Would you believe, Mickey Mantle?
“Okay, now be cool when we go over there, Lucy, we don’t want any repeats of the fiasco at Magic Mountain. Can you do that for me, just one time? Can you just do it the way we’ve planned it?” George Grimsby patted Lucy on the head lovingly, giving the dog sufficient impetus to lick the old man’s cheek and stare obediently into his eyes, waiting for his next command. Today, they were at Six Flags, outside Baltimore. A small whimper of recognition highlighted the exchange when George’s imploring eyes maintained contact with Lucy’s just a little longer than she felt necessary. Yes, yes, yes, already… let’s go do this.
A quick reach into his pocket provided George his only tools of the trade, a white telescoping rod and a pair of darkly tinted Foster Grant sunglasses. His M.O. securely in place, George grabbed Lucy’s harness—the type used to control guide dogs— and began making his way through the amusement park’s parking lot to the entrance. Once there, he would watch the families arrive and, hopefully, be allowed the opportunity to relieve them of a bit of their discretionary capital. Of course, the card prominently displayed on his coat’s lapel—Can You Help A Blind Man Feed His Dog?—written clearly, if a little amateurishly, in black crayon tended to tug at the heart strings of many a passerby, causing some to drop a few coins or bills into the slot of the can George held in place.
All the while chanting, “Who wants to see a talking dog? Who wants to see a talking dog?”, George sat down on a bench located at a right angle to the entrance, protected by a large privet that shielded him from the prying eyes of security. Soon, a young father with two little girls in tow stopped directly in front of Lucy. As she was trained, Lucy sat up and whined, a distinctive and plaintive request for attention.
Both girls giggled and tugged at daddy’s arm, causing him to lean down so that they could cup a hand over his ear. Then acknowledging their requests, the man leaned down to George, dropped a few bills into the can and asked, “Can you make her talk to my girls?”
George held out his hand and one of the girls grabbed it. “Well, Lucy loves to talk, but even more, she likes to be patted on the head. Can you do that? Go ahead… she won’t bite.”
One of the little girls touched Lucy on the head, causing the dog to immediately sit up and begin lowing like a cow, causing both girls to laugh—and a crowd to begin to form. For her part, Lucy seemed to understand, It’s showtime… and began her litany of tricks; walking on two legs, doing backwards somersaults and licking every kid in sight.
Soon, more and more bills began to fill George’s can, causing him to raise his voice to slightly louder volume and slightly lower pitch. “All right! Everybody ready? Who’d like to hear Lucy talk?” Instantly, the amassed crowd of children, with one voice, began jumping up and down, waving their arms and screaming, “Me! Me! Me!”
All right, but first a word from our sponsor. Raising one hand to calm the clamoring kids, George held out his cup and said, “Mom and Dad, Lucy loves performing for you, but like all of us, she needs to eat, too. Your generosity is much appreciated. God bless each and every one of you. May you all grow up to live your dreams.” Then, George removed his hat and bowed his head, all the while keeping his cash receptor available to the grandmothers and grandfathers who rolled up the bills and handed them to the grandchild, telling him or her to go put it in the cup.
“Thank you kindly, folks… now on with the show!” Cheers and applause emanated from the throng.
Lucy now sat obediently next to George, waiting for his command.
“Ladies and gentlemen, listen as closely as Lucy does and she’ll share her knowledge with you. Lucy, tell us, who’s the greatest baseball player of all time?”
Lucy wagged her tail and barked, “Ruth! Ruth!”, before immediately flipping over onto her back in a spread-eagle posture to the world, causing child and adult alike to clap and cheer.
George stood up and once again took off his hat. “Ladies and gentleman, I apologize… Lucy seems to be a bit of a baseball purist. I’m trying as hard as I can, but I have not yet been able to convince her that the answer is Cal Ripken!”
Once again, the crowd began to cheer and shout their approval. The quintessential showman, George put Lucy through her paces throughout the day, getting her opinion on such questions as ‘What do you call the top of your house?’ and ‘What’s the stuff on the outside of the tree?’, people coming and going, watching and cheering, all the while filling George’s donation canister.
Somewhere around nine p.m., most of the traffic leaving the park rather than entering, George grabbed Lucy’s harness and laboriously got to his feet. “Come on girl, let’s go home.” With that, Lucy also stood and began their long walk to the back of the parking lot. Once there, George looked around and took out the keys to his motor home. Opening the door, George waited as Lucy jumped in and sat down on the passenger’s seat. Once he was seated behind the wheel, George flipped the top off his donation bucket and began counting the bills.
“Good day, today, Lucy, you were on your game.” Patting the dog affectionately on the head, George began to scratch in that special place under her chin.
Lucy looked up at him, her eyes no longer adoring. “Yea, well, I better see a steak appear in that dish back there pretty damn soon, or tomorrow you’ll be begging by yourself.” Turning around in the seat, she began to stare out the passenger’s side window. "And something else, old man, just once would it kill you to ask me something about Kesey's treatment of contemporary America or Sandburg's existential views on nature?"
George shook his head sadly... All these years and you still don't get it.
Bob Church©8/12/07