The Importance of Being Montmorency
By Nadia Moehle
Gerald’s talking dog loves cherries. That’s all he ever talks about. So when Gerald took his dog, Mont, on a trip to the world’s cherry capital, Mont just about lost his mind.
At the baggage claim Gerald almost regretted the trip as Mont chatted with everyone about cherries: seeing a genuine tree, the favorable cultivars, the authenticity of red, historical cherry moments, and how Mont is short for Montmorency. Gerald feeling empathetic for Mont’s spectators, wrangled Mont with a pair of cherry sunglasses, and hit the road.
After sightseeing they ended the day at a brewery. Seated at the bar Mont had a fit learning that the establishment made cherry beer. Gerald hastily ordered some to keep the dog quiet. Mont lapped up the entire pint without taking a breath, his eyes crossed a little.
“You okay old boy?” Gerald asked, realizing too late that Mont never had alcohol before.
“Fine,” the dog steadied himself on the bar.
With a slurred voice Mont addressed the brewery and everyone hushed. “I cannot tell a lie.”
The dog hopped onto the bar. “You all need to listen to me.” He tried to look everyone in the eye at once.
“I told a lie, to you Gerald,” he pointed at Gerald with an accusatory paw. Mont continued, “George Washington, didn’t cut down the cherry tree.”
With his confession finished Mont climbed ungracefully down from the bar, using Gerald’s head for leverage. “I’ll have another beer, bar man.”
“Mont, don’t, your drunk.” Gerald said.
“Don’t act like you are better than me because I’m in the habit of sniffing crotches. I can’t help it! Do you no how hard it is for me?”
Gerald subtly put his hand over his mouth to keep from laughing. But a small chuckle escaped when the dog tried, unsuccessfully, to sip his beer.
“This reminds me of quote,” Mont said to the empty stool next to him. “Alcohol when taken in sufficient quantities may produce all the affects of drunkenness,” Mont exercised his pedantic nature, “did you know? Oscar Wilde said that.”
Mont turned abruptly, coming in much too close to Gerald, and said, “I’m going to sing a song.”
“Oh, please don’t,” Gerald pleaded.
“You’re the one who bought me this beer my dear Gerald!” the dog cried out. “So it’s only right that I sing you a song.”
Mont wobbled over to the piano, plopped himself down on the bench, and played a scale to warm up. The audience settled in their
seats to listen.
“Why are we here? Where are we going?” sang Mont, and quite well for an inebriated dog, “it’s time that we found out we’re not here to stay; we’re on a short holiday.”
Surrendering, Gerald downed his beer, and joined in.
“Life is just a bowl of cherries,” they sang. “So live and laugh at it all.”