Mr. Peabody Speaks Out
22 Jan 2005
As a transparent ploy to distract me from the various humiliations and indignities heaped upon me this last month, Mother has suggested that I try my paw at journal writing as I will have nothing much to do for the next fortnight or so.
Pater has taken my foolish brother to his house for a few days to keep me from what he calls “unhealthy excitement”. As my parents are notoriously lax in monitoring unauthorized fun, the job falls to yours truly to ensure that none happens without my say-so. So far, I cannot seem to convince anyone that this operation I have undergone is just a mere flea bite and in no-wise affects the execution of my daily duties. However, I am jumping ahead.
After many visits to many physicians and many grossly improper liberties taken with my person, I arrived at yet another clinic on Wednesday morning. Unlike the other times, Pater left me, taking my coat and collar with him. I should have known something was in the works as we were both subjected to baths the weekend before (let me clearly state that this would be Milo and me vs. Pater and me). Although I do not particularly enjoy baths, I am able to put a better face on it than ‘Gollum/Milo� who cries and whimpers “It burns!” as though they were pouring acid upon him and not just warm, soapy water. Mother tells me I should have more sympathy for the poor fellow as he is “not quite right”.
Abandoned to my fate, I spent my time usefully befriending my captors as it never hurts to have friends on the inside. However, it does not pay to be too trusting as I have learned to my sorrow, so I sensibly kept my back to the wall. Things seemed to be going as well as might be expected until the fiends dosed me with something that rendered me senseless.
Upon regaining my senses, I was immediately aware of a dull pain in my leg. But what is mere physical pain compared to the psychic pain I felt when I more fully recovered and saw what those vandals had done to me. Aside from the rather impressive incision at the back of my leg, the villains had shaved my flanks to the kidneys and to add insult to injury, my privates were dealt with similarly as to render the term “privates” laughable. The fur on my face was somehow left intact and served to hide my blushes. I nearly wept imagining the hoots and howls from lads and lasses at Agility class…but I am made of stronger stuff than that.
“Miserable ruffians! Shameless miscreants!” I howled, staggering to my feet. Unfortunately I had sadly misjudged my strength and fell to the floor of my cell. One of my jailers peeked and in smiled, “Oh, it looks like he�s coming out of the anesthesia.”
“Call my parents, someone will pay dearly for this monstrous behaviour!” I yelped feebly. The cell door opened and a hand reached in to rub my ears. My jailers continued to willfully misunderstand the various threats and dire imprecations I hurled at them, making the inane sort of cooing sounds one makes to soothe infants and the insane until at last I gave up and lay there completely exhausted.
Hours later when Pater finally came to retrieve me I was in equal parts elated to see him and wishing to be swiftly away from the scene of my latest humiliation. “The medication may make him chatty” is what they told him. It seems as though the staff of this institution have mastered the art of the understatement.
Back in the bosom of my family I met with a warm reception and accepted the commiseration of Mother and Grandmere over my “marred beauty” (or “marred booty” which was Mother�s feeble idea of a jest). My buffoon of a brother nearly knocked me over in an excess of high spirits and was promptly put in his kennel. Although not quite as addle-pated as he acts, he is nonetheless not the sharpest sword in the armory (I have seen his lips move when he reads).
It seems that it is time for my next dose of medication as I can hear Grandmere approaching. I hope she has made those thin pate sandwiches of which I am so fond.
Until next time,