Our New Pet

On the day I turned sixteen and got my driver’s license, Dad let me drive his boss green and orange Mercury Bobcat. Was I ever stoked! Dad said we were going to take a little drive over to the next county, to Rainsville, to pick up our new pet from a war buddy of his. Well, I’m just guessing it was a war buddy, because Dad called him Sarge, but his real name was Marvin Bender.

All I knew about Marvin Bender was from a long ago memory. I had tagged along with Dad on a rambling “coon hunt” that resulted in a total of zero raccoons treed and shot, but back at Marvin’s he and Dad ended up getting shit-faced from some fire water Marvin drained from a crude still in his backyard while I was outside fiddling around. In my mind, Marvin Bender was a skanky old hermit who lived a ramshackle existence out in the sticks alongside Boggons Crick and kept pretty much to himself and his hound dogs. If it weren’t for the fact that ol’ Sarge happened to be Dad’s war buddy, I can’t see how he would otherwise associate with such a backwards – I meant to write backwoods – kind of guy like Marvin Bender.

When Mom got wind of our little adventure, she figured we were going out for a little spin, nothing more. “Now don’t you be gone long, Tommy, you hear me. You’ve got homework. The lawn needs mowing. Did you clean out the dog bowls like I asked you? And be careful. I can’t believe your father is allowing you to drive.”

Dad didn’t let out a peep about our new pet. It was all on the down low. A man of few words, Dad operated in his own world according to his own rules. Despite his flaws and absentee ways on occasion, he was still my dad and I loved him. Plus, I always had fun with him – that is, the times he made room for me in his scattershot life. But what was with the big secret? What pet was he talking about? We already had two dogs, a hamster, a turtle, and three stray cats we called our own even though they didn’t really live with us but would always show up at the doorstep mewing pathetically and tugging at our heartstrings. Mom did her best to shoo them away but when she saw that forlorn look in their rheumy eyes she gave in and always set out milk and kibble for the unkempt felines.

When Dad first told me about our new pet, he said, “Son, just you wait. It’s something exotic, I tell you.”

Exotic. I relished the sound of the word, even though I wasn’t one-hundred percent confident of its meaning. Surely, some kind of colorful tropical bird fit the bill for being exotic. Or how about a cool yellow snake like my friend Ray Haney used to have until it died. Maybe our new pet would be one of those super-smart white rats. Dad was bonkers over the movie Willard, but no, a rat just didn’t seem exotic enough. So it had to be something crazier – like a cute ferret or cuddly hedgehog! Whatever our new pet was, the suspense was killing me.

I steered the Bobcat into Marvin Bender’s unpaved driveway and we piled out of the car. I was giddy with excitement that dampened when Dad stepped on a pile of mushy dog poop and began cussing up a storm and wiping his shoe on the grass and then scraping it on a tree stump. A pack of five mangy looking hounds rushed us, barking their silly heads off and slobbering gobs of saliva on my pant legs. Marvin appeared from behind some tall cornstalks in his ragged garden plot and greeted us with a wily look like he and Dad were in cahoots.

“Howdy there, boys,” Marvin said, a smile lighting up his jowly face. “She’ll be inside. C’mon, let’s have a look.”

Dad extended his hand to shake Marvin’s. “Listen here, Sarge, I got dog crap all over my shoe. Don’t you ever clean up around here?”

Marvin laughed. “Naw, no need ta. Just take your shoes off at the door and hose ‘em down on your way out.”

We followed Marvin into his house – well, his double-wide rusted-out dilapidated trailer. My nose immediately turned up. Something was stinking to high heaven like some kind of I don’t know what. It wasn’t that foul poopy fertilizer farm smell I knew well. It was more like a moist, ripe funky odor of a fetid zoo. I glanced at Dad to see if he noticed the unholy stench permeating the premises, but he seemed unbothered, just a bit antsy. I was about to comment on it when some bird in the next room let out a brain-rattling screech that pierced the silence and made me forget all about the rank odor. And I swear I’m not making this up, but I distinctly heard that bird say, “C’mere, silly boy! C’mere, silly boy!” I looked at Dad and he shot me one of his sly winks, a sure indicator that this gloating bird, some kind of parrot or something, was hands-down our new pet.

Marvin put shut of that notion. “Oh, that’s just Elmer, my crazy cockatoo. Don’t pay him no mind. He’s all squawk and no talk. C’mon, follow me.”

Marvin led us down a narrow hallway congested with an obstacle course of junk. We had to be careful not to trip over stacks of moldering newspapers and magazines and who knows what other odious objects were blocking our path. We made it to the back of Marvin’s trailer unmolested and stopped in front of a closed door oozing from its cracks an overpowering smell of – I can’t even describe it.

I was mildly alarmed by wild shrieks and frantic whistling coming from the room. Feeling a bit nervous, I said, “What in the heck, Dad?”

Dad grinned mischievously. “Don’t you worry, son. This is gonna be a big surprise for the both of us.”

“Is it our new pet, Dad?”

Dad patted me on the head reassuringly. “What do you think, son?”

Marvin cautioned us to stand back while he cracked open the door and peeked in. “Now, now, Marva, settle down. Time to meet your new friends.” He opened the door wide and ushered us in, warning us to be calm and not make eye contact with Marva.

My first glimpse of Marva she was sitting inside a bucket. Her little beady demented eyes locked with mine for a moment before she started racing around the room screaming like a wild banshee, jumping on a ratty chair and then leaping onto a ladder leaning against the wall. She scurried madly to the top and then flung herself agilely down to the chair and drooped her red rump over the arm and took a huge dump on the gnarly linoleum floor. Dad cracked up at the sight of that, laughing hysterically at the shit-show. For me, the entire scene was more exotic than anything I’d ever set eyes on or could imagine! Marvin looked over at us, bearing a shit-eating grin, is the only way I can describe it. Dad was shaking his head and catching his breath, like, ain’t she a pistol! I was uncertain about it all, but was definitely awestruck by Marva.

Marvin managed to corral the spunky monkey and put her on a leash. “She’s young, so ya gotta take that into consideration. My buddy who runs the rescue sanctuary over in Crockett told me she’d grow out of her cantankerous nature in, oh, about a year’s time. Ya just gotta keep her contained, ya understand. And entertained. And feed her plenty of bananas. Oh, and ya gotta stay on top of cleaning up after her or things’ll get rank pretty quick.”

Dad said, “Sarge, thanks for the advice. I know Marva’s gonna love her new home.”

Marva seemed to take a liking to me, I could tell. She jumped excitedly into my arms and tried to kiss me and muss up my hair and she flailed about with such wild abandon I thought she might poke my eye out. Dad finally gave me the cue – a little tug on his earlobe – that it was time we got moving, so we thanked Marvin Bender and bid him good riddance, but not before I saw Dad slip him some bills.

On the way to the car, I asked, “Dad, how much did you pay for Marva?” Dad lightheartedly said, “None of your bizz-wax, son. Marva’s my gift for the family. I suspect she’ll make quite an addition to the existing menagerie. What do you think? Everyone’s really gonna love her. Are you okay with her? I can see you’re smitten, son.”

Dad always had that way of asking a question and answering it before I could respond or express my opinion. Climbing in the driver’s seat, I said, “I sure hope so, Dad.”

While I piloted the Bobcat back home Dad kept Marva entertained. Marvin had thrown in a handful of bananas in the deal, and Marva made a proper mess of things in the car and all over Dad, too, but he didn’t seem overly concerned. Everything up to now left me with a funny feeling as I watched Marva sitting contentedly on Dad’s lap like a good little girl flashing a toothy smile and a whimpering whine every so often.

I concentrated on keeping my eyes on the road and not on Marva. I never imagined this is what Dad had in mind when he talked about our exotic new pet. But I also couldn’t help but thinking, why would Dad bring a creature like Marva into our life? Who on earth would ever bring a monkey home as a pet? As it was, Mom was already completely fed up with the animals we had. She was the one who had to clean up their poop and wipe down the cages, bathe, groom and take them to the vet, and buy extra milk for the stray cats. No wonder she always seemed angry.

But more than anything, Mom was perturbed by Dad’s drinking. His alcoholism made her despise him and despair for her weak and worthless husband who couldn’t hold down a job, pay the bills, or stay sober even of a Sunday. But he was my dad. I loved him and trusted him and sometimes got mad at Mom for berating him. Even though I was only a sixteen-year-old kid, I knew that Dad had suffered terribly in the war against the Japanese. Didn’t Mom know that, too? That Dad had fought in awful battles and had nearly been killed on Iwo Jima when shell fragments blasted part of his skull. That he had never gotten proper treatment for his shellshock and brain trauma.

So he turned to the bottle for solace, to fill the hole in his heart for unspeakable acts of violence and brutality he witnessed in the war, to drown out the nightmares of killing and soften the images of butchery and savagery he endured.

Well, guess who was standing at the door with her arms crossed when I pulled the Bobcat into the driveway. Mom. I could tell something wasn’t right. It was probably because we were about two hours past our return time and she must be worried sick. We got out of the car with the monkey on Dad’s back squealing obscenely and flailing about. At the incongruent sight of her husband giving a piggyback ride to a monkey, Mom lost it. Half of her looked stunned to the bone and the other three-quarters she was madder than I’ve ever seen. Clueless or willfully ignorant, Dad reached up over his shoulders and grabbed our new pet, holding her up high, and cheerfully announced to his wife, now joined at the doorstep by my four wide-eyed siblings, “Surprise, honey! This here, why this is our cute little Marva! The newest addition to our household! Whatta y’all think? She’s a bit wild, but don’t worry, we’ll train her.”

“We’ll what?” I could see the firestorm of invective coming from a mile away. I could already feel her searing anger like a branding iron. Poor Marva was squirming fiercely in an effort to get loose and run, but Dad held her tight and tried to explain. Mom was having none of it. I hung my head, looking sheepishly at my shuffling feet, thinking, why did Mom always have to get so darned pissed off at things? In defense of Dad, whatever feelings I may have had before, now I was having trouble understanding why Mom couldn’t see how neat it would be having Marva as our new pet? All my friends would be so impressed! And who wouldn’t be? No one had a pet monkey!

A horrible argument broke out. Mom was mercilessly skewering Dad. Marva was shaking, terrified by the spectacle. My little brother was crying and my two older sisters were taking Mom’s side. Dad tried to console Marva, defending her as an innocent party. He accused Mom of upsetting her and making things worse. He handed the shivering simian to me where she buried her head in my neck and shrieked until Dad had had enough. “Just shut up! Would everyone please just shut up for one minute and let me explain things!”

 But Dad had run out of fumes. He stood there dejectedly hanging his head while we all looked on in shame. Then Mom screamed a furious ultimatum at the top of her lungs.

“Tommy Burns, as God is my witness, this is the final straw! Either that damn monkey goes, or I go!”

###

The dust settled. A few days passed. Honestly, I have to tell you, I wasn’t all that sorry to see her go.