by Oddie Possum

Dog Gone Whistle

© 2007 Copyright 2007, By Gary L. Benton, All Rights Reserved

Bubba walked into the busy department store and up to the refund counter. The line was long, but he expected as much, since it was just a few days after a Holiday . He noticed all of the workers wore bright red vests and even had their name tags centered right above the store logo. Fancy enough , he thought as he pulled his ball cap down on his head and adjusted it for a better fit.

An hour later, he was still in line, but he'd be served next, so he allowed his blood pressure to go down. Two things Bubba hated in life with a passion, standing in lines and rude people. Little did he know that on this day he would encounter both of them.

“Next!” He heard a female voice say and glancing at the long refund counter he finally saw her waving franticly at him at the very end. Moving quickly, before she changed her mind, he walked to the counter, held out a plastic bag and said, “I'd like a refund.”

He noticed Myrtle, according to her nametag, was a chubby middle-aged woman, with purple hair, pierced eyebrows and false teeth. Her smile was weak and forced, her bright green lipstick looked unnatural and he suspected not an inch of her was genuine. Grinning, he thought, I won't get much help here, I suspect.

“Ooo wan a refun?”

“Huh?” Bubba asked, but then saw her tongue was pierced. Still grinning like a dog attempting to pass a peach seed, he replied, “Yup, I want a refund.”

“No can do.” She stated with a flat voice, handed the bag back to him, and continued, “or ooo can speak wid da manager.”

His grinned disappeared, he glanced at her nametag once again, and then said sharply, “Myrtle Lynn , get the manager.”

A few minutes later, a tall lanky kid of about eighteen walked to the counter and stated with no small amount of self-pride, “I'm Hank and I run the refund department. What can I do for you today?”

“Howdy Hank, I got this dawg whistle fer Christmas and it don't work.”

Hank looked confused and pulled the whistle from the plastic bag, looked it over closely and then replied, “It's not damaged, so it should work.”

Bubba, feeling his cheeks flush with anger, slowly said, “Son, things in life don't always do what we expect them to do and not all of ‘em work. See, my cousin Bobby Lee ain't damaged, but he don't work neither.”

Taking the whistle from Hank and placing it to his lips, Bubba blew long and hard. As soon as he'd finished, he wiped the spittle from the whistle and said, “See, ya cain't hear a thing.”

Hank gave a loud laugh and replied, “Of course not, it's a dog whistle.”

“And, Hank, what does that mean?”

“You're not supposed to hear a dog whistle.”

“Listen young feller, I may be old, but I ain't stupid. If a whistle don't whistle, then she's broke. Do I look like I fell off the chicken truck just this mornin' as it entered town?”

“You can't hear a dog whistle and I didn't even know we had a chicken truck coming to town.”

“Why not?”

“Because it's a dog whistle, or do you mean about the chicken truck?”

“The whistle!” Bubba responded with his voice filled with frustration. “Ok, then is the dawg supposed to blow it? I mean, if a dawg blows it, will I be able to hear it?”

Hank, growing angry at his job and especially the man in front of him replied in a loud voice, “ A dog cannot blow a whistle and you're not supposed to hear it! ”

“You mean to stand there and tell me you sale whistles that nobody can hear and a dawg cain't blow? Who in their right mind would buy a whistle they cain't hear or the dawg cain't use? Hill fire, son, how would ya know if-un it was broke?”

Leaning over the counter, with his face bright red, Hank replied, “ Yes , we carry them and I have no idea how to tell when a dog whistle is broken.”

“Go get yer boss son and calm down a-fore ya have one of them heart attack thing-a-ma-bobs. If ya don't have the answers, then get me somebody that does.”

“I'll get the boss, but he'll want to know why you want a refund for a one dollar purchase.”

“Ya mean this thing only cost a dollar?”

“Yep, one buck.”

Bubba thought for a moment and then said brusquely, “Get the manager and get ‘em now! Just the thought of thousands of folks buyin' a whistle that don't work from y'all and knowin' most won't bother to come back fer a refund torques my jaws. I'll have my refund, one way or the other! Cost ain't the issue here no more!”

A few minutes later a man walked up to the counter with Hank at his side. Giving a warm smile he said, “Hank explained the problem with the whistle. Dog whistles are designed to work at a much higher pitch than the human ear can hear so while it seems to not work, it is in fact working. A dog can easily hear the whistle.”

“But, I thought I heard something a few minutes ago.” Myrtle replied.

Hank and you both would , Bubba thought but said, “Then let's go to your pet department and see how the dogs react when I blow this thang.”

After ten minutes of blowing the whistle in the pet department and watching the excited dogs jumping, Bubba finally turned to the three employees and said, “I'll be dog gone, I guess it does work.”

Myrtle gave a smirk and asked, “Didn't you try it at home?”

“Yep, but it didn't work then.”

“How did your dog react?” Hank asked with a big grin.

“Dog?”

“Yes, sir, your dog. What did he do when you blew the whistle?”

“I ain't got a dog, that's why I brought this thing back for a refund,” Bubba replied, grinned and stuck his hands in the front pockets of his bib-overalls.

“Why didn't you tell us that up front?” The department manager asked.

“Y'all didn't ask. Ya was in too much of a hurry to deny me the refund.”

Back at the refund counter, Bubba collected his dollar, plus tax and as he walked form the store he thought, that's the problem in the world today, everyone hears but no one listens. The world is in too much of a hurry.

 

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Gary "Mule" Benton grew up in the Missouri Ozark Mountains and speaks broken Yankee, some of the Queen's English, and is fluent Southern. He's currently learning Texan. And, yes, his voice has a Southern “twang.” He is proud of his southern heritage, while his writing and cartooning speaks for him most of the time. In his youth he worked as a domestic engineer (four brothers and sisters), a pig slopper, a wild life procurement specialist (when he was hungry), a roofer (until he fell off the roof after two hours on the job), a cook (no comment), a goat milker (one morning), midwife to a couple of cows, a dishwasher, and finally a member of the United States military. He has an Associates Degree in Search and Rescue, Survival Operations and Bachelors Degree in Safety and Health. He only needs to complete his thesis for a Masters Degree in Psychology. Gary is an award winning writer and cartoonist, as well as a published author. He currently has 8 books in print, 6 Westerns, 1 redneck humor, and one Wilderness Survival Guide

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