the roast?”

“Why, Honey, I cut it off because we only had one pot, and it was too little to hold the whole roast at one time.”

🙂     🙂     🙂

photo courtesy of zrenate @ pixabay.com

 

Friday Funnies 7/9/18

| Sandra Pavloff Conner

I shared this one previously several years ago, but I still think it’s one of the funniest things I’ve ever heard — all thanks to Groucho Marx.

WEIMARANER PUPPY -- Romek -- PX

Outside of a dog, books are man’s best friend.
Inside of a dog, it’s too dark to read.

 

🙂   🙂   🙂

If you’d like to share  your own “Friday Funnies,” just post the link to it in the ‘Comments’ section below.

 

 

Share Your World -7/9/18

| Sandra Pavloff Conner

To participate in Cee’s ‘Share Your World’ visit her site.

 

GIRL IN LOVE W. WORDS BOOKS

 

Question # 1: What would you name the autobiography of your life?

A GIRL IN LOVE WITH WORDS

 

Question # 2:  Which do you prefer: sweet, salty, or buttery?

What do you mean ‘WHICH??????’  I prefer all three — and sometimes all at the same time.  And don’t forget coffee to go along with all of it.

 

Question # 3:  What’s the finest education?

Knowing God:  “The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom, and knowledge of the Holy One is understanding.”  Proverbs 9:10.

 

Question # 4:  What did you appreciate or what made you smile this week?

I appreciated the great food my cousin brought me. She loves to grill, and I never grill, but I do love grilled food. So she brought me pork steak, polish sausages, and hot dogs — plus dessert. That’s a lot to smile about — and be grateful for.  🙂

 

 

 

Weekend Coffee Share – 7/7/18

| Sandra Pavloff Conner

COFFEE MAN WITH FLOWERS - resized

If we were having coffee today, I’d most likely tell you about my creative writing class that got underway last week at the local college. It definitely got off to a robust beginning and then continued to make records for the most unusual writing class I’ve ever taught.

The first class met June 28, and about half-way through the class, the students’ phones began going off with a weather warning signal. The report said a tornado was headed our way and we needed to “take cover now!”  Since it was the first class of that term, and my classes last year had not been in that particular building, I did not remember exactly where the “safe” rooms were, so I had to hunt for the building map. I found it in the tray of the whiteboard, and immediately located the closest “safe” room for students to move to. My students weren’t actually frightened or panicked, but since one whole wall of our classroom is glass, they did want to get out of that room.

Well, when I tried to open the door to the “safe” room, it was locked. So I told the students I’d check the alternate rooms listed on the map, but then, suddenly — as if out of nowhere — one of the main custodians appeared with a key. However, as he opened the room, he also told me that a different room on the other end of the hall was actually safer, so I directed my students there instead. One woman’s husband was sitting in a lounge area reading while he waited for her.  So the custodian went to get him and have him join us in the “safe” room.  I was praying, of course, but I did feel responsible for making sure my students were as safe as possible.

Before we got to the safe room, some of the students stopped to look out one of the windows. It was pretty black outside — even though it’s normally still quite light at that time — and as they were looking, suddenly the wind took down a tree. We learned that another tree on the campus was also uprooted as well, but we didn’t see that one.

With class interrupted, we just sort of sat and conversed about other topics for a while, and two students kept tabs on the weather updates. One of them read a report that a local Kroger store had taken all their customers into their meat locker for safety. One of the students commented that if her daughter had been in that position, it would have been like a nightmare because the daughter is a vegetarian.

Everyone was pretty upbeat during the waiting time, and after a while, they decided they’d like to go ahead and continue the lesson. So I went back down to our original room and got all my teaching material so we could have the lesson while we waited. There was no whiteboard, but I was able to give them some of the material without it. When the warning time had expired,  with our building still in one piece, we packed up our stuff and moved back down to our regular room and continued our class, no worse for the wear.

One of the students had ridden a motorcycle to the class. So he had about a 20-mile ride home in the rain after we let out. But the winds had died down, and the warnings had expired at least. He had come prepared, though. He had brought along a rain suit, so I guess he’s been caught in that kind of situation before. He made it home okay and was in good shape to come back this week.

Now, to this week’s chapter: When I got to the classroom Thursday, two of my students were standing outside the building — in 100-degree heat. As I stepped from my car, I yelled to them and asked if the door was locked. They said it was. So I got back into my car and drove over to the security and maintenance building. I couldn’t get anyone to answer my pounding on the door at the security office. I couldn’t get into the maintenance office, and I even stopped at a shop area where they were welding to ask for assistance. They just sent me back to the security office, but that second time, an officer FINALLY came to the door.

Evidently, because our class was meeting the day after the 4th of July, we were one of only a few classes that were meeting that day. I guess several of the others had dismissed for the rest of the week, and the officer said his list of buildings that were supposed to be open for classes did not include the one we were trying to get into. However, he drove over and opened the building for us. It was a little strange to be the only class meeting in that great big building, but at least all was quiet weather-wise, and we had no interruptions.

All in all, I’d say this term’s writing class has been less that boring. And if nothing else, maybe it will give students something to write about. However, I do hope next week is TOTALLY ordinary.

Have a great week, everyone!

Thanks to Eclectic Ali for hosting our weekend coffee share.

 

 

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