Confessions of a Movie Hound: The Pembroke Ultimatum

By Lucy in Disguise Wells

I know it’s been a while, but the people I live with decided to move and have turned my life upside-down. I can’t say the change has been all that bad. In fact, it has made my job as the family herder much easier. The new home has a circular design that allows me to conquer all traffic patterns.

Now, I operate like the ultimate action hero, working under the noses of those who would be my master to foil all their plans and ultimately make them succumb to my will. Like Jason Bourne, it is like I have been reborn with the slate wiped clean. They don’t even know who I am anymore.

When we first moved, I even feigned a sickness, changing my features from the stocky corgi machine into a sleek stealth version—a supreme corgi specimen. They thought they could mold me and change me into something else, taking me frequently to their evil collaborator—a doctor acting out of a front, claiming to be a legitimate veterinarian. But she couldn’t fool me. I know she worked for some shadow government.

She gave my people some drugs to give me, but I developed a system for ejecting the pills from whatever wonderful food substance in which they tried to hide them. Meatloaf? No problem. I eat the meat; hold the pill in my jowls, and when they aren’t looking… Plinck! Out on the floor.

Oh, sure they had their cover story. Some business about my pancreas failing. They said it was making anything I ate run straight through my body without processing any nutrients. Hey! If it makes me poop more… well, that just means I get to eat it more frequently. They couldn’t fool me.

OK! Maybe they did find a way to make me eat those pills—the scoundrels! They started covering them in gravy. Well, to even the perfect corgi specimen gravy is like a beautiful woman to James Bond—simply irresistible! And maybe I have become a little more regular, but that only makes it taste better.

After I built up a resistance to their drugs, I set out on my mission to keep order in the traffic patterns of the new domicile. Of course, the little one—the one the man and the woman call Jude—is the most dangerous. And they seem to speak sternly at him as often as they do me, so my assessment that he poses the greatest threat to the household must be correct.

They must suspect I have broken from my programming. That’s the only explanation I can come up with as to why they would ever speak harshly to me. Don’t they know I’m the only one who knows what I’m doing in this house?

Anyway, I try to make sure they know to fear me. My stuffed cat is the best instrument for that purpose. Whenever the man or the woman get out of line, I’ll drag that cat into the room, flip it into the air, tear at its ears until its stuffing starts to come out, and generally work it over the way Jason Bourne might drive some car until it falls apart. That’s when they know I mean business, when they have to spend the next half hour picking up my cat’s innards.

Then I’ll sneak up behind them and bark. God, I love the way they jump when I do that! The man’s face will get all purple as he reaches down to catch me and just like Batman, I’m gone before he knows it. Like a shadow I jump from room to room, barking here, nipping there, and all the time I have them right where I want them. I can make them go anywhere in that house I want them too.

Sure, sometimes they catch me and incarcerate me in the metal cage, or worse tie me to the pole in the back yard. But every hero is misunderstood. Bourne is merely trying to find out who he is. Batman is only trying to strike fear in the hearts of criminals so no one will ever have to suffer the way he did as a child. But Bourne is chased by the very people who made him, and Batman must defend against criminals who claim he created them.

Lucy in Disguise, however, answers to no authority. She has no breaking point, because she depends on no one. In the Wells household, Lucy is the law!

Now, I’m going to the kitchen to see if those fools have filled my food bowl yet.

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Confessions of a Movie Hound: The Big Ape

By Lucy “In Disguise” Wells

So, last night he was staring at the wall again. The woman—let’s just call her ‘Mom’—and I decided to go to bed early. God, I love that woman sometimes. Someone seems to have given her the impression that the bed is hers, however. I’d put my money on the wall-staring man. She also doesn’t seem to understand the importance of the stuffed cat. I know the thing isn’t real, but I seem to be developing quite a strong affection for it. When Mom goes to bed I like to bring it to her and shove it in her hair. She’ll shove it away but never gives it a good toss. It’s is like she doesn’t understand what I’m telling her. “Throw the cat! Throw the cat! Throw the cat!” It's not that complicated.

But once she gets into that bed, there’s no talking to her. She lays face down. I lick her ears. She pulls the covers over her head. I dig her out. She puts the pillow over her head. I shove my nose under and start snuffing away, but she won’t budge. That’s ok though; ‘cause there’s nothing I enjoy more than spread eagling out on the bed, even if she insists on claiming half of my bed for herself. What gets me is when the man stumbles in at midnight or later and expects me to render the remainder of my bed over to him. I fight the good fight. Pretend I don’t see him. Hold my eyes shut as if I’m asleep and oblivious to his demands. But that jerk always uses his size as a weapon against me. He just picks me up and moves me to the end of the bed. I used to race him back to the pillow, but he started stiff arming me. I finally gave in. Sleeping on the end of the bed like some sort of pet in my own house, can you imagine? Boy, if I were a Great Dane, I’d show him!

So I racked out with Mom, being sure to loose what slobber I could on my pillow for when he came and took my spot, and I drifted in doggy la-la land for a while. Then at about midnight the squat gods came calling. I usually ask to go out before bed, but Mom and I dozed off so early I forgot all about it. Normally sleep overrides a call from nature—I prefer to deal with the ultimate mother on my own terms—but the man was downstairs in his dungeon being assaulted by thunderous demons from hell or some such thing emanating from the light box that hung on his wall. He was probably just sitting there like always, taking no defensive measures to evade whatever might jump out of the box to attack him. I didn’t really care, but I had to pee.

I sat at the top of the stairs that lead to the basement and pretended I had some sort of itch on my neck. I jangled those tags they put around my neck in case they get separated from me in a flock of Corgi’s, so they can find me again. (Flock?) Anyway, they could just sniff our butts. It’s much less restrictive than those tags. And I wouldn’t let them lose me anyway. I swear sometimes it seems like they think they own me, not the other way around.

So I was jangling my jewelry at the top of the stairs. Huffing and puffing like I’m upset about something. I started snorting, and finally he heard me. The sound of the giants attacking the basement suddenly ceased. I don’t know how it does that. I think it has something to do with that small rectangular box with the blisters on it he’s always holding on to like it’s a junkie’s crack pipe or something. I suppose it is very much like that considering how it relates to his addiction. I just can’t figure out why he doesn’t just use it to stop the box anytime it is attacking him with the noise and explosions and monsters. It boggles the mind, really.

So he got up the stairs and mumbled some of his primitive vocal communication to me. I’ve come to understand which sounds mean “outside,” “eat”, “go,” and various others that are particularly important for them to communicate to me. He let me out, but I could tell he was just jonesin’ to continue feeding his fix. I was only out there for a few minutes, barely enough time for me to take care of my business and give the standard perimeter check of my yard. I was in the middle of letting the neighbor dog know that he needed to “step off” when that light box junkie’s patience ran out and he called me to get in. Since it was cold, I obliged.

I got in, and I could see those dilated eyes of his. I knew he was going back down to risk his life in front of that light box of images and monsters again. I couldn’t let him face his demons (or the light box’s) on his own, so instead of going back to my place in bed next to Mom—which is where I most certainly wanted to go—I decided to follow him back down into the basement.

He lay down on the couch, and I anxiously settled down on his lap as he reached for his button box and pointed it at the dark light box. I was facing him to be sure he wasn’t going to freak out when the monsters and thunder came. The noise started behind me and I looked over my shoulder to find the light box just had a couple of humans hopping around in it acting silly. So I settled down again.

I must have fallen asleep or something because the next thing I know I hear this monstrous beast snorting and grunting in my ear. There are sounds of the city all around us. I don’t get how the people and monsters can be in the light box on the wall while I can hear them all around the room we’re sitting in. Anyway, I knew there was something big and nasty behind me, but I didn’t want to look. The look on the man’s face was maybe slightly excited, but nothing that would indicate he was about to run away or anything, so I slowly turned my head to see what threat the box had produced this time.

Well, my satellite ears began to shake—which created quite a breeze in the basement—and my nub of a tail was certainly not wagging. Hell, I almost tinkled myself sitting right there on top of the man. What I saw in the box was terrifying. It was a giant ape. He was jumping around some city, tossing cars and people everywhere. And the roaring, oh dear God that horrifying roaring! What was stopping that ape from just walking into our little basement and stomping on us? I don’t know.

I don’t know how the man could have been so calm. Normally when something threatens my man pet from the light box I’ll give it a good growl until it goes away. I didn’t dare make a peep this time. Surely that ape would just eat me. I saw him tear one of those poor humans in half. Not that I can’t be ferocious and terrifying when I need to be, but us Corgis aren’t exactly hulking dogs. That ape would have broken me like one of my chew sticks.

I inched my way up the man’s body and shoved my snout into his armpit. “Please, make it stop. Please, make it stop. Just pick up that damn button box and click it until it stops, for God’s sake!” But he didn’t move. And then I understood his tactic. He was lying perfectly still, hoping the giant monkey wouldn’t see him. That must have been it.

Somehow we miraculously survived the giant ape. But after that incident, I’m done. I’m not doing it anymore. I’m done protecting his ass. He can summon up whatever dragons, spaceships, dinosaurs, grizzly bears, whatever… I’m not gonna be there to save him next time. Next time, I’m just staying upstairs with Mom. Let them get him.

King Kong

Confessions of a Movie Hound

By Lucy “in Disguise” Wells

I’m a dog, a Pembrook Welsh Corgi to be precise. The name is Lucy. Full given name: Lucy in Disguise. Don’t ask, because I can’t tell you. The man and woman who live in my house claim some story about how my coloring made it look like I was wearing glasses when they fetched me from the farm. They just think they’re clever if you ask me. What can you do? They’re mine, so I guess they’ve got that going for them.

They also have two pups of their own. The older one pretty much keeps to himself. Sometimes I just bug him so I can hear him whine out my name. That’s fun. What isn’t fun is the little one. I try to put him in his place by barking, growling and nipping at him. That usually produces crying and blows to my head. Don’t they understand that I am trying to give the boy valuable character lessons and survival instincts? Anyway, they call him Jude. British Invasion band obsession much, people?

I don’t have that problem that so many dogs have of thinking they are people. I know I’m better than those mules who fill my food and water bowls every day. As long as they continue to allow me to live in the lap of luxury while they run around cleaning up after their pups and me, they can believe they run this place for all I care. I’ll always be happy if I can just keep them getting their steam up by poking at them and shoving my toys into their laps whenever they think they’re doing something important.

Get this. They have this stuffed cat that they make hit me on the snout as if it is attacking me. They honestly believe I think it’s a real cat. But they’re cute, so I humor them.

The man concerns me though. He may be spending too much time enjoying himself and not catering to my needs. You see, he has this kind of light box on the wall of our basement. He got a bigger one after I allowed him to live with me last year. I think he spends far too much time watching it. Sometimes the woman joins him, and they stare at the light box on the wall for a couple of hours at a time, but the man spends much more time staring at it.

I’ve tried it a couple times, but I guess I don’t get it. It usually just puts me to sleep. Every once in a while another dog shows up in the light box and I have to run up to the wall and bark at the box until the other dog goes away. And those fools just sit there and watch while their lives are clearly in danger. Sometimes the light box will attack them in other ways, with loud noises and thunder and lightning; all the while those foolish people just sit there and watch.

Now, the man seems to have developed an addiction of some sort to the light box. Rarely an evening goes by when he is not sitting in front of it at some point. Sometimes he’ll sit watching the box for several hours, then pull out his little fold up light box and start tapping away at the insides of it with his finger tips. I think he is collecting his thoughts about the big light box when he does this. It seems strange to me that this practice would require a second smaller light box. I’m quite concerned. It’s as if he’s feeding his addiction with another addiction. I’ve seen other dogs addicted to their own poop try to supplement it with other dogs’ poop, sometimes even cat poop. It isn’t pretty.

Even more disturbing than when he uses his little light box to comment on the big light box is when he falls asleep on the couch watching the big light box. Doesn’t he realize one of those poop addict dogs could come rushing out of that light box at any moment? I’ve never seen him fall asleep in front of the little light box. I don’t think a dog could fit through that one anyway, but I suppose their poop could.

I try to protect him from himself. I’ll often curl myself into a ball at his feet, ready to spring like a steel trap at anything that threatens his life. Sure he thinks I’m lazy and take that time to snooze, but as a Corgi my ears are like finely tuned satellite dishes constantly searching the skies for enemy threats. When I’m at his feet, he may think I’m just enabling him to feed his disgusting addiction, but it is the duty of us superior beings to protect the lesser life forms of our world. I may not understand the primitive working of his mind or his sad addition to that light box, but that does not free me of the responsibility of caring for my environment. Plus, it takes two of them to remember to feed me every day.

One day I may need to initiate an intervention for this sad creature who is under my care. I dare not intervene too early however, since quitting any addiction cold turkey can often have devastating effects on everyone within the environment of the victim. I can only hope that one day this man—who occasionally fills my bowl with food and plays the cat attack game with me—will one day realize what danger his light box addiction is placing him in and take the hard path to recovery. Until then, I will be at his feet or in his lap, ready to fight off the forces of the box and all the poop addict dogs hiding within.