I Remember Jeep

This story, like all good stories, begins with a dog. This one particular dog in question bore the name of Jeep with pride; bringing honour to his master was first and foremost, in his mind. There was no greater joy in his relatively boring life than the rush of a fresh kill, sinking his jaws into the warm fur of a rabbit, feeling its frail body struggle and then spasmodically sputter and die. His master was always so kind to Jeep, when he brought home his meal of conies. He would grin happily and then boast and brag, yet remain humble, with his words.

Oh, it was nothing, Jeep would say. I caught three just this past hour, he would exclaim immediately after.

His master would simply smile back and rub him behind the ears, the spot which he could just never reach on his own. And after a quick howl of triumph, Jeep would trot back to his bed and take a hard-earned nap.

Today, however, was different. Jeep had just awoken from a long nap, when he heard his master making quite a ruckus in the little house that his master called the studio.

What are you up to? Jeep asked himself, strutting up to the door and pawing at it.

The door opened and the dog meandered inside, the door shutting behind him. The studio was like a small house, certainly much smaller than the house in which his master slept. There were several strangely shaped objects propped up near the corners, where two walls met. At one corner sat a monstrous octopus-like mechanism. It consisted of several round containers which, when banged on with a stick, boomed and rattled. Upon first meeting this thing, Jeep had yelped and jumped around, terrified. Boy, it was a loud beast. Now, he hardly gave it half a glance. For now, Jeep lay down on his stomache, his front paws resting underneath his head, his drooping eyes perked up curiously. Something was different this time -- his master had another human with him. Jeep was repulsed that his dear, sweet, beloved master would choose the company of another over his most loyal friend. Oh dear, Jeep thought. The dog gave his master an interrogatory look.

Who is this, he asked.

His master muttered something to the other human, then laughed, took a puff on his cigarette, and stuck it onto a long wire which protruded from the curved object in his hands.

"Another go, George?"

"Take it away, Eric."

His master proceeded to launch into an explosive ecstasy of sound. The studio boomed and shuttered. It would have shattered and broken down into splinters, Jeep guessed, if not for the pads placed strategically on each wall.

The human beside Jeep's master strummed alongside, though the majority of his concentration was put into the words which poured from his mouth quite beautifully into a long thin pole. This perked Jeep's interest.

Your friend sings well, he said. But how does he compare to me? I can do that.

Jeep, then, launched into his own terrifyingly out-of-key solo, in which he barked and growled, trying to match the volume of his master's new friend. This quite clearly caught the attention of the two humans, who immediately stopped playing and glared at the dog at their feet.

"Quiet, boy, quiet!" shouted his master. He was most definitely angry; Jeep could see the lines of frustration etched into his forehead. "Get out of here! Go!"

His master pounced on the door and flung it open, practically kicking Jeep out.

"One more time, Slowhand?" his master's friend asked. The voice was muffled, for Jeep was sitting outside of the door.

Jeep's curiosity was satiated. He knew what was going on now. He was jealous, frustrated, and a mixture of many other emotions of the like.

Clearly, his master did not want him around. He whined and pawed at the door, but with a scowl, his master sent him off again.

What shall I do now? Where shall I go? Master must be lonely for human companionship; apparently, I'm just not enough for him.

This got Jeep's hopes down. He whimpered and trudged through the tall grass that led outside of he and his master's territory. He passed a waterfall on his left, which roared and sputtered cool, clear water.

Master and I used to sit by that pool, he thought sadly. Remember when we used to do that? he asked nobody. No one was there to hear the poor canine, so he sallied forth onward, toward the noon sun. The trees swayed in the wind, providing fresh relief to Jeep's glum mood. Master will take me back if I bring him a treat, he said to no one. This new thought pattern drove his gloom right out of his mind.

Before long, Jeep found himself face-to-face with a mass of curly, white wool. He stared, his keen blue eyes connecting with the sheep's lazy brown ones. The sheep let out a bored bah and blundered blearily backwards into a tree. It bent its neck low and tore a tuft of grass from the earth. Baaahhhh . . . it bellowed again, chewing cud. Jeep barked fiercely at it.

Why hello there, my good sir sheep, he said, when barking had not phased the animal whatsoever. What are you doing out in this fine golden field so late in the day, master sheep?

The sheep's eyes rolled around sheepishly in its head. It bah'd onced more and began tromping away from Jeep. Cocking his head to one side, Jeep follwed wearily. The sheep led the dog to its brethren, who were happily chomping within the confines of a fence. There was a small spot where the wood had aged, rotted, and fallen down. It was just big enough for a small sheep to escape and prance off to wherever its heart desired. Jeep grumbled about wasting precious daylight and began to walk away, when a man came waltzing through the herd toward him, waving a pitchfork.

"What might you be doing here, Jeep?" the man said, lazily shielding his eyes from the sun. He had a kindly face with wise, old eyes burrowed deep within the folds of his brown skin.

Why thank you for asking, Farmer Jan-Willem, but I simply must be on my way.

He was foreign, perhaps Dutch. He had heard his master discussing this with a friend some while back.

"I baked a pie earlier this day with the wife," he said, plucking a piece of straw from between his puckered lips. "Do you think Mr. Eric would care to come over and have supper with us?"

Not now, terribly sorry. It sounds lovely, though. Perhaps later, mumbled Jeep, turning on his heel and traveling in the opposite direction. As much as he loved pie (not to mention his master's love for this delectable food of the gods, a food which his master considered the number one greatest invention in the history of mankind), Jeep was on a mission.

By mid-afternoon, Jeep was wading through the shallow stream by the woods. The country farm house that his master called home was miles away, hardly able to comprehend on the horizon. Jeep's tongue lolled out of his mouth, as he panted from the exertion in the hot sun. He spotted a gargantuan gnarled tree, where he padded over to rest in the cool shade. He had been unable to catch a single meal the whole afternoon. He had unearthed a nest of field mice, which were too small to munch on. The only large rodent he had seen was an opossum lying "dead" in the field. He sniffed it and rolled it over. He detected that it was breathing -- however slowly and sneakily -- but when he attempted to snatch it in his muscular jaws, it squealed and scampered away. Jeep was tired, so he let it get away.

Now, he lay silently under the umbrella-like branches of an oak. He had been about to drift off in the lazy afternoon, when a shout interrupted his dreamy state.

"Get back here, mongrel! I'll shoot ye fer feeding on my chickens!"

It was the voice of a man, deep and harsh, like a cavern. He fired his gun wildly, making Jeep's senses awaken abruptly. The dog bent low to the ground and growled ferociously, looking about for the threat. He could see nothing, yet he could hear the man's angry bellow.

Suddenly a fox, her red fur coat glistening seductively in the evening light, appeared from behind the tree. A dead chicken slumbered peacefully, it seemed, in her mouth; the fox stared at Jeep, a bewildered expression on her face. Follow me, her eyes seemed to say, darting at the dense brush. The farmer's steps were getting closer, as he stampeded like an oblivious cow through the weeds.

Intrigued, Jeep leapt after her into the forest, where they both disappeared. The farmer ran up, found nothing but a few feathers, and fled in the wrong direction, still yelling.

All thoughts of his former master were swept from Jeep's small mind. He and the fox lived happily ever after, to the end of their days -- how's that for irony.