After the water balloon fight and birthday cake, my new Charlie McCarthy dummy disappeared along with our Rottweiler, Chompers.
Ventriloquist debut cancelled, Mom entertained everyone with hand shadows and knock-knock jokes. The crickets were deafening.
Later, we found Charlie all over the backyard. No monocle, no top hat—just a limbless torso among uprooted Forget-Me-Nots.
Reassembled with needle and thread, Charlie looked like a lopsided sausage in a patchwork tuxedo—tiny hands sprouting from his neck. Chompers went to live on a farm.
My replacement gift was a transistor radio. Late summer nights, I’d mouth along to whatever was being broadcast.
Excellent – nice combination of humor and emotion with a perfect title
Thanks Lee! I appreciate your kind words.
John, I enjoyed your story’s title, its dark humor, Chompers as your dog’s name. Nice ending with mouthing along to the transistor radio. Solid work.
Thank you Neil. There wasn’t room in the title field for The Death of Vaudeville (3 extra letters pushed it over the limit unfortunately.) But there was no other way to name it, eh? Inspired by true events — original dog was a bull terrier, so I saved a word changing its breed. Poor Charlie!
Love all the little ironies here!!
Thank you Iquisp.
Great job, John. I can close my eyes and see that macabre (?) scene of poor Charlie scattered among the shadows of the back yard. A good one!
Sad moment in my life, Bobby. I fully understood at a tender age Why Doves Cry. 😉