Sunday, May 3, 2009

Wilbur Spuuler RIP

Wilbur and Maximilian IV taken on their first day together.

This was Wilbur Spuuler. Wilbur was the head bookkeeper at Dullmer Dullmer and Lance, Attorney’s at Law. He was unmarried and didn’t get out much. He lived on Chesterfield Street in Cloverdale in a modest two bedroom bungalow. Because of his social inadequacies Wilbur preferred his own company. His evenings were passed by keeping a small immaculate garden of Kentucky Bluegrass, trimmed bushes, several flower beds and a water fountain crowned with a resin Aphrodite. Three wrought iron benches and a miniature copy of a London Bridge street lamp completed the yard making for a picture perfect scene of tranquility. This yard was Wilbur’s relaxing retreat from numbers.

In 1997 Wilbur went on his last date. He invited a young salesgirl from Donaldson's Department Store to his home for a meal. After eating, he planned on taking her on a stroll through his back garden. Afterwards he allocated twenty minutes for conversation and wit. The date was scheduled to end at 10:00 P.M. precisely. Wilbur was always in bed reading at 10:10 P.M. Sleep would occur naturally between 10:30 and 10: 35 P.M.

Wilbur prepared a delicious six course meal served on his finest china with red wine. During dinner the girl’s elbow touched the white linen tablecloth. “Strike one,” Wilbur thought. Wilbur was disturbed by the girl's lack of posture. He noticed her back rested against the back of her chair multiple times. “Strike two,” Wilbur thought. After dinner the couple walked through the garden.
“What kind of flower is this?” the girl asked as she admired one of Wilbur’s prized hyacinths.
“Strike three,” Wilbur said out loud. The date ended abruptly. The girl found herself on Wilbur’s doorstep. In one hand she held her supper's left overs in a Red Owl Shopping Center bag and in the other was taxi fare graciously supplied by Wilbur.

The date disturbed Wilbur. He consistently failed at finding a woman he considered a suitable mate. One day after thirty minutes of meditation in the garden Wilbur decided to purchase a dog instead. Wilbur’s first dog was named Maximilian. So were his second, third and fourth dogs. The last Maximilian was Wilbur’s pride and joy. The dog had a bedroom of his own complete with miniature four poster bed, doggie wash stand, and a doggie door to the garden. Life was good for Max until one day when he dug up one of the prized flower beds. Max saw a side of Wilbur he never forgot. From that day forward Max was not allowed in the formal garden. Wilbur had little tolerance for any kind of misbehavior as Maximilian’s one, two and three would testify if they could. Exactness with purpose was the motto Wilbur lived his life by.

Maximilian IV ran away from home a month ago. A neighborhood boy brought him home for the reward money. A folded newspaper and Wilbur's wrath was waiting for him. Max ran away again three weeks later and was once again found and return for a substantial reward. This was strike three as far as Wilbur was concerned. Max detected a new tone in Wilbur's voice. The next day Max found Wilbur digging a new hole in the garden against the far wall. This new punishment confused Max. What was the hole for? Max did a little investigating that evening during the short time Wilbur let him roam around the garden while he enjoyed an ice tea on the deck chair and read the newspaper. Max sniffed the ground near the new hole. There was an unusual smell. The smell of death.

Last Tuesday Wilbur didn’t go to work. His coworkers thought that unusual. Wilbur never missed work. The constable was called to investigation after repeated phone calls went unanswered. The constable heard Maximilian howling in the back garden when he arrived at Wilbur’s home. He broke through the locked gate, walked toward the sound of the dog and found Wilbur dead. His head had a nasty gash above the ear. It appeared he was walking the dog when both his feet got wrapped in the leash. He fell forward and struck his head against the side of Aphrodite's fountain. The Constable wondered how both his feet got wrapped in the dog’s leash. He put together a theory while waiting for the ambulance. According to the theory, Wilbur was standing with both feet together near the fountain. Maximilian must have circled his feet several times with the leash. When Wilbur tried to step forward he lost his footing and hit his head on the fountain.
“Poor dog,” the Constable said. “You’ve lost the best owner any dog could wish for.”
The Constable took Maximilian’s collar off the leash. Suddenly Maximilian darted for the open gate and was gone.

No one knows where Maximilian is today. He is free and that is all that matters. Wilbur’s funeral was held yesterday. There were eight people in attendance if you counted the Pastor and organist.

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