Madam Rosa, At Your Service

Police Sgt.: So you’re telling me, this dog is a psychic?

Police Chief: That’s right. ‘Madam Rosa’ is what they call her. She’s coming in, today, to see if she can help us find out how these Nigerian scam artists have been hacking local e-mail accounts.

Sgt.: So if she’s a dog, how do we communicate with her?

Chief: Apparently she’s bringing a translator–some yoga guy.

Sgt.: If you’ll pardon my saying so, this is effing unbelievable.

Chief: Just go with it. Here they come, now.

(Mitch enters, with Madam Rosa on a leash)

Madam Rosa: (theatrically) Madam Rosa is with you now!

Chief: Wow, she’s got some kind of bark.

Mitch: Yeah, she likes to make a dramatic entrance. Listen, we’ll be glad to help any way we can, but I don’t know if–

Madam Rosa: Hush! There are spirits present!

Chief: What’d she say?

Mitch: She’s aware of a spiritual presence.

Chief: Where? Here?

Mitch: Where, Madam Rosa?

Madam Rosa:  The Chief has a bottle of scotch in his right bottom drawer.

Mitch: (sigh) She’s…homing in on the spirits now.

Chief: Why’s she looking at my desk?

Madam Rosa: 10-year-old single malt…Highland…no…Speyside.

Mitch: It’s the spirit of a…10-year-old.

Chief: Is it friendly?

Madam Rosa: And how.

Mitch: (tugging Madam Rosa away from the desk) Listen, Chief, Madam Rosa is very good at finding spirits. But as far as tracking down internet criminals–

Chief: But you’re our last hope. This case has everybody stymied.

Mitch: Who have you had working on it?

Chief: Some of the brightest IT minds in Montague.

Madam Rosa: There’s a sentence you’ll never hear again.

Chief: What’d she say?

Mitch: She’s impressed at the level of IT talent you have in this small community.

Madam Rosa: (pulling toward the desk) Enough talk! Get me that bottle and a bowl of ice…

Mitch: (pulling her away) She’s a little agitated. Spirits have that effect.

Sgt.: Maybe we should go outside. Hey, is she house-trained?

Madam Rosa: (slow burn–as time…stands…still)

Mitch: Nobody move.

(to be continued)

Autobiography of a Dogi

Rosie: I’m going to write my memoirs.

Mitch: I’ll alert the media.

Rosie: Are you being sarcastic?

Mitch: Hey, the world needs to hear what you have to say.

Rosie: Good.

Mitch: Okay, now I’m being sarcastic.

Rosie: I’m calling it, ‘Autobiography of a Dogi.’

Mitch: Cute.

Rosie: You’ll be eating your words when I win the Nobel Prize for literature.

Mitch: I’ll run that risk.

Rosie: I think I have a compelling life story. Abandoned, neglected, chained to somebody’s garage–

Mitch: But you need a denouement! Lots of dogs start their lives from an underprivileged place, but it’s the dogs who rise to the top, who have a compelling story to tell. Like that dog Uggi, from the movie, ‘The Artist.’  He was born into the streets, rejected by his first two owners, then rescued by an animal trainer, just before he was due to go to the pound. Then he was trained to perform, and he appeared in movies, like, ‘Water for Elephants,’ and ‘The Artist,’ and he earned a Palm Dog Award at Cannes, a ‘Pawscar’ from the American Humane Society, a special mention at the Prix Lumiere film awards–

Rosie: There was a movie called, ‘The Artist?’

Mitch: (sigh)

Rosie: There’s more to a dog’s life, than making movies, and winning awards. Any dog can do that. But look what I’ve done. I’ve created a blog that’s–

Mitch: I’ve created a blog.

Rosie: That’s what I said. I’ve created a blog that’s read by…what…?

Mitch: Dozens.

Rosie: Dozens of people, all over the world. In the last week, alone, we’ve had hits from 19 countries, including Sweden, Singapore, Syris, India, Barbados–

Mitch: It’s a widely-read blog, I’ll give you that.

Rosie: So here’s what I’ve got so far…”Rosie was born into the streets, rejected by her first two owners, then rescued by an animal trainer, just before she was due to go to the pound.”

Mitch: That’s…compelling.

Rosie: Isn’t it? Hooks you right in.

Mitch: Do you need the spelling for ‘Prix Lumiere?’

Rosie: I’ll Google it.

Mitch: Nice.

Holiday Greetings!

Rosie: Do you know what day this is?

Mitch: Mmmmm…Let’s see…gotta be…Friday?

Rosie: Wow. How many brain cells gave their lives to generate that answer?

Mitch: What are you trying to say?

Rosie: Think for a second. It’s the last Friday in April. Do you know what that means?

Mitch: There are no more Fridays in April?

Rosie: (covers her face with her paws)

Mitch: I can’t help but feel that I’m letting you down, right now.

Rosie: Let me take this one, ok?  It’s Arbor Day!

Mitch: So?

Rosie: So??!! It’s the most important holiday on the Dog Calendar.

Mitch: There’s a ‘Dog Calendar?’

Rosie: Stay focused! Arbor Day is the day we celebrate, nurture, and plant trees!

Mitch: I see. So it’s only the other 364 days that you pee on them?

Rosie: Marking a tree is every dog’s mission.

Mitch: Mission accomplished.

Rosie:  Arbor Day originated in America on April 10, 1872. They planted one million trees that day. Wow, wouldn’t you have loved to have been there?

Mitch: I guess I just don’t have the same emotional attachment to trees that you–

Rosie: Don’t dis the trees! Your ancestors used to live in them!

Mitch: You had to go there, didn’t you?

Rosie: My point is, to a dog, trees are the most sacred things on earth.

Mitch: I thought, to a dog,  people were the most sacred things on Earth?

Rosie: You’re a close second.

Mitch: On behalf of people, I promise we’ll try harder.

Rosie: And on behalf of dogs, I promise we’ll only pee on you metaphorically.

Mitch: Deal!

Rosie: So what are we doing to celebrate?

Mitch: Celebrate what?

Rosie: (sigh) Look over there, for a second.

Mitch: Over where? Aw…dammit!

For Yogis Who Do Too Much

Rosie: You’ve been hammering away at that computer all morning. What are you doing?

Mitch: I’m creating a website for Yogis.

Rosie: A yoga website?

Mitch: No, it’s called ‘For Yogis Who Do Too Much.’ It’s a compassionate, healing site for overworked yoga teachers.

Rosie: (chokes, blows beer out of her nose)

Mitch: What did I tell you about drinking beer?!

Rosie: (wiping her fur) Sorry, I thought you said something about “overworked yoga teachers.”

Mitch: That’s exactly what I said. You know, you can’t measure the effort we expend by the hours we work. You have to look at the work in our hours.

Rosie: That doesn’t even make sense.

Mitch: Of course it does. I can’t be the only yoga teacher putting 16 hours of ‘sweat equity’ into his business every week.

Rosie: (thinking) 16 hours a week?

Mitch: There must be a whole raft of us, drifting on seas of overwork, fruitlessly scanning the horizon for the ‘Island of Abundance.’

Rosie: But doesn’t it give you pause, when you consider that some of your students get up at 5:30am, and put in a full day, making aircraft parts at Howmet? And they do that, day after day, for 30 years or more?

Mitch: Those are my brothers and sisters.

Rosie: Say what?

Mitch: We all march under the same banner! We’re proud American laborers! (singing) Look for, the union label, when you are buying a coat, dress, or blouse. Remember somewhere–

Rosie: Stop yourself!

Mitch: I’m like a modern-day ‘Joe Hill.’

Rosie: In tights.

Mitch: They’re my work clothes!

Rosie: Wait a minute…union label, Joe Hill…I think I have the answer to your problems.

Mitch: Tell me!

Rosie: You need to start a yoga teachers’ union!

Mitch: OMG! You’re right! That’s perfect! I’ll unionize Michigan yoga teachers!

Rosie: Comrades! Throw off the yoke of oppression!

Mitch: Solidarity forever!

Rosie: By the way, who’s oppressing you?

Mitch: The Man!

Rosie: But at the studio, aren’t you the man?

Mitch: Ahhhh…um…

Rosie: It takes a pretty flexible man to put his boot on his own neck.

Mitch: (madly clicking on the keyboard)

Rosie: Now what are you doing?

Mitch: I’m playing ‘Words With Friends.’

Rosie: Good move.

Not So Secret Service

(This is the final post in the three-part, ‘Mitch.com’ series. To recap, Rosie signed Mitch up for Match.com. Now she’s trying to get him out of one of his dates.)

———————–

SFX: (Doorbell)

Rosie: Should I bark wildly, or…?

Mitch: Never mind, I got it. (opens door, to reveal two men in suits and sunglasses. The larger man is agitated)

Man 1: Are you Mitch Coleman?

Mitch: Yes, is something wrong?

Man 2: (advancing) I’ll say there’s something wrong, you lousy piece of–

Man 1: (holds him back) Easy Eric! (to Mitch) You’ll have to forgive Eric. He’s been a little edgy, ever since he got back from Colombia.

Mitch: Colombia? Are you guys with the Secret Service?

Man 1: We’re not allowed to say…but yes.

Mitch: Were you part of that prostitution scandal? That was a real clusterfu–

Man 2: All we did was talk! No money changed hands!

Man1: Will you shut up? (to Mitch) Mr. Coleman, we’re here to investigate a threatening e-mail that was sent to the President. We believe it originated in this house.

Mitch: How threatening?

Man 1: It made Ted Nugent sound like Joe Biden.

Mitch: That’s pretty threatening.

Man 2: And if you’re behind it, so help me, I’ll–

Man 1: (to Eric) Will you grab the reins?! (to Mitch) We’d like to examine your computer, and ask you a few questions.

Mitch: Well, I’m expecting a computer date to show up any min–

Man 2: ‘Computer date?’ Is that what they’re calling themselves these days?!

Man 1: Eric! I’m not gonna tell you again!

Mitch: Drank a lot of coffee down there, did he?

Man 1: We’d like to see your computer.

Mitch: Ah, yes, well you see, it’s turned off, right now.

Man 2: Well then! Guess we’ll leave! Nothing to see here, eh, Mr. Coleman??!!

Man 1: We’ll be taking your computer back to Washington. I’m sure our technicians can figure out how to turn it on.

Mitch: (Ahem) Ah… listen, there’s something you need to know.

Man 2: Okay, here we go…

Mitch: Sometimes, ‘someone else’ uses my computer, and–

Man 1: We’ve heard that before, Mr. Coleman. We call them ‘computer fairies.’ While you’re sleeping, they fly in from fairyland, get on your computer–

Man 2: And go to the most vile, disgusting sites on the Web! Give it up, scumbag!!!

Mitch: (pinned against the wall) This is hard to explain.

Man 1: It’s no use, Mr. Coleman. Next you’ll be telling us your dog uses your computer.

Mitch: Funny you should say that…

Man 2: (brings out the cuffs) Oh, you are so going down!

Mitch’s Matches

(This is Part II of ‘Mitch.com.’ which you’ll find directly below this post. To recap, Rosie has signed Mitch up for Match.com. As the curtain rises, she’s talking to a neighborhood dog, Bijou–a Pekingese.)

———————-

Rosie: …so I choked the cat until it coughed up the hairball. Then I ate it.

Bijou: The cat?

Rosie: No, the hairball.

Bijou: Cool. What’d it taste like?

Rosie: Kinda like chicken. But with hair.

Bijou: Stupid question.

Rosie: So what’s new in your world?

Bijou: Oh, my owner’s all geeked about this guy she’s been paired with on Match.com.

Rosie: Isn’t it funny when they get like that? So who’s the guy?

Bijou: I don’t know his name, but I know he’s a lot older than her.

Rosie: In ‘dog years,’ or…

Bijou: Even in people years he’s older. And he hardly makes any money. Like $24k a year.

Rosie: (thinking) Uh-oh.

Bijou: Now I remember…He enjoys, “walks in the park, music, non-contact dancing, and long, heartfelt talks, followed by chaste kisses and virginal dreams.”

Rosie: (thinking)  That sounds just like the crap I made up for Mitch’s profile.

Bijou: She says he’s a dog lover. That means, if she marries him, I’ll have a companion for my golden years.

Rosie: (thinking) OMFG!!! I could be stuck living with this crazy Pekingese for the rest of my life!

Bijou: I haven’t seen any pictures of him, but she says that if George Clooney and Brad Pitt had love child, it would look like him.

Rosie: (thinking) Whew, that lets Mitch out. George Gobel and Brad Dourif, maybe…

Bijou: And he’s a yoga teacher.

Rosie: (thinking) @#$%!!!

Bijou: She’s calling him tonight.

Rosie: Didn’t she look under ‘medical issues?’

Bijou: Yeah. It’s a wash. She’s got it, too.

Rosie: (thinking) Damn, the 70′s!

Bijou: Wait a minute…why did you ask that? Do you know something about this?

Rosie: No! I just know you can’t be too careful these days.

Bijou: Oh, well. Toes are crossed. Sure hope nothing happens to queer the deal.

Rosie: (stroking her chin) Yes…be a shame if…something happened.

(to be continued)

Mitch.com

Mitch: (to Rosie) Oh my God. I’ve got 154 e-mails.

Rosie: (rubbing her paws together) Excellent!

Mitch: Oh, no. What have you done?

Rosie: Those are your ‘matches.’

Mitch: My what?

Rosie: Your matches. I signed you up for Match.com. I think you need to get out, more.

Mitch: A dating site? What do I need with a dating site?

Rosie: Oh, that’s right, I forgot! You don’t need to meet anyone new. You’re already involved in a deeply committed relationship with yourself!

Mitch: I don’t want to meet a bunch of strangers, that’s all. Who are these people, anyway?

Rosie: They’re women, mostly, and they–

Mitch: (thinking) Mostly?

Rosie: –all share a common goal: They want to make a simple human connection with a like-minded person. You could be the answer to their problems.

Mitch: When people find themselves thinking, “Mitch could be the answer to my problems,” their problems are almost certainly more serious than they know.

Rosie: Let me restate the case. Get out and meet somebody!

Mitch: I don’t need to meet anybody! I’ve already got everything, and everyone, I need. Here (hands Rosie a pen and paper), make a list.

Rosie: My pen is at the ready.

Mitch: I’ve got my yoga…

Rosie: Yoga, that’s one.

Mitch: My friends.

Rosie: Two.

Mitch: Ahhh…my dog…

Rosie: (writing) Dog. That’s three.

Mitch: …

Rosie: They’re comin’ fast and furious, now.

Mitch: Did I mention yoga?

Rosie: Should I go to a second sheet of paper, or just use the back of this one?

Mitch: Okay, okay, let’s look at the matches.

Rosie: Remember, you don’t have to marry these people, just–

Mitch: Oh, my God!

Rosie: What?

Mitch: My ‘Online Dating Profile.’ You listed me as 60 years old!

Rosie: So? I rounded up!

Mitch: It doesn’t work that way!

Rosie: Sure it does! Women like maturity!

Mitch: And you put down my actual income!

Rosie: I think this will help provoke an honest discussion about the state of your finances.

Mitch: An online dating profile is no place for honesty!

Rosie: Give it a chance! You haven’t even looked at your matches, yet.

Mitch: I can’t believe you put this out there.

Rosie: You watch. People are going to give you credit for honesty. I expect your phone to start ringing any moment, now.

Mitch: Oh my God!!!

Rosie: Now what?

Mitch: Under ‘Medical Conditions!’

Rosie: Yeah. Had to list that. I think it’s the law.

(To be continued)

Pondering

Rosie: What are you doing?

Mitch: I’m pondering a deep, philosophical issue.

Rosie: Aw, jeez. You’re not going off again on “I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter,” are you?

Mitch: No, that’s not what I was–

Rosie: It’s not butter!

Mitch: I know that!

Rosie: It’s margarine…or something…

Mitch: This is even deeper than that.

Rosie: A deeper philosophical issue?  You mean like ‘Schrodinger’s Cat?’

Mitch: It’s not that deep.

Rosie: I know it’s just a ‘thought experiment’, but if they’d let me run it, I  guarantee you, that cat would be dead.

Mitch: No cats were harmed in the pondering of this question.

Rosie: Okay, so what’s the question?

Mitch: I’m trying to decide whether you’re a great dog, because I love you, or whether I love you, because you’re a great dog.

Rosie: That’s what I’m talkin’ about! This is my kind of philosophical discussion!

Mitch: I knew you’d be intrigued.

Rosie:  Why can’t both be correct?

Mitch: I can’t hold both of those thoughts in my head at the same time.

Rosie: That’s pretty odd, considering how little of your brain is taken up with the functions of day-to-day life.

Mitch: My brain is operating at peak capacity, thank you very much.

Rosie: Your brain can barely turn you toward the sun.

Mitch: Stop yourself! I’m serious, here. This is a question for the ages. Do I love you because you’re a great dog–

Rosie: Or am I a great dog, because you love me? Does it really matter? Can’t you just accept the fact that I’m a great dog, and let that be enough?

Mitch: Hmmm. I suppose I could be convinced.

Rosie: What would it take to convince you?

Mitch: Maybe if you went to the refrigerator and brought me a beer…

Rosie: Say no more! (runs to the kitchen) I’ll even open it for you!

SFX: (beer opening)

Mitch: That’s…really not necessary.

Rosie: (brings Mitch the open beer) No, please, it’s my pleasure. But this begs another, perhaps deeper, question.

Mitch: Which is? (drinks)

Rosie: Is a dog’s mouth really cleaner than a human’s?

Mitch: (spits his beer) You opened this beer with your mouth, didn’t you?

Rosie: Worked it like a bone.

Mitch: I’m having a ‘thought experiment’ right now.

Rosie: Me, too. “Do I love you because you’re an idiot, or…”

Rosie’s Super PAC

Mitch: (holding a piece of mail) What’s this? It’s addressed to ‘Watering the Tree of Liberty.’

Rosie: Oh, that’s mine. (takes it) It’s for my Super PAC.

Mitch: Your Super PAC? You have a Super PAC?

Rosie: Want to say that one more time? We may have a reader who still doesn’t get the concept.

Mitch: Why do you need a Super PAC?

Rosie: To get my message out.

Mitch: Isn’t that why you have a blog?

Rosie: A blog? Oh, Mitch, you are so 2009.

Mitch: But I thought that–

Rosie: Super PACs are the pinnacle of 21st century communication.

Mitch: But a Super PAC isn’t a communcations tool–it’s just a massive money machine.

Rosie: And money buys an audience. Weren’t you in advertising? Oh, wait a minute, that was in the eighties.

Mitch: If you’re suggesting I’m behind the times…

Rosie: Wait, did you hear that? I think your fax machine is ringing!

Mitch: I didn’t hear anything.

Rosie: (rolls her eyes)

Mitch: Okay, okay…

Rosie: Hold on, I’m getting a tweet.

Mitch: (thinking) Tweet?

Rosie: (checks her iPhone) It’s from Clover. She’s running my Super PAC.

Mitch: Clover? I thought there wasn’t supposed to be any coordination between you, and your Super PAC.

Rosie: There isn’t!

Mitch: She’s your BFF!

Rosie: BFF? (sigh) When I said your were 2009, I was giving you way too much credit (takes out her iPad 3).

Mitch: You have an iPad 3? Nobody has an iPad 3!

Rosie: Shh! I have to log onto ‘Pinterest.’ Are you on Pinterest? No, of course you aren’t.

Mitch: (thinking) Head…spinning, world…leaving me behind, must…catch up.

Rosie: You sound just like William Shatner when you do that.

Mitch: I was thinking! How did you hear me?

Rosie: I have an app for that.

Mitch: (thinking) App?

Rosie: (smiling) I’ve got to ‘Pin’ this.

A Trip to the Yard

Rosie: (coming in from the backyard) Ahhh! That’s the best part of my day!

Mitch: Really? Going outside and ‘doing your business’ is the best part of your day?

Rosie: Isn’t it yours?

Mitch: Hey, I’m old, but I’m not that old.

Rosie: There’s just something satisfying about that morning trip to the yard. I feel like I’ve met most of my responsibilities for the day.

Mitch: We need to find you a hobby.

Rosie: And it gives me time to think.

Mitch: You were out there two minutes!

Rosie: That’s 14 minutes in ‘Dog Time.’ You can think about a lot in 14 minutes. For example, while sniffing for a spot, I was reflecting on how many animals traverse our backyard in a day. That made me think about the spiritual connection between me, and every woodland creature.

Mitch: Even though you want to kill them, and eat them?

Rosie: That aside…

Mitch: Go on.

Rosie: While I was going ‘number one’–

Mitch: You can stop now.

Rosie: –I was thinking about the message I was sending to all the dogs in the neighborhood. ”This is my property! It’s mine, stay away!”

Mitch: Couldn’t we just put up a sign?

Rosie: While I was going ‘number two’–

Mitch: TMI…

Rosie: –I was thinking about how important it is to have a safe place, a home of one’s own, a yard where you can–

Mitch: Got it! Thank you!

Rosie: I’m starting to think that you don’t really care about my thought process.

Mitch: Right now, the only process I can think about involves a plastic bag.

Rosie: It’s just like you, to reduce my philosophical musings to the contents of a plastic bag…and if you say what I think you’re about to say, I’ll give you a bite you’ll never forget.

Mitch: I am so holding my tongue right now.

Rosie: You’re a smart man.

Mitch: Want to know my favorite part of the day?

Rosie: Shoot.

Mitch: Those 18 hours a day, when you’re sleeping, and I don’t have to worry about you.

Rosie: I don’t know whether I should be flattered, or offended.

Mitch: Why don’t you go out to the yard and spend two minutes thinking about it?

Rosie: (low growl)

Mitch: Maybe take a plastic bag with you and–OW!