Operation Butterball

Chapter 3. widows.

Feather Acres trailer park was peaceful at 6 am.

       Cigar smoke swirled around Jerry's crown of white hair mixing with the early morning fog. At her feet, scuffled two red poodles both identical, except for the different colored green and blue bows that lay atop their canine afros. Their nails were painted a dark navy blue. One of the poodles ran off into the neighboring yard, it's haunches quickly shaking as it struggled to defecate in the shadow of a rather large and grotesquely pink flamingo.

      "Good boy, Steve Martin." Jerry took a drag of her cigar and swirled around like a top, a dog leash tangled around her olive green army fatigues and combat boots. Attached to the end of the leash was a Shitzu dog. It's muzzle was browned from seeping into it's mouth like a dirty mustache. It snarled and barked while bouncing up and down, it's bug eyes wide and excited. "Mikey, stop it. STOP!"

"Oh for shitsake, just run already!"

      The old woman released the snarling creature and it took off at full speed, tackling the still-shitting poodle right into the pink flamingo, knocking it over. The sound was loud for 6am. Too loud.

     Jerry looked up to see a light click on in the trailer of the yard where this fluffy mangled brawl was occurring.

     "Shit. Shit. Shit. Come ON you dirty beasts! Come on! Breakfast!" The dogs immediately stopped playing and ran back to Jerry's legs where the remaining other poodle, Chevy Chase, sat obediently.

     She rushed the dogs out of the yard and herded them onto her porch, barely kicking them inside before the door to the neighboring trailer finally opened.

"Hello?" a frail raspy voice whispered. "Who's there?"

      The woman behind the voice was wearing a bathrobe which she clutched desperately over her breast and a hair cap, protecting her bouffant grey hair. "What in the hell?"

      She walked out onto her yard, kicking the flamingo with one foot, while accidentally stepping in the fresh dog poo left by Steve Martin with the other.

"JERRY!" She screamed, "Come get this poodle shit out of my yard!"

      Jerry's response was to shut off the kitchen light and sit at her table in the dark. She nervously re-lit her cigar.

Mrs. Bentley angrily marched up the other old woman's porch, kicking Jerry's door with her shit-covered foot. "Jerry, I can smell your disgusting cigar, I know you're awake."

No response.

"Jerry! Come pick up this poodle shit right now!"

       Still no response came from the trailer. At least, no human response. The two poodles and the Shitzu however, were angrily scratching at the other side of the door barking and snarling.

       Without another word, Mrs. Bentley walked across Jerry's yard, into her own, up her porch, and through her own front door. She didn't close it and could be seen scuffling through the living room, flipping on lights all the way to her kitchen.

       She emerged a minute later wearing a set of yellow rubber gloves. First, she picked up the downed flamingo, the pink plastic beast the same height as her own. Angrily, she lifted it up a couple of feet and slammed the metal pegs down into the green of her yard. Half- successful, it tilted lopsided, it's head at a strange angle, as if it's neck was broken.

      Second, she bent down and picked up Steve Martin's poodle shit. Third, she marched straight back across Jerry's yard and up her porch and without a word, she smeared the feces down the window adjacent to the porch. The kitchen window. Where, calmly, Jerry Sat, her lit cigar visible now to Mrs. Bentley.

      Mrs. Bentley removed her gloves, much like a proud surgeon would after an open-heart procedure. She dropped them with a wet and pungent plop onto Jerry's welcome mat, where she simultaneously wiped her shoes.

     Then slowly and with collected grace and elegance, she turned on her heel and swayed back again to her own trailer, leaving her dirty shoes on her porch as she went inside. The door slammed shut behind her and the local radio station could immediately be heard in the kitchen.

      Jerry smiled to herself, and put out her cigar. In the corner of the kitchen, Mikey pissed on a puppy pad while Chevy Chase licked himself and Steve Martin watched from Jerry's lap.