Another Diabolical Chicken Soup for the Soul!

 As Logged By:

Agent Rose

Agent Rose's Mom

 

 I typed and typed and typed away.

Chicken Soup for the Soul accepted it, hurray!

Rosie doesn't care a lick

She just wants to poke it with a stick.

 

Knock, knock on the door?

Is Grampa in an uproar?

A story about him is in a book!

Watch him go completely bazook! 

"Yes, Dad," I say into the phone.  All the while, I'm keeping my eye on a certain little lady whose hand keeps diabolically reaching into a nook that must be hiding something sneaky.  "The title is Chicken Soup for the Soul:  What I Learned from My Dog." 

"You say it's the story about me and Tank?"  He giddily asks and I try to remember when was the last time I heard him this excited.  "Where can I buy it?"

 

"It's available at Amazon and Barnes and Noble, but I have your copy here."

 

CLUNK!

 

The phone lines drops.  Am I concerned?  Of course, I am!

 

Dad almost had a heart attack last Christmas when my sister, infamously known as the diabolical Mommy of secret agent Chase, scared our sister, Debra, to bits.  Her scream shrieked through the house, making Dad trip and sprint down the stairs.

 

Though, it was pretty funny.

 

"What are you up to?"  I bulge my eyes and partly ask, partly demand, when I see my little Rosie holding something that looks remarkably like one of those little stink bombs.  The ones she enjoys torturing me with so much.  

 

But, not today.  I need to find out what happened to Dad. 

"I need to go over to Grampa's.  Do you want to come with me?"

 

The question gets Rosie to drop the stink bomb.  WHEW!  She tilts her head in debate.

 

"I was published in another Chicken Soup for the Soul book.  This one about dogs.  See!"

 

I show her the book, but all she does is stare.  

 

Knock, knock, knock!

 

With a huff, I set down the book.  "Be good," I warn and head for the door.  Who could be here?  Who could be knocking at the door?

 

"Where is it?"  Grampa yells and rushes into the house, almost knocking me down.  He searches this way and that.  Each room he combs over.  "WHERE!?"  He bellows.

 

 "Where's what?"  I ask, completely perplexed.

 

"My book!  I want to read about me."

 

"Oh," I sigh with an eye roll and head for the kitchen.  "It's next to Rosie.  I gave it to her to..."

 

What is that on Grampa's copy?  Please, oh please, tell me that my daughter didn't put a used diaper on it.

 

Wait.  A.  Minute. 

 

"Nice try, young lady," I congratulate.  "But, I know you're potty trained and that doesn't smell anything like a used diaper."
 

"A plastic poopy!?  Why would you give her something like this?"

 

"I didn't."  Though, I can easily guess who did.  A certain diabolical dude, who happens to have fallen for my Rosie's cuteness.  A plastic shaped poopy would be right up his alley.

 

To add insult to injury, Rosie grabs one of her xylophone sticks and pokes the little, brown glob.

 

PPHHHRRTT!

 

"Did that plastic poopy just fart!?"  Grampa gasps.  "Not on my book, you don't."  And he jumps to retrieve that Chicken Soup for the Soul book with a heave.  "Now, where is it?  Where's the story about me?"

 

"Page 199, He Brought Back My Dad's Smile."

 

"I'm flipping, I'm flipping," My dad says as he searches for the right page.  "THERE!  That's the story about me.  I can't believe..."

 

PPPHHHHHFFFFFRRRRRRRTTTTHHHHHHTTTTT!

 

Grampa and I turn to Rosie.  Our mouths falling open in surprise.

 

"That was a real one!"  He yells before scrunching up his face.

 

PPPHHHHHHHFFFFFFRRRRRTTTHHHHHTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTP!

 

I turn my head toward my dad, my mouth hanging open with bewildered shock.

 

"How about that, little granddaughter of mine?" 

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