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Jon de Vos: Doggone that Darwin

Jon de Vos / The Friday Report
Fraser, CO Colorado

The other morning I was blasted into consciousness by an overwhelming stench of natural gas blended with week-old salmon.

My eyes flapped opened to the twin bores of our basset hound’s prodigious nose as she stood over me, wagging like she’d caught the ice-cream truck. The pre-dawn light added to her somewhat deranged look.

“What?” I said. “It’s 4 o’clock in the morning. What is the matter with you?”



“Remember last week when I told you how basset hounds were evolving?”

“Get off my chest! If you turn into anything, it’ll be the World’s Largest Bratwurst. And what point on the evolutionary ladder do you start using mouthwash?”



She yawned, erupting a belch that seemed to have a tangible, walk-around-the-room presence. When the air cleared she announced, “I’ve entered the digital age.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know all about your Facebook page. In fact, I know about you and all your technical skills. You’ve gnawed apart five thumb drives and followed them up by teething apart the prom for my wireless keyboard. The keyboard, incidentally, was a match to the mouse you disemboweled, leaving its guts all over the bed for me to roll over on in the middle of the night. You’ve chewed up so many CDs and DVDs from the Fraser Library that now I can only go to the Kremmling branch wearing a dreadlock wig and false nose. Oh, and you’re still under suspicion for our two missing iPods.

“Who left ’em on the coffee table?”

“Aha! How’d you know they were on the coffee table?”

“Dude, by the time you quit screaming, people in Tabernash knew they were on the coffee table. I’m sure it was a, uh, a burglar that snuck in while I was protecting the sofa. Yeah, that’s what it was.”

“Why on earth were you protecting the sofa? You and the other mutt have already wrecked it.”

“It’s broken in,” she sniffed.

“You mean broken down,” I stared at her in amazement, “I’ve sat on it twice since we bought it and it looks like it’s been through a third-world uprising.”

“When you replace it, remember, I look pretty on pink.”

“Right,” I said, shaking my head, “I promise I’ll jump right on a pink couch.”

“I would too! Now you’re talking.”

“I wasn’t serious. Would you mind getting you, and your hot, fishy breath off me? And what do you mean, you’ve ‘joined the digital age?'”

“While you’ve just been lying around, I’ve downloaded every single book containing the word ‘Lassie’ to your Kindle.”

“You what?”

“Took hours. Who knew there were so many? So I had to bump the limit on your Visa. You can thank me later.”

“Thank you?”

“You’re welcome. But a funny thing about Kindles, they’re a lot more fragile than they look. They should warn you about tasting the screen too hard.”

“Please tell me I’m dreaming.”


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