Princess Fru-fru

“You talk about vengeance. Is vengeance going to bring your son back to you? Or my boy to me?”

- Don Corleone

The Godfather

            Vito and I were minding our own business on a walk when, from the north flank,  a black-and white-puff charged us. We froze. Princess Fru-fru pounced on Vito and knocked him over. She pinned him and yapped in his face. Her owner, a fourth-grader named Mark, chased down his dog and yanked her off Vito.

            “Sorry,” he said with a smirk. “I can’t believe Princess Fru-fru would go after a Husky and win.”

            “He’s only a puppy,” I said.

            “Princess Fru-fru is only a year old,” he said. Then, he pointed at Vito, “Plus, he’s already bigger than her.”

             Mark seemed to imply that Vito was a wimp, and that Princess Fru-fru had laid the puppy smack down on him.

            “You should keep her on a leash,” was my only retort.

            I admit that Princess Fru-fru’s ambush of Vito irritated me. On our next walk, I led Vito toward Princess Fru-fru’s house to see how he would react. Vito braked and pulled backward on the leash. I called him a yellow-bellied coward. I dragged him, whimpering and whining, past her house.

            I was so humiliated for Vito that I waited a whole week before we went by Princess Fru-fru’s. I didn’t realize then that waiting a while was a good idea. It appears that a puppy matures quite a bit in one week. It’s as if your child liked Yoo-hoo chocolate milk one day and Jack Daniels on the rocks the next.

            I got Vito all leashed up and outside, and who do we run into but Mark and Princess Fru-fru, on her pink and gold leash.

            I attempted to switch our direction, away from Princess Fru-fru, so as to avoid another Vito-slapdown. But, Vito had other ideas. He took off like he was turbo charged toward Princess Fru-fru. Princess Fru-fru yanked Mark toward Vito.

            Vito circled her like a matador. He flipped her over and held her prone. Strong and virile in his mastery of her, he reminded me of Humphrey Bogart in Casablanca. Mark tried to pull Princess Fru-fru, and I tried to tug Vito, but their leashes were tangled.

            As I struggled to unweave the leashes, Vito seized the moment and took his revenge.

             He whizzed on Princess Fru-fru.

            “He peed on her!” Mark screamed. “He peed on Princess Fru-fru!”

            I tried to excuse Vito’s filthy behavior, but I was beginning to tire of Mark and Princess Fru-fru. “He’s not potty trained,” I said.

            “Either is Princess Fru-fru!” screamed Mark, “but she doesn’t do that!”

            It appears that Princess Fru-fru has been dethroned.