Buggy named that poodle “Miss Peppy” and got her this wicker bed with a plaid mattress. Crocheted a green-and-white-striped sweater for the dog to wear in winter, and got one of the Altar Society ladies to make a special bowl with “Miss Peppy” written on the side. Buggy drives all over town in her Fairlane with that dog beside her tearing up the seat covers, and you can see her talking to that animal the whole time. My grandmother always drives with the windows up, whether her air conditioner is working or not. She says it is trashy to drive around in public with rolled-down windows.
And of course, she feeds Miss Peppy canned dog food. That dog has never eaten a table scrap in its life.
My Daddy says, If a dog can’t live off table scraps, then it’s not a dog. He says, If a dog can’t live out in the yard no matter what the season, then it might as well be a goddamn stuffed animal at the Louisiana State Fair.
I bet you the reason Miss Peppy is so nuts is due to the way her head squeezes her brain in, like a fist. I don’t blame the dog for being crazy. Dogs are dogs. You teach them to obey, you feed them what’s left over from supper, and you pick cockleburrs out of their coats. You don’t pull a dog up on the couch with you and talk to it like a human baby and wait for it to talk back to you in plain English. You don’t take a creature and breed it so it can’t fit inside its own skin, which might be what started Miss Peppy’s problem in the first place.
Once when Miss Peppy was in heat, this Shelty down the street from Buggy got her pregnant. When her time came, it was a sad case, let me tell you.
We were all over at Buggy’s spending the night because my Daddy was off duck hunting and Mama didn’t want to stay at Pecan Grove because of her nightmares. We were all laid up in Buggy’s den watching Saturday Night at the Movies, eating peanut-butter fudge when that dog went into labor. Buggy had set her up in the utility room with a heater and a transistor radio turned on, and we were reaching a high point in the movie when Miss Peppy started this high, sharp moaning. I ran in there to see what was happening and I tell you—it was truly something awful. I’ve seen plenty of puppies born at Pecan Grove and at my cousins’. It doesn’t scare me. But that dog was being ripped apart. Made me glad I wasn’t a girl. We all hovered around, but we couldn’t do a single thing to help her.
Buggy got all upset and started lighting some novena candles and Mama yelled, Mother, stop being so sanctimonious!
I said, Hey Mama, Dr. Fitzsimmons would know what to do. He always knows what to do with Daddy’s cows.
And Mama yelled out to Buggy, Blow out those damn candles and go warm up the car!
Then I looked up the number, and Mama called Dr. Fitzsimmons’ telephone-answering service. I’m going to have me one of those when I’m a vet. And I’ll work on large and small animals, just like Dr. Fitzsimmons.
Buggy said, Oh, I’m scared to touch her! I might cause her even more pain.
I scooped Miss Peppy up in her blanket because it didn’t look like anyone else was going to make a move.
Dr. Fitzsimmons left a party just to meet us at the clinic, and he worked for two hours while we waited in the lobby that smelled like disinfectant. Mama just smoked cigarettes and Buggy mumbled prayers under her breath.
Then Dr. Fitzsimmons came out with a lab coat over his slacks and said, Mrs. Abbott, Vivi, I’m real sorry. I pulled the bitch through, but couldn’t save the litter. I recommend you spay her for her own health.
Buggy stood there sobbing and fingering her rosary and muttered, Don’t you dare call Miss Peppy names.
Mama said, Thank you for your good work, Dr. Fitzsimmons. We’re lucky to have you in this town.
Buggy said, I suppose it’s the will of Jesus.
Mama said, Mother, did you hear what Dr. Fitzsimmons said about the hysterectomy?
Yes, my grandmother snapped, Don’t talk nasty. Of course I heard. I’m not deaf yet. It will be taken care of. We must think of the safety of the mother first and foremost.
It wasn’t too long after Miss Peppy got spayed that Buggy started up with the baby dolls. Her mission in life became to train that dog to treat those dolls like they were her own puppies. We watch Buggy do it all the time. She spends whole afternoons teaching Miss Peppy to carry those baby dolls around in her mouth. She makes the dog drop them real gentle on Buggy’s own bed, and then she teaches that animal to pull the covers up over them like they are actual human babies getting tucked in for a nap.
Every time we go over there, Buggy has to show it off. She says, Yall come see what a good mother Miss Peppy is!
And we have to troop into Buggy’s bedroom, where she has this prayer kneeler she conned off some nun. The kneeler is facing this Sacred Heart of Jesus bleeding like a stuck pig up there on the wall. There are still a couple stains on it from that time I smeared ketchup on the picture to make it look more real-like. Off to the side of her bed Buggy has a statue of the Blessed Virgin Mary, with a bunch of flowers that Buggy picks fresh every day.
Just look at what a good mama Miss Peppy is! Buggy says. Can’t yall just imagine how proud the Blessed Mother is of her?
And she makes the dog tuck her “babies” under the covers over and over again, and we all have to say, Oh Buggy, that is wonderful, just wonderful.
I whisper to Sidda, Buggy is nuts. She belongs in the same asylum we’re gonna drive Mama to. And those dolls are butt-ugly.
Buggy hears me whispering and she says, This is not pretend, yall hear Buggy? This is one hundred percent true. If yall just pretend those are Miss Peppy’s babies, she will know. You can’t just pretend, you really have to believe.
And we all look at each other like, Yeah, right, no wonder this dog is so weird.
If you so much as lean over to touch those baby dolls around Miss Peppy, she will bite your fingers off. Buggy has her believing she has to protect those “babies” from everything. Sometimes I think about calling up Dr. Fitzsimmons and reporting Buggy for cruelty to animals, but Sidda says you can’t turn in your own grandmother.
One Saturday Mama and Teensy are heading out to Lafayette to go shopping for the day and we get dropped off at Buggy’s. The minute we hit the kitchen door you can hear that dog yipping. You can hear her little toenails tapping against the wood floor while she runs down the hall. Buggy lets those toenails get so long, it’s like Miss Peppy is wearing little poodle high heels.
My Daddy told Buggy once, If you don’t trim that dog’s toenails, someone is going to report you to the ASPCA.
After that, Buggy keeps that poodle away from my Daddy. She doesn’t believe in cutting Miss Peppy’s toenails, because she says it depresses Miss Peppy. But you better believe she gets scared when my Daddy threatens her with punishment from a big organization. Buggy is terrified of big organizations. She says they’re all in cahoots with each other. For instance, she thinks the Communists have infiltrated the NASA space program to ruin the weather so they can destroy the Catholic church. Every time we have a hurricane, she says, See, what did Buggy tell yall?
Anyway, this particular Saturday, Mama is in a hurry to get off to the Lafayette stores, and she just barely sticks her head in the screen door to kiss Buggy and say when she’ll be back. Well, as soon as she opens that door, Miss Peppy jumps up on her and tears her stockings to shreds right there on her legs. Without missing a beat, Mama backhands that little dog and it goes flying through the air and lands over by the water heater. I go over to check on her, and she isn’t really hurt, just sort of stunned.
Mama says, I’m sorry, Mother, but someone has got to teach that animal how to behave.
Buggy clenches her teeth all up and says, Don’t you worry about Buggy and her dog. Buggy will stay home with your children and the dog that loves her. You go on and have a good time shopping with your girlfriend. Don’t feel guilty about torturing one of God’s little creatures.
Buggy always talks about herself like she’s some other person. She’ll say: Buggy is so tired, or Buggy has to go to the Piggy-Wiggly for some carrot juic
e. Or Buggy is getting very upset with yall for doing that. Or Buggy and Baby Jesus both are getting upset. When she drags Baby Jesus into it, you know you’d better watch out.
So Mama takes off. It’s raining and I feel like breaking all of Buggy’s stupid little knick-knacks that cover every inch of her house. I hate being stuck in that place with the yappy dog and all those tiny statues of little peasant children, and the Three Wise Men who stay out all year next to the praying-hands planter.
We turn on cartoons and lay down on the rug with pillows to watch The Road Runner, my all-time favorite. That whole house smells like dog, even though Buggy burns church incense at least once a day. From the den, I can see into the kitchen. It’s clean and everything, but there are matches all over the floor. There are always matches all over Buggy’s floors. I don’t know if she’s too blind to see them, or if she puts them there on purpose. With Buggy, you just never know. One time I tried picking the matches all up for her, but she said, Oh no! Don’t pick those up! It’ll bring bad luck!
I concentrate on the TV for awhile, but it’s so stuffy in there. I say, Buggy, could we please open a window?
She says, No, Miss Peppy has been fighting off a cold.
I stare back at my cartoons. Sidda has one of her library books so she’s okay. Lulu’s dunking graham crackers into her milk and stuffing as many as she can into her mouth. Baylor is walking around and around the house looking at the photographs on the walls, like he always does. He asks Buggy every single time we go over there, Who is that, Buggy? When was that? Where was that taken? And Buggy is happy to tell him. Baylor thinks that whole hallway is his own private museum.
The Road Runner gets over with, and the only things on the TV are stupid. So me and Sidda and Lulu get out the Sears catalog and start cutting it up. We cut up models and things and glue them back together in different ways. It’s a old game of ours—you can play it anywhere, because almost everybody has a old Sears catalog laying around the house. I cut off the head of a man modeling underwear and stick it on a power saw. Sidda cuts off a lady’s legs and pastes them coming out of a baby’s ears. Whoever makes the weirdest thing wins. We never get tired of that game.
And when we’re done, we leave all the scraps of paper and the paste and scissors and everything all over the floor. At Buggy’s we never clean up a single thing. We just sit back and watch her do it. We make deliberate messes because we know she’ll clean them up. She’ll sigh like you’re driving nails through her palms, but she always bends over and cleans them up like she’s our servant.
So then we have to go and admire Miss Peppy and her babies again before Buggy will fix us any lunch. Finally we get some grilled cheeses and tomato soup, but Miss Peppy can’t take it that we’re getting something she isn’t, so she pees right on the rug next to where I have my grilled cheese on a paper towel.
And that is when I get my famous idea.
I don’t say one word about that dog peeing right next to my sandwich. I wait until Buggy is straightening up after lunch and then I say, Hey yall, let’s go in the grandchildren’s room and play.
Buggy says, Little Shep, you sure are being good today.
I grin and lead Sidda, Lulu, and Baylor down the hall to the room where we sleep when we spend the night, and where all our toys are. Once I have them all in there, I shut the door and tell them, Alright now, listen to me, hear? Yall want to have some fun?
Yeah! Baylor says.
Uh-huh, Lulu says, chewing a piece of peanut-butter fudge.
Sidda takes the candy away from her and says, Mama told me to keep an eye on you. You wouldn’t have your weight problem in the first place if it weren’t for Buggy and her homemade candy.
Shut up, I tell them. Yall listen to me!
Even Sidda listens because she’s as bored as the rest of us. I reach down into the toy chest and pull out two dolls that Sidda and Lulu have already ripped the hair off of. One of their favorite things is to rip the hair off their dolls and throw them up in the chinaberry tree and laugh at them.
Yall see these dolls? I ask.
Uh-huh, they nod. I am the leader, they’re all listening to me.
These are Miss Peppy’s new babies, I announce to them.
What? Sidda says.
I repeat, These are the new babies of Miss Peppy, the fart dog!
Little Shep, Sidda says, what are you talking about?
I’m not just talking! I say proudly. I am going to swap these bald-headed rubber dolls for Miss Peppy’s babies and see what happens.
Lulu smiles and reaches into her pocket where she has more fudge stashed away. Baylor starts giggling.
Sidda says, Shep, you know how Buggy is about that dog. You’re gonna get us all in big trouble. It’s a great idea.
I say, Yall leave it up to me. Just leave it all up to old Little Shep.
I wait until Buggy goes outside to collect rainwater like she always does for her house plants. That dog’s right behind her, almost peeing on Buggy’s shoes. Buggy always says, It is so cute the way Miss Peppy “powders her nose” whenever I’m out in the yard.
I plant Sidda at the sliding-glass door to keep watch, and Lulu and Baylor stay in the hallway to tip me off if the enemy starts to come back inside. As it is, I’ve got plenty of time. I sneak into Buggy’s bedroom, snatch Miss Peppy’s babies out from under the covers, and stuff Lulu’s old dolls in their place. Then I run into the kitchen and cram those fake dog babies down in the trash can underneath the kitchen sink. Buggy’s still outside and I’ve pulled the old switcheroo off without a single solitary hitch!
I walk over to the rest of the kids and give them the A-OK sign and say, Check! like I’m a double agent. Alright now, I instruct them: Act normal.
So we get out Sidda’s Barbie and Ken dolls and switch their heads. It’s great to see old Ken’s head on a body with boobs. Sidda always gets a kick out of that. We all do.
Buggy comes back inside with her poot dog and we all say, Oh hi, Buggy! Like we’re children from Lourdes or something. She says, Yall are being so sweet. The Baby Jesus is smiling at you right now, I can just feel it.
We keep on playing with the dolls. I get out my troll doll, which is the only doll I have anything to do with on my own. The rest are sissy dolls. My Daddy said my troll doll is a sissy doll too and he won’t let me take it in the truck with him. But I still play with it when my Daddy’s not around.
We’re all staring at each other trying to act like nothing’s going on. I am so excited I can’t keep my leg from bouncing up and down the way it does when something’s up. Sidda is rolling her eyes around like she’s in a scary movie, and Baylor keeps licking his lips. He has the longest tongue you ever saw. He can touch his nose with it, easy. Old Buggy’s just watering her African violets and Miss Peppy is trailing her around on those high-heel toenails. I start humming “You Are My Sunshine” just so I won’t start laughing.
Finally I see Miss Peppy get this thought in her head, and she heads in the direction of the bedroom.
Sidda jabs me in the side and I whisper, Bombs Over Tokyo! They’re all looking at me, but I go on brushing my troll doll’s hair like life is normal.
Then the barking starts up! Well, it isn’t really barking. More like a high yowling that you wouldn’t expect from a dog the size of that runt. Buggy drops her watering can and runs straight back into the bedroom, her slippers flapping on her feet. We’re all looking at each other—like, Alright! This is it!
Buggy starts shrieking like she’d rehearsed all her life for something like this to happen. Like she’d practiced and practiced, just to be ready to make those sounds.
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! she screams. Oh, Our Lady of Prompt Succor, come to our aid!
We sit there laughing so hard without making any sound, the way we have to do at Mass when somebody farts. Then Sidda says, Come on, we better go in there and act surprised.
So we all run down the hall and there is Buggy in her room with that dog, both of them looking li
ke they’ve gone right over the edge. The attic fan is pulling and I can see the curtains getting sucked in, then letting go with the draft. I can hear cartoons still playing on the TV, and Miss Peppy is still making those high-pitched moans like someone’s beating her.
What’s wrong? I ask, all innocent.
Buggy says, Yall don’t even look. It’s too terrible. Miss Peppy’s babies have been kidnapped and Buggy does not know how!
Then she runs to the open window and looks out, like she might actually catch a doll burglar trying to escape over the hydrangea bushes.
My mouth hurts and my face is starting to develop a twitch from trying not to laugh. Lulu starts to giggle, but Sidda pinches her and she shuts up. Bay just stands there with his mouth open. Sidda comes over and stands in front of me, like she thinks I might be in trouble. No big deal, I whisper. I got things under control.
Buggy gathers Miss Peppy in her arms to try and comfort her. But that dog is in the middle of her own nervous breakdown, and she hauls off with her tiny poodle teeth and bites the inside of Buggy’s hand hard enough to draw blood. Well, we’re just horrified. We’re just fascinated. We are just about to fall out on the floor. I wonder, Will Buggy finally up and get mad at this dog?
No way. She just stands there looking at that poodle with a retarded look of love. She says, Precious little Miss Peppy, no one will never know the pain you are suffering.
Goddamn, I think. I wish my Daddy could see this! He’d know what to say. Then I think, Oh great, what if my grandmother gets rabies and croaks and it’s all my fault?
Buggy, I say, Maybe you might want to pour some hydrogen peroxide over that bite.
She looks at me like I’m a real doctor for thinking that up and she goes in the bathroom to open the medicine cabinet, at the same time starting up a holy rosary out loud. She puts Miss Peppy down on the bathroom counter and I swear, the dog keeps staring at me. That dog looks so lost standing there next to Buggy’s false-teeth container and Five-Day deodorant pads that, for a second, I actually feel sorry for her. It’s not her fault she lives in a crazy house.