Historical October 1989 report or notice. Original dates, prices and contacts describe the source period; current availability has not been established.
My dog watches television. No, not Lassie, The Adventures of Rin Tin Tin, or Donneybrook; my dog, Boomer, watches Wheel of Fortune. Avidly, it turns out. I first noticed this a month or so ago.
The first wife and I were enjoying a leisurely dinner in our “rec room”—formerly our kitchen—and watching our evening staple, Wheel of Fortune.
The wife is actually quite enamored with Wheel. I used to think she was watching just to peek at Vanna’s shoes, but, in fact, she was really in to figuring out the puzzles. “How was your day today?” I asked perfunctorily with my nose in the newspaper. “A person,” she replied. “A ? What do you mean, ‘a person’?” I asked. “A person, D-U-blank-blank-blankblank. Then blank-blank-blank-blankblank-A-N:’ By the time I heard the third or fourth blank, I looked up and saw her looking away, focusing on the tiny screen sitting on our hoosier cabinet (from Indiana, not South St. Louis). I returned to reading the paper when, a few moments later, my concentration was broken by her yelling, “Dustin Hoffman!” Sure enough, she had once again beaten the trio of contestants and had solved the mystery puzzle. “What do you think of the Drug Czar’s program?” I asked. “C!” she replied. “See what?” I asked. “C!” she answered. “See what?” I asked a bit more loudly. “C-A-P-R-I-C-O-R-N; CAPRICORN!” She exclaimed, and then, “That dummy’s going to blow it!” Sure enough, I looked at the screen, peering over the tops of my reading glasses, and the dummy was going to blow it. “I’ll take a D, Pat:’ said the middle-aged housewife. Do they go to Central Casting for these people, or what? “No, sorry:’ said Pat, looking not sorry at all. I looked back—actually down—to the paper when suddenly the first wife shrieked, “R! R! R! Ask for an R!!!” In my surprise, I dropped my piece of Domino’s pizza on the floor.
Our dogs will eat just about anything that doesn’t move, and they think anything that’s on the floor is theirs, so I simply waited for one of them to come and grab it. Moxie was out of the room, standing vigil at the front door and barking at squirrels, so I figured that Boomer would shortly find the good fortune. I waited and waited. Boomer was sitting on the floor facing the television. I assumed that she was daydreaming, perhaps reminiscing about a chased cat or two, so I called her name.
No response. I called it again, a bit louder, but still no response.
At this point I wondered what in the world was going on.
After all, in our house a piece of “found pizza” is a delicacy (for not just the dogs!).
Since we had our stove removed and our kitchen turned into a small, yet cozy, rec room, Domino’s is about as cooked as we get.
The dogs know this, too; any scent other than toasted bagels or Lean Cusine sends them wild. Generally both Moxie and Boomer watch us while we eat, with stares kind of like you’d see on vultures peering through a skylight at a meat packing house.
This time, however, nothing. Moxie was gone and Boomer hadn’t turned even when the pizza hit the floor with a caloric splat. Something was wrong. I walked over to Boomer and stood in front of her.
She didn’t move, but quickly tilted her head to the side to see around me.
She was looking at something. I turned around and it hit me: Boomer, our two-year old standard poodle, was watching the television.
She was interested in Wheel Of Fortune! “How can this be?” I wondered. I had worked at being a good dog father.
When she was a young pup, I read to her nightly. Many’s the cold and dreary night when I walked her around the block, quoting poetry and reading from the N. Y. Times’ editorial page.
And now, after all this, she’s watching the Wheel?
My heart sunk. I tested my fears and moved again so that I blocked her from seeing the television screen. Sure enough, Boomer also moved so she could keep looking at the screen. I took a big step forward and stopped in front of her, totally blocking the screen. Boomer walked around me and sat behind me, again focusing on the television screen. I could hear the wheel spinning on the television. “I’ll buy an E,” said Pete, a salesman for a major ammunitions firm. “No, you turkey,” my wife said, “Buy an A!” Pat said, “Sorry, no E,” the wife groaned, and the next contestant spun. I sat down to try to make sense of all of this. “I’ll take a U, Pat,” said Carmen, the travel agent from Encino. “You horse’s patoozie, take an A!” yelled the first wife. I looked up and Boomer was still fixated on the screen.
It was time for drastic measures, so I took another piece of pizza, passed it in front of her face, and sat it next to her on the floor. Boomer didn’t move. Moxie, though, charged in from the living room, spied the pizza, and chomped it down in one gulp. Boomer still didn’t move. I sat down in a state of shock. “‘ALL ROADS LEAD TO ROME: you idiot” shouted the wife to Marjorie, a housewife from Phoenix. It’s been a few weeks now, and Wheel remains a regular part of our lives, all of our lives.
The wife complained that the food distracted her from the show, so we eat a bit later. I find that if I call Domino’s during the first Wheel commercial, they arrive about 7:05.
This gives us enough time to calm down from the jackpot Wheel and set the table, such as it is.
The wife’s happy and I’m happy.
And Boomer? She’s fine, too.
We have to build our lives around Wheel, but I figure it could be much worse.
After all, what if she liked Geraldo?
Originally published in The Times of Skinker-DeBaliviere, October 1989.
Read this article in the original newspaper issue.
Original source: SD_Times1989_10.pdf, printed page(s) 8; PDF page(s) 8.
