frisbee fu! (8K) The Amazing Adventures of cynsa and the Stella-bo-dog!

In Which cynsa Stella-sits for Her Friend Jeffrey

by cynsa beans


Swift as wind and twice as fleeting
chasing ball so oft' repeating
brave the chase and sure the outcome
(caught it was, and slobbered on some)

Dewy grass was trampled fro
muddy puddles rolled in so
friendly dogs were sniffed and licked
(nasty ones were teased and tricked)

Cooing pals did greet her dearly
neighbor hands did pet her thusly:
Marilyn, Catherine, Jim, and Mark
all were seen from hence the park

Bad she was, for chasing Max
breaking thus the precious pax
forgiven she, but booted out
and so we wandered 'round about

Up the down streets, down the up one
trading dog-sniffs all in good fun
'til, at last, we gathered home
(and settled then to write this Pome)

O Stella Boba, glorious pup!
jumping always, leaping up!
soft her pupper lips so fair
softer e'en than her hair

Soft her eyes that gaze so sadly
searching for her dearest Jeffrey
soon, o soon! let him come hither
return, dear jeffums, and be with her.

September 15, 1996

Part the First: the Morning "Excursion"

With bated doggy-breath, Stella-bo-dog waits while cynsa proceeds with the mundane matters of kitchen clean-up duty and dog-bowl filling. By leaping emphatically and suspending herself mid-air before slamming her paws against the front door, Stella indicates she wouldn't mind going "out." cynsa grabs the leash and complies, as is her sworn duty, stopping only to stuff her pockets with plastic "Poop-B-Gone" bags. Just as she was able to ignore Stella's extreme distress at discovering, upon her arrival, that cynsa was not a tall, lanky Minnesotan with a penchant for fish, she likewise is successful in disregarding Stella's glares of disdain for her flippy-frisbee throwing abilities.

Down in the Panhandle park, cynsa tossed the saliva-sodden frisbee repeatedly to Stella's seemingly unending delight. Just as they had established a rhythm to their activity, disaster struck! cynsa's hand, fatigued by frisbee flipping and soaked with dog-spit, erred in execution and flung the frisbee into the latticed branches of a nearby tree! Stella the Vigilant circled under the general vicinity in dismay. cynsa, keening with self-disgust, endeavored to poke the frisbee free with a flimsy and rotting branch/twig, to no avail. It seemed all was lost for our fine heroes. Suddenly, in a deus-ex-machina-like maneuver, a groundskeeper arrived pushing a wheelbarrow wherein lay an extremely long and potentially lethal pitchfork. Upon explaining their quandary, cynsa was proffered the tool of their salvation! with alacrity, cynsa jumped and poked the flippy frisbee to freedom! Amidst the cheers of the local populace, Stella lunged upon the frisbee and promptly shook it to death. A grateful cynsa thanked the mysterious groundskeeper, who disappeared with a wave. cynsa and Stella continued their "game" until Stella was appropriately tuckered, after which they retired to the local cafe for a much-needed latte and scone for cynsa and a cup of water for Stella-bo.

Part the Second: Where's the Ball?

Our heroines, sated by their feast and glowing with the righteousness of recently-moved bowels, returned to the Homestead, pausing only for a couple last throws of the frisbee. Between tosses, they were fortunate enough to encounter Mark from the laundromat, who commented that jeffrey (st. jeffums) had "gone to Chicago for a couple of days." When cynsa confirmed this rumor, he noted that he, himself, was from Chicago originally. They parted without incident.

Upon their return to the Homestead, cynsa, thinking to accomplish something with her morning, sat down at the 'pooter to read her email. She was not prepared, however, for Stella's miraculous and almost immediate recovery from her recent tuckeredness. When Stella prepared to drop the spit-soaked Frisbee on her lap, Cynsa responded with a resounding "nay!" and entreated Stella to fetch the dog ball instead. Stella once again lifted the frisbee plaintively, but cynsa stood firm in her resolve. Stella investigated the usual spots--behind the keyboard, under the table, behind the door--until cynsa helpfully called out "kitchen, it's in the kitchen," upon which Stella leaped out into the afore-mentioned area and returned with her prize! And cynsa rejoiced, for now she needn't respond to her email, but rather would throw the dog ball until it, too, was slimy in its turn. And it was Good. And so, having exhausted all ball-throwing possibilities, cynsa sat to set down this Chronicle as is her wont, pausing to pull a chair next to her so that Stella could continue to delay her with underarm sniffings and elbow jostlings, as is her wont. And with the exception that st. jeffums is not in his proper place, all is right and good.

Tomorrow: in which our heroines hike to the peaks of Mount Alamo and view the splendors that await.

Part the Third: A Reluctant Daisy-May

As you might recall from the first part of our story, cynsa and Stella-Bo-dog, left to their own devices in the cold, cruel City, had planned to embark on a perilous journey to the mountainous peaks of the Alamo; however, when cynsa arrived at Stella's house in the late afternoon, she was greeted by eyes of flashing fire and a dog-tongue of ice. No sooner had cynsa snapped on Stella's magic lasso when she was pulled, as if by a strong magnetic dog force, entirely in the wrong direction and back towards the bowels of the Panhandle. cynsa, our fearless heroine, had no choice but to accede to the pupper's demands.

Along the treacherous path they were drawn, encountering on the way a strange and vile beast. This "boxer" seemed intent on shredding the very flesh from their bones; although the valiant Stella was prepared to return the challenge in toothy kind, cynsa very cowardly wisely chose to avoid confrontation, and the two continued to the very verge of the utopian green that is Panhandle Park.

But who should be there to greet them with many festive dog slobberings and butt-sniffings but their old comrade Daphne (princess daphne) and her kind human friend! many joyous frisbee flippings and toy-snatchings did ensue.

It was at this point that a very strange fate befell Stella the Brave. During a particularly difficult retrieval maneuver, Stella found herself tumbling ass over teakettle in the newly-cut grass. And there, wedged in the clasp of her collar, appeared one perfect flower, budding and bright. Seemingly unaware of her fine acquisition, Stella the Fleet returned the flippy frisbee without incident.
But what ho?! As if the blossom signified a blooming romance, who should suddenly appear but the Mighty Speedo, with his human accomplice Vicky? Delightful and chaotic were the dog greetings that resulted. As if by signal, the park filled with all manner of fun pupper dogs, and they romped with glad abandon. And not a one of them made fun of Stella-bo's flowery mien or many grass-stains. And thus, it was Good.

Part the Fourth: Nap-time

In what seemed like an instant, but was really more like 45 minutes, it was time for our heroines to make their fond farewells and return to the carpeted landscape of their banal daily existence. Though Stella the Wily did strive to delay their arrival upon that dreaded threshold, yet did they return at last to the iron gate. Stella, perhaps a bit fatigued by her long and stress-filled day, yet showed a remarkable reserve of hidden endurance, for cynsa the Scribe had not sat but a moment to collect her thoughts before she commenced to feel a small spherical object dropped repeatedly on her right foot. And so, here our two protagonists remain, locked in a strenuous battle of wills, the outcome of which, I am sure, is impossible to foretell.

Still to come: The Search for the Missing Toughie

Part the Fifth:

Act I, scene i

cynsa:  O! Toughie!
        Alas, Toughie!
        Oh thou rubbery round red thing
        Dreamlike sylph of curvéd form:
        Though I have sought thee in 	
        the depths, behind splintered 
        rough wood, and in darkest pile,
        Yet you elude me.

        Why?  Oh why.

Stella:	Ball.  Ball.

cynsa:	Toughie, strong and eloquent in 
        thy near-silent rebounds,
        You hide quiescent in some secret space
        and tho the mountains move
        to the tune of my lament
        Still you heed not my cry

        Why?  Oh why.

Stella: Ball.

cynsa:	Beneath your smooth exterior
        Does lie a furtive heart
        Crunchy and sweet.
        Again, I cry

        why?  Oh why.

Stella: Get with the program, toots.

cynsa: 	Despair.

[Exeunt cynsa with dog-slimed shoe]


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