Puppy and Hell’s Fire

We go back home and I throw away the brownies and pray the police don’t find them.  The fire’s still blazing in the front yard, like the menorah in Israel.  The fire department can’t do nothing and the police can’t stop the maniacs.  Then my phone rings:  Great.  It’s the city.  They want to know if it’s ok to come to my property, since they think they have an idea what might be causing this fucking fire.  I tell them, “Sure.  Come on over.  The firemen, firewomen, and the cops couldn’t do anything, so sure, have at it. Maybe you can fix it.”  They know this stupid puppy caused this fire, I know this stupid puppy caused this fire, all the worshippers of this puppy know this stupid puppy caused this fire, but the City thinks something else is causing this fucking fire.  So sure, let’em come out.  All I want is for this stupid fire to go out, to have a normal goddamn puppy, and for these idiots to get the hell off my property.  

Some people in a city, white, pick-up truck come with the reflector vests on.  Right, that way they can go blind from the blaze of the fucking fire from this stupid puppy.  However, the people from the city ask me to sign papers giving them permission to dig on my property.  I tell them gladly, just give me a moment:  Then I go to the puppy and tell him, “Bad dog!  You make this fire go out right now or there’ll be no treats for a week”.  He puts his tail between his legs and looks at the ground.  I head back outside to talk to the City.  The City tells me there are things that run under my house, like gas lines, oil lines, water lines, and other things which could explain why this simple fire won’t go out.  I think to myself,  “Or my stupid puppy could be a pyromaniac”. However, I sign the papers and with gas masks and other equipment, they dig around the fire.  They have special shovels and something that looks like a metal detector and examine the underground pipes the city is talking about.  After one hour, one of the workers says he’d like to talk to the owner of the home and I tell him, “That’s me”.  

The worker tells me this is something called a Hell’s Fire.

“Hell’s Fire.  What the hell is that?  Does this mean the puppy is Satan?”

     The worker gives me a blank look.

     “What puppy?” The worker asks.

    I go get the stupid puppy and show it to this worker.  I find out the worker’s name is Joe.

      “I don’t think this puppy has anything to do with this,” Joe says.  “What happened was a pipeline containing oil burst, because the pipe was old ,and then an electrical line, which wasn’t properly insulated, contacted it, but we’re working on fixing both of these problems now,” Joe said.

      I think and then ask,  “Well then, would you tell his goddamn worshippers that?  It’d make our lives a hell of a lot easier”.

*

    The worshippers were just starting to shepherd together.  I tell Joe to wait until they’re all there, so Joe won’t have to repeat himself.  Joe tells me Joe’ll keep working on the pipeline and tell these people when Joe’s done.  Joe and his crew have to call up their main office and have them shut off multiple resources to our neighborhood.  No water, light, gas, nothing, except the puppy’s stupid fucking fire.  

    Joe and his team start to work and, as expected, the idiots come and take the puppy out of my house to offer him burnt offerings on his (the puppy’s) holy fire.  Once Joe fixes this, life’s be back to normal.  Come on, Joe.  Fix this so these idiots will go away, but it’s not easy for Joe.  Joe explains to me that a Hell’s Fire can’t be put out with a hose.  The source has to be stopped and the fire has to burn out.  Joe tells me what the fire department did, didn’t work before because an oil line had leaked.  This made the fire keep burning.  

Joe and his crew then work in this hazardous condition.  Joe tells me they don’t want to burst any other lines, so they work slow.  It takes twelve hours, but the puppy worshippers are still there and Joe and his crew repair the line and put the dirt back on the pipe.

     I then convince Joe to talk to the mad mob.  

Joe stands on the wooden podium: “Ladies and gentlemen.  Can I please have your attention?”   And, for once, the mad mob shut up.  “This man has informed me that all of you believe this puppy caused this fire and is some kind of a god and I’m here to tell you that is incorrect.  There was an oil leak beneath this gentleman’s house which caught fire, due to poor electrical wiring, and the fire will be out in a day at most.  This puppy had nothing to do with this fire.  Please peacefully disperse and return the puppy to its proper owner”.

    The mob stood there like skunks in headlights. They’re god was just a dog.  Then, one by one, each person started walking back to their homes.  I saw the puppy in the middle of the crowd and collected him.  I said a sincere apology to him (the puppy) and told him I was wrong and he could get treats again.  In fact, he never did anything wrong.  I then pet the puppy, massaged the puppy’s back and took the puppy home.  The fucking fire was still there, but it was shorter now.  In one day, the fire’ll be gone.  

So, I decided to have a family discussion in the basement and I did what any good leader would do in this situation: I admitted I was wrong.   The puppy was innocent.  I explained there was an oil leak and the city came and fixed the problem and told my family to be nice to the puppy again.  All my kids and my wife pet the puppy and the puppy lifted his head and started wagging his tail again. This was the puppy’s lifelong dream;  to be part of a pack and to be accepted.  The puppy was content and happy.  He didn’t cause no fire.  He was a good dog and we gave me a chicken strip after the family meeting.  He wasn’t like Bushington.  He was a good dog and we gave him the name, “Content”. You’re a good dog, Content. Good boy.