Laughter
Children's TV star Spaz the Chihuahua finds himself frustrated with his career, when a small incident reminds him what really matters
Originally printed in the Furry Fiesta 2015 conbook
There are some calls that shouldn't be answered while taking your daughter to the park, and this is one of them.
"Let's get this clear, Toon Central owns everything I did from '89 to '92, but Toon Vision owns everything from '94 to '98, but not the broadcast right, that's with the TV station, and they're only interested in airing slice and dice informercials where my show used to be. Do any of these outfits produce DVDs, are those still a thing? Maybe a HD DVD?"
My manager, who's sounding nervous even for a guinea pig, corrects me, "That format died quicker than--"
"Quicker than that action show you convinced me to do, the outer space one with all the lasers, eyes patches, and bandages on everyone?"
"It sounded like a good idea Chad, everyone was doing it, it was the hot thing."
My daughter is enjoying her ninth or tenth trip down the slide, and I'd rather be focusing on that. "I'm a chihuahua that can bug my eyes out and roll my tongue twenty feet in front of me, what about that screams Space Police to you?"
I seriously hope no one heard that, I can't deal with taking one photo or stamping one paw print today. While I admit, no one in the big cities like New Yorkie City or Lab Angeles would care who I am, the people of small, nothing-happening Barkersfield still enjoy seeing me out and about.
"It was a gig Chad, a good paying gig, and that's something we haven't seen in a little while. You're just not unique anymore, we have to think--"
"Outside of the box, yeah yeah, I heard you the first fifty-seven times. And all fifty-seven of those haven't worked. The space gig, the drama gig, the stand up gig, face it Andy, I'm a set of eyes and elongated tongue, neither of which are special any more."
There's an audible sigh on the other end. "Don't say that Chad, I don't need my most tenured talent doubting himself. It's a slow period--"
"Decade."
"Let's just say it's a dry spell. It'll clear up, people, they can't stay excited about all these fancy computer made pictures, they're junk. They're gonna miss a toon like you, you know you have that physicality to ya, can't program that."
"Save the pep talk, and let me know when the offers for actual jobs come in, ones that actually fit what I can do."
Andy's ruffling papers on his end, he either has another off-the-wall project to pitch me, or he's getting ready to drop this call and ring someone else. I'm guessing the latter.
"Sure, sure I will, I always do. Hey, let's pick this up soon, maybe I'll fly out to Barkersfield, get a drink, see how Sally's doing."
"My daughter's name is Susie, just like her mom..." I probably didn't need to get that somber, but Andy should remember this stuff.
"...I'm sorry Chad, I'll call you soon." I can hear the regret in his voice. He hangs up a second later. Guess there's no need to make it more awkward.
I should shove my phone back into my jacket pocket, but the urge to check my email, check the fan page (230 followers) on MuzzleBook, and check my email again is too great. I almost go to my voicemail box, because sometimes it's soothing to listen to. Other times it tears me apart. Today though, I hesitate because I'm scared today will be the day I accidentally delete that final message.
The younger Susie has moved onto the swing set. Has she been there for a while? She's not looking my way, but I've earned that by staying on the call with Andy for way too long. There's two other pups on either side of her, kicking their legs a bit harder, going a bit higher, smiling a bit wider. I stand up as fatherhood yanks harshly on the scruff of my neck and I'm moved towards the swing set until I remember the last time we were at the park. It was a different park, but the situation was the same. I tried to push her on the swings, she told me to knock it off. Tried to spin the merry-go-round, she gave me an accusing stare. It's been like this for a while, but that's me trying. We have our bad days and our good days, but I also consider general indifference to be a positive, so maybe my perceptions a bit warped after the last year.
I lean against the jungle gym to get a better perspective of the swings and wave so she knows I'm no longer on the phone. She waves back automatically but keeps the same consistent back and forth, neither slowing down nor considering an athletic dismount to the wood chips below. I wish they'd resurface this playground, I always worry one of the things is going to go right into her paw. And the American Collective of Toons doesn't have the best health insurance after our last bargaining period. Another result of people with computers easily replicating our special gifts. They called it progress. I realize I'm gripping my phone tight enough that my claws are going to go through it if I don't get a grip.
A smaller grip grabs my attention, one of a hound pup pulling on my jacket. I turn around and look down at him. He's grinning from floppy ear to floppy ear.
"Hey. um, can I help you," I say, looking over his head, where I see the parents a few feet away, encouraging him.
He speaks quietly, "um, Mr. Spaz, could I have an autograph?" Well at least he called me Spaz, which means he's watched my older stuff, and not the one where they used the computers to give me laser eyes. I'll have to thank his parents. He's earned the signature, which I put on the back of a receipt from Bark-Mart. He stares at it in awe (at least, I'd like to think so), before asking the same thing everyone asks.
"Could you like, um, do the eye and tongue thing."
His parents should have really told him not to ask a toon to perform out of the blue. It's an attention grabber, it gets a crowd we might not want, its...oh, who am I kidding, I just don't like doing it. It's a Chad thing.
"I'm sorry buddy, I don't really do that anymore. But thanks for saying hi."
He keeps his disappointment cloaked well enough until he gets back to his parents, whose glances I avoid as they walk away from the playground.
"Well, there's my one a week of that," I mumble before turning my attention back to the swings.
My tail starts wagging faster as I see my daughter huddled down on the chips next to one of the boy who was swinging with her. She looks up at me, eyes tearing and she frantically waves, "Dad, come here!"
I race over, not sure what to expect, my mind not fully confident in wood chips to break anyones mistimed jump off a swing. And that distrust proves to be properly placed, as the pitibull pup clearly has a broken ankle. Kneeling down next to him, he burrows his head against me, howling and yelping as I fiddle for my phone.
"Susie, call 911," I look down at him. "Are your parents here?" He shakes his head as best he can, and I pet his ears reassuringly.
"Someone will be here soon--" I'm cut of by another howl, he's louder than his body size would indicate. His face is a flood of tears, and while sweet, Susie's jacket around the injury isn't doing anything to lessen the pain.
"Come on champ, it'll be okay," I pet his ears, he whimpers back, yelping every few minutes, "someone will be here soon."
But the promise of an anonymous EMT is less than heartening, especially at that age. I look over my shoulder, and Susie's as scared as he is. She's never had any type of injury, even for a rough and tumble seven year old, and it does appear more gruesome than it really is. He howls again, and this time, I respond the only other way I've ever known: Smiling at him as wide as possible, my eyes open far past what's natural for a chihuahua.
"Whoa, you just jumped all the way to the moon!" I giggle and pantomime a rocket shooting up into the air. "That's pretty amazing for such a little guy." He laughs. I pet his ears some more and feel a tender nuzzle against my side.
"But I know you've got a little scratch down there." He mimics my exaggerated frown as I continue, "but fear not, Dr. Spaz is going to make you feel all better. Isn't that right, nurse Susie?"
I can see the surprise in my daughter's eyes, quickly overwhelmed by the excitement of play we haven't done in over a year.
"I got it Dr. Spaz!" I motion for her to come kneel next to the pup, and she takes my position holding his head and comforting him. He's in pain, but distracted enough, and I stand up as confidant as I've been in ages.
"Now the best way to deal with a fracture like this is to clean it, can't have it getting infected. But how should i do that?" I look at Susie questioning, and she shrugs. The pup does as well.
"You two obviously don't know why I'm the best Doctor in Barkersfield; allow me to educate you." I take a step back, eyeing up my surroundings, until I see an abandoned bird's nest a number of feet away.
"So we'll just lick this clean, and no better way to do that then with my medical grade, sanitized, sterilized, doctor approved, tongue!"
My tongue shoots outs, rolling way past the pitiful pup, and I act like I'm in not control of it, arms waving trying to pull it back. But just like so many times in the past, when the cameras were rolling, it has a mind of it's own. The pups are both laughing as it appears my plans gone complete awry. I let my tongue roll out until it wraps around the birds nest, at which point, with a few tugs from my body, I bulge my eyes out and let the whole length recoil back. The birds nest, a mess of bugs and dirt and worms, slams into my face not unlike cakes, pies, and even a few cats of have in my previous films. Painful tears have been replaced by those of laughter, and I let them yuck it up as the birds nest slides down my muzzle, leaving me wearing mud mask.
The pups can't stop laughing, and their joyful cheers are only cut off by the EMT's arrival. The pit bull points me out to them as they start to secure his ankle and wrap with something more appropriate than a jacket. I shy away, best to let the professionals do their work, call the parents, and move on from this dramatic scene.
My attention then falls onto Susie, who's retreated to the swing set that caused the entire episode. I join her in the swing to her left, and watch as she kicks her feet back and forth.
"Quite the afternoon..." I attempt conversation.
She looks over at me, smiling under two steady streams of tears. She wipes them away before speaking, "I thought you'd forgotten how to do that." She pounces me with a hug, nearly knocking me from the swing, but I hold my balance and embrace her back. We hadn't shared a moment like this in a year. I had forgotten how I let it get buried by events that neither Susie nor I could change. Now I remembered, no matter what happens, I can always paint a smile on someones face and induce happy, relieving, comforting laughter...I just have to be myself.