When the Pun Stops, It’s Time to Get Real

“Lily! How will you mark the neighborhood today?”

Dr. Finley looked pleased with himself as he resorted to his endearing habit of ascribing animal behavior to the humans in his life.

Lily didn’t think she could squeeze out a drop of wisdom, let alone leave a mark on this dreary Monday. She was not feeling anything resembling pride for her role as kitschy content creator for the marquee in front of the Pawsitive Vibes Pet Care office. She read last week’s message and felt a wave of disgust: “IF YOU KNOW A BETTER FISH PUN, LET MINNOW."

Lily had worked in Dr. Finley’s veterinary practice for the past two years, each day distracting her further from any real thoughts about her future career. Despite her lack of direction, she flourished in the environment created by the kindest, most charitable vet in town. In truth, one of the few remaining vets in their town. Lily spent her days watching Dr. Finley’s long hours and sagging morale when the work became more about treating cancer than it was about delivering adorable litters of puppies. She doubted the work had ever been all about puppies, or whatever far-fetched fantasy she had created when she first signed up for the veterinary tech program. She had no idea what she wanted to do with the rest of her life and figured working as a vet tech was as good a job as any.

Dr. Finley was the only vet who had offered her an internship; the only one who believed in her after she explained the reason it had taken her so long to complete her classes. Most people thought she was a flake, an unmotivated mess who couldn’t get her life together. The truth was that she was depressed and probably had been for much of her life. She tried to hide the state of her mental health from those around her, having been raised by parents who believed the answer was to “suck it up, buttercup.” Lily would manage to pull herself together, for a while, doing the bare minimum to pass her classes. But then another week would go by before she noticed that she hadn’t turned in her lab notes or even attended class. Each semester, she withdrew from her classes, choosing to retreat instead of waiting for the inevitable F that would highlight one of her many failings.

It was during one of her more productive semesters that she met Dr. Finley. She sensed his benevolence and pledged to herself that she wouldn’t screw up this opportunity. Before she could stop herself, she spilled her guts about her depression, warming to his unconditional acceptance. He was no therapist, but simply being in his presence made her feel cocooned in the warm blanket of his generous spirit. They never spoke about her depression after that initial conversation, but she could feel him keeping a watchful eye, offering gentle encouragement when he saw her retreating back into her hole of isolation.

Dr. Finley wasn’t one to allow himself to dwell on the negative. When he noticed his previous vigor for the work beginning to fade, he found small ways to make everyone’s day better. Like upgrading the coffee machine and providing inspirational-quote coffee mugs, adding a photo slide show of his “clients” in the waiting room, and installing landscaping with hidden garden gnomes around their otherwise stark parking lot.

Dr. Finley’s biggest and most appreciated improvement by far was the marquee sign he erected at the edge of his parking lot. The very same sign was slowly becoming the bane of Lily’s existence. The location of his vet practice on the town’s main thoroughfare provided a captive audience for hundreds of frustrated drivers as they idled at the long traffic light. People often told Dr. Finley that he had a way of making the world seem brighter; he saw this marquee as his chance to share his worldview with anyone who could use a kind message. Or at least a funny one to momentarily take their minds away from their troubles. He was a fervent collector of memes, comics, and jokes; he had grandiose ideas for the messages in the coming months.

He started the project with lofty intentions, each week selecting a perfectly painful pun to which the viewer would respond first with a grimace, and then, against their better judgement, a smile. He saw his sign as a vicarious reprieve from the daily doom scrolling that seemed to yield only hateful social media comments or misery-inducing political commentary. His clients loved his charming messages, easing their stress over whatever increasingly expensive pet ailment had brought them in on any given day.

Quite possibly because of the sign, Dr. Finley’s practice got even busier. He was exhausted and the marquee soon stood weeks before getting its message updated. This elicited strong reactions from people on his Facebook page, complaints from followers who were missing their weekly hope injection.

Dr. Finley accepted the spiritual importance of the sign and wasn’t ready to abandon his mission. He was fond of Lily’s quiet wit and enlisted her help in writing weekly content for the marquee. The irony wasn’t lost on him that the person he put in charge of making people smile was not in the best mood most days. He trusted that her grasp of pop culture was far superior to his own lack of awareness of anything that wasn’t animal related.

He was pleasantly surprised by Lily’s immediate willingness to realize his vision. Each week, she combed the internet for family-friendly, pet-themed phrases that would catch the eye of passing motorists. She sought inspiration from her own life and discovered that finding the perfect phrase to sum up her week inexplicably cheered her mood. There was something deeply satisfying about knowing the hidden story behind the silly phrases she posted for all to see each week.

IF CATS COULD TEXT YOU BACK, THEY WOULDN’T.

Lily’s lackadaisical boyfriend had just ghosted her. He didn’t even have the decency to send her a text after he snuck into her house while she was at work to retrieve his $18 six pack of craft beer. She consoled herself with the notion that he wasn’t worth her time, a pussy who wasn’t man enough to tell her he was leaving.

IT’S ALL FUN AND GAMES UNTIL SOMEONE ENDS UP IN A CONE.

Lily had been trying to get out more, to lessen her sense of isolation while risking the possibility of having some actual fun. On a whim, she showed up for a free pickleball class the previous weekend. She surprised herself with her hidden pickleball talent and thought she might have even caught the eye of the one attractive guy who was under the age of sixty. She had his attention, along with everyone else’s, when she twisted her ankle, leading her to break her wrist as she tried to break her fall. Lily wasn’t even playing when this happened, adding insult to injury. She wished she could hide behind a cone of shame.

NOT FELINE WELL? MAYBE YOU NEED TO CALL A PURRAMETIC.

Lily’s depression was gradually lifting, leaving her feeling stronger and just brave enough to pull the curtain back on what she already knew was at the core of her angst. She wasn’t at all surprised when the therapist she finally agreed to see told her she was hiding from her true passion: her long-buried childhood dream of becoming a published author. The now hundreds of journals and notebooks strewn throughout her apartment (and in her parents’ attic) were taunting her to put her words out into the world.

I DIDN’T CHOOSE THE PUG LIFE. THE PUG LIFE CHOSE ME.

Lily was missing a sense of agency in her life. Her world included events that seemed to happen to her; she longed to make her own place in the world. She loved working with Dr. Finley, growing sad in the knowledge that her time there was approaching its expiration date. It was getting harder and harder to ignore the voice that was needling her out of her complacency. The problem was that she truly had no idea where to start.

When she allowed herself, she indulged in dreams of her first book signing party, along with the accolades and validation she would surely feel from rave reviews on Goodreads. Of course, she understood there were likely to be more bad reviews than good; she knew in her heart that the only critic that mattered was herself. That was going to be the biggest nut to crack, as she could have earned her PhD in self-doubt and imposter syndrome by now. She feared if she didn’t change something soon, she’d still be here in ten years, pulling her hair out trying to think of meaningless puns to distract people from the pain of life.

AUTOCORRECT HAS BECOME MY WORST ENEMA.

Lily rearranged her work schedule, allowing her to enroll in a creative writing class at the nearby community college. She had fantasized about doing this for years, hoping her years of gathering ideas would yield something even mildly entertaining. Her instructor was encouraging, and Lily almost believed her when she saw the note in the margin of one of her stories: “your writing shows incredible promise, such clear expressions of emotion and sense of place. Trust your unique voice and keep writing!”

Lily reviewed her final paper for the tenth time until she was satisfied enough to submit. It wasn’t until a week later, when she saw her C grade, that she realized her teacher had missed the entire point of her story. She was crushed that her brilliant teacher didn’t understand her literary voice. Through her tears, Lily saw that she had accidentally deleted the last paragraph, the one that tied the whole story together.

THE ONLY BALLS YOUR DOG NEEDS ARE THE ONES HE FETCHES.

Lily managed to scrape enough money together to attend her first writing retreat. She swallowed her near-crushing fear of rejection and forced herself to make the three hour drive to the retreat’s bucolic location. The week went far better than she had dared herself to hope, yielding access to a supportive writing community, potential friendships and a solid outline for her first book. She knew the feedback she received was real; it resonated with all that she already knew about herself and her writing.

The retreat also showed her how much she didn’t know. The other writers used academic-sounding phrases as they confidently described writing techniques and devices they employed. Rather than feeling discouraged by her lack of knowledge, Lily promised herself that she would learn. Finally, she knew in her bones that she was on the right path. She sensed with calm certainty that she really was going to publish a novel.

LETTING THE CAT OUT OF THE BAG IS EASIER THAN PUTTING IT BACK IN.

Dr. Finley saw a change in Lily. She was full of new determination and what he would have described as joy if it were anyone besides Lily. She approached her marquee authoring duties with renewed vigor; he found her snickering to herself on more than one occasion as she was getting ready to update the sign for the week.

“Hey Dr. F! How about this one for next week: “DON’T GET STUCK IN PURRGATORY!”

“Ha ha, Lily. That might be a little dark, no?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. I guess I’m feeling like a weight has lifted off me, and now I’m seeing how stuck I’ve been.”

“Stuck how, exactly?” Dr. Finley asked with genuine interest.

“Like I was trapped in my self-doubt and not willing to admit what I really wanted to do with my life.” Lily’s voice dropped, and Dr. Finley sensed her hesitation.

“Have you figured out what it is that you want?” he asked gently.

“I have. I don’t know how I’m going to afford it, but I’m going to grad school. To get my master’s in creative writing.” Her face showed triumph as she said this aloud.

“Of course you are! We’ve all been enjoying your brilliance in our little corner of the universe. It’s time for you to share it with the literary world.”

Lily had never thought about her marquee messages as being anything more than silly distractions to passing motorists. It was then that she realized she wasn’t just posting quotes she found on the internet; she had been creating her story.

She trusted that Dr. Finley wasn’t going to let her abandon her dream. The cat was indeed out of the bag.

TODAY IS THE PURRFECT DAY TO FOLLOW YOUR DREAMS.

Lily did in fact earn her master’s degree, with honors, in Creative Writing. It had taken three years to complete the online program as she continued to work full-time for Dr. Finley. He had given her “raises” during that time, far more than her position merited. Lily understood that he saw her as the daughter he never had; she promised herself that she would make him proud.

She had been shocked to receive several lucrative job offers before ultimately accepting a position in New York as an editor for a major online magazine. Despite the building excitement for her new life, Lily felt a deep sadness on her last day of work at Dr. Finley’s office. She cried when she completed her last marquee message, its words taunting her to never abandon her dream of becoming a published novelist.

NOW IS THE TIME TO PAWS AND REFLECT.

Lily remained in a state of disbelief as she delighted in the success of her first novel: Shameless: Forgotten Walks, Withheld Treats and Other Atrocities in Brooklyn. She had known the multi-billion-dollar pet industry reflected a tendency to anthropomorphize spoiled pets. But she never would have dared to imagine that her anthology about a group of emotionally neglected pets living in a tony Brooklyn brownstone co-op, plotting their collective revenge against their unhinged pet owners, would resonate so globally. Think “Secret Life of Pets” if their owners were characters on “Seinfeld.” Lily attributed her ability to create this imaginary world to her time spent with Dr. Finley, for his gift of providing raw glimpses into the inner world of pets, and more disturbingly, their owners.

Lily was having her full circle moment as she now found herself at a book signing in her hometown’s beloved bookstore. She had emailed Dr. Finley an invitation to her after-party but never heard back. She knew his health was failing and he wasn’t one to check his email. She regretted not calling him but hoped she would catch him another time.

The afternoon passed quickly as Lily immersed herself in small talk with her fans, enjoying hearing the charming and often eccentric ways that her book had resonated. She wasn’t sure what this said about the state of the world, but she wasn’t one to question the whims of her readers.

Lily had just finished signing her high school teacher’s copy of her book when she looked up and saw him: the one person who had wholeheartedly believed in her dream, all the while championing her success. She was filled with overwhelming joy when she saw Dr. Finley beaming at her from across the room. Her throat tightened as she watched him roll his way toward her, struggling with his manual wheelchair. His face still had its familiar rosy glow, his eyes crinkling with his widening smile.

She readied herself to hear the words that had once filled her soul and helped her find her place in the world. As always, Dr. Finley delivered.

“How will you mark the neighborhood today, Lily?”

Author’s Note about the puns: Most of the puns are not my own but embarrassingly, the last two might be…I found the puns in various places on the internet, sometimes on photos of signs and other times as sayings on posters or other objects. They are commonly used phrases without clear origin, which is why no sources have been cited.