Memoirs of a Soldier

Peyton Inge

University of Texas at Austin, Austin, Texas, USA

It began as most things do, over something relatively simple. I had always been the center of attention, and now the introduction of another threatened the intricate balance I had worked so hard to establish.

It was several weeks ago that the first harbingers of trouble began to appear. Loyal as ever, I had first tried to ignore all the signs, but the proverbial cold shoulder soon became neglect. Suspicions began to mount and eventually I was driven to search for definitive answers. As Supreme Commander, I went traveling cross-country on a fact-finding mission, an errand that was quite beneath the duties of someone with my rank. It was a beautiful day, and as I approached, it was relatively easy to gain access to my allies sensitive materials, stored in and around the small wooden coffee table in the middle of the room. Actually, materials were randomly strewn all over the general vicinity. Such carelessness would never be tolerated in my army; however, today it suited my designs perfectly. For several hours I nosed through the records, and all to soon the harsh truth overwhelmed my stubborn love.

Amid the worn TV guides and empty beer cans were several books, a Sunday paper, the interesting adds had been carefully highlighted, and even a picture of my soon to be mortal enemy. Lest the reader confuse the motives for my next course of action with jealousy, let me assure you they were in fact necessary, and had events cooperated, would have made the introduction of another impossible. So it was, that out of strict militaristic necessity that I set about shredding the newsprint, hurling books from the ledge, and for greater effect, I even thoroughly nawed several random edges of treasured writing utensils. Standing amidst the mess, I proudly surveyed my handiwork, but the measured tread of footsteps on concrete signaled that the time for diplomacy had passed.

Rising to stand on my two back legs, I stared intently at the door. Scattered round me was complete carnage, shredded paper and wood shavings littered every inch of the table. As the footsteps drew closer, my heart beat progressively faster. The knob turned, my heart paused, and as the giant stepped into the room, it occurred to me that I might have slightly miscalculated the odds in my favor. In fact, as his face darkened with what bore little resemblance to affection, I decided to moderate my stance on reconciliation. To say hello, I let out a piercing squeal. Unfortunately, my truce offering went unheeded, and as he drew closer, a rolled up newspaper materialized in the outstretched hand. With a shudder, I realized this was no time to show weakness, and that the best defense might very well be an offensive. As the giant drew closer, muttering dire threats against my person, and waving the paper menacingly, I likewise sized up my opponent. He stood almost six feet tall, with long gangly front legs, and had dull blue eyes, not black and glittery like mine. Bald ears perched much to low on the sides of his head, and his motor skills would embarrass even the lowliest Prairie Dog.

I, as a professional soldier and being well versed in the arts of war, had no problem dodging his first blundering swing, and then leaping with full animate fury at my attacker. As I jumped, paws extended, and teeth exposed; I was the very definition of a heroic soldier. I had aimed for the face, but was intercepted halfway to my target by a giant hand. In glee, I latched onto the outstretched thumb, and as my teeth sank deep, was treated to the ride of my life. The world spun round, up and down, back and forth I flew; only an expert in hand to claw fighting would have been able to hold on. I however, rose to the challenge, and kept my incisors firmly latched on the appendage. Happily, I noticed the mutters had turned to screams of outrage, and as the world continued to rotate I felt victory might be close at hand, no pun intended. One particularly violent shake dislodged my teeth, now somewhat looser, from the thumb, and I experienced the longest airborne flight of my life. I landed in the corner, and quite deflated, noticed that the now hysterical giant was rapidly advancing on my position. Deciding to beat a hasty retreat, I scampered for the shelter offered by the bed in the other room. Four legs pumping furiously, I was careful to keep my dignified tail twitching defiantly so the giant would not misinterpret my apparent haste as flight, when in fact it was obviously a simple calculated relocation.

In the distance curses could be heard, and in glee I turned and chuckled, only to duck quickly as an all to familiar boot sailed overhead. I had the satisfaction of watching over my shoulder, the giant’s unsuccessful attempt to remove his second boot, however, his eyesight seems to have been less than stellar, because he tripped over the coffee table and landed on fuming on the floor. This only slightly delayed the launch of the second boot however, but from the start it was apparent that only the window to my right was at risk. In vain the second boot searched for an animate target, finding only the frail glass squares in the wall. With a crash it sailed right through, eventually landing two stories downstairs. My victory complete, I hopped round the corner into the relative safety of the adjoining room.

As the shadows in the room grew longer, I crept into my barred castle via the open door, and found the familiar comfort of my bed. Crafted from only the finest cloth Haines could provide, the dirty browns and lackluster whites provided moderate camouflage for my tan form. As the evening turned to night, I began to plot my strategy for winning the war. The purpose of these notes is to inform the reader of my valiant struggle for the respect and love I so deserve. In the distance, the giant can be heard talking into his corded instrument, and his words have all the impact of an artillery barrage. It seems his reinforcements will be arriving tomorrow at first light. It is therefore necessary that I make contact with the other member of my force, in the hopes that he may be of use in the coming battle, or even, dare I to hope, that he may have an army of his own. So it was in this mood of resignation that I provided the reader with a photograph of myself in case the battle does not go as planned, and the Medal of Honor must be awarded posthumously.

As the night wore on, I bore progressively little hope that our differences might be reconciled, and as the giant continued to nurse his thumb, it was apparent that for some reason he was harboring a grudge. Icepacks, Advil, and Letterman seemed to sooth his nerves, however, he made no attempt to approach his loyal pet. So it was that I awoke at first light deeply resentful, and set about preparing for a war.

As befitted an officer of my rank, the suns first timid rays found me already in activity. A quick jog round the water tank and I was ready for the greatest journey of my life. My destination was the mirror several klicks away. At least the nylon grass would not be too harsh on my padded feet. Exercise always heightens the senses, and it was with a surge of adrenaline that I rounded the last corner and took my spot in front the giant communications center the giant referred to as “the mirror.” His lack of military jargon further emphases the superiority of my own intelligence. Rising to my back feet, I see that as always my counterpart is on duty. Personally, I find the manner in which he mimics my actions very insubordinate, and would normally berate and threaten him, but today larger issues are at stake. My thunderous oratory would have been the envy of even Winston Churchill, and as I expounded on the virtues of unification, and of threat posed to all by the introduction of the monster, I realized the genius that I alone possessed. It made no difference that the little cracker in the mirror copied my every move; no one could fail to realize my point. As I continued to speak, a rumble from the sofa attracted my attention. As the muted growls became coherent, I, with my superior hearing, was able to distinguish the alarmed statement of “I’m late.” Obviously misguided, because he never woke before twelve, it was with a chuckle that I watched him stumble towards the alarm clock. In his haste, the giant failed to note the presence of the coffee table in front of his shins. As he tumbled head over heals to the floor, my chuckle became a shriek of delight. As his progress became a slow crawl, I felt as if my insides would burst from laughter.

My attitude became slightly more concerned when he reached the alarm clock. It read six am, and I could see from his confused blinking that he had erroneously mistaken my communiqué with the shriek of the alarm clock. After a moment of intense thought, he was especially dumb this early; I felt the weight of his eyes come to rest on yours truly. Hmmm, one more squeal shouldn’t hurt, so I bid farewell to the figure in the mirror. It occurred to me that the giant was now muttering death threats against some unnamed rodent, but it wasn’t until he located the boot that I became concerned. After all, dawn was the dignified hour for one to rise, and it certainly was not my fault that his alarm clock sounded a lot like me. Fortunately, the limp retarded his halfhearted attempt at pursuit, and the boot thudded harmlessly into the ground. As things quieted down, I retired to the safety of the dresser to await reinforcements.

Around midmorning, a bone squashing knock threatened to beat down the door. Curious, I crept round the corner and took refuge next to an athletic sock. Ever been down wind of a dirty sock? I decided to relocate to a friendlier outpost, and scuttled behind a nearby speaker. As the giant opened the door, a most disgusting sight greeted my disbelieving eyes. It now appeared that the pictures I destroyed had failed to deter the delivery of my competition. This saggy jowled monster was hardly a suitable pet for anyone, much less my giant. Standing just outside the mantel on a short blue leash with floppy ears perched, stood my nemesis, a newly purchased Bassett Hound. This would be no easy battle, but as the deliveryman retired, his dire deed complete, I knew I was up to the challenge.

As the hound tiptoed into my room, nose already twitching, his eyes seemed to peer into every corner. A cuddly assortment of white and brown patches adorned a face not even a mother could love. Only problem was, the giant seemed completely infatuated. I on the other hand didn’t fall for the innocent act, and knew that any animal that trips over his own ears is bound to be trouble. As he trotted round the room, my fears appeared confirmed when he hiked up his leg and watered my castle. I was revenged however, when the giant drew his trusty newspaper and swatted the mutt. I was somewhat miffed that faint laughter could be heard from their general direction. True to form, the Bassett completely ignored the discipline and continued his exploration of MY territory. To illustrate the horror with which I was faced, I have sketched a picture of my enemy.

Several days have passed since the introduction of the hound, and I believe all is lost. I have become the secondary pet, and am forced to subsist on dog chow and slobber stained water. A further insult is the smell that envelops my home; it reeks of dog. My reinforcements have yet to arrive, and I hold little hope that they will do so at this late hour. As I sit here, my only comfort is the knowledge of my superior intelligence and the hopes that the hound may one day not return from his hourly walks in the park.