The Amazing Adventures of cynsa and the
In Which cynsa Stella-sits for Her Friend Jeffrey
by cynsa beans
Swift as wind and twice as
chasing ball so oft' repeating
brave the chase and sure the
(caught it was, and slobbered on some)
Dewy grass was
muddy puddles rolled in so
friendly dogs were sniffed
(nasty ones were teased and tricked)
Cooing pals did greet
neighbor hands did pet her thusly:
Jim, and Mark
all were seen from hence the park
Bad she was, for
breaking thus the precious pax
forgiven she, but booted
and so we wandered 'round about
Up the down streets, down the up
trading dog-sniffs all in good fun
'til, at last, we gathered
(and settled then to write this Pome)
O Stella Boba, glorious
jumping always, leaping up!
soft her pupper lips so fair
softer e'en than her hair
Soft her eyes that gaze so sadlySeptember 15,
for her dearest Jeffrey
soon, o soon! let him come hither
dear jeffums, and be with her.
Part the First: the Morning "Excursion"
With bated doggy-breath, Stella-bo-dog waits while cynsa proceeds
with the mundane matters of kitchen clean-up duty and dog-bowl
filling. By leaping emphatically and suspending herself mid-air
before slamming her paws against the front door, Stella indicates
she wouldn't mind going "out." cynsa grabs the leash and complies,
as is her sworn duty, stopping only to stuff her pockets with
plastic "Poop-B-Gone" bags. Just as she was able to ignore
Stella's extreme distress at discovering, upon her arrival, that
cynsa was not a tall, lanky Minnesotan with a penchant for fish,
she likewise is successful in disregarding Stella's glares of
disdain for her flippy-frisbee throwing abilities.
Down in the
Panhandle park, cynsa tossed the saliva-sodden frisbee repeatedly
to Stella's seemingly unending delight. Just as they had
established a rhythm to their activity, disaster struck! cynsa's
hand, fatigued by frisbee flipping and soaked with dog-spit, erred
in execution and flung the frisbee into the latticed branches of a
nearby tree! Stella the Vigilant circled under the general
vicinity in dismay. cynsa, keening with self-disgust, endeavored
to poke the frisbee free with a flimsy and rotting branch/twig, to
no avail. It seemed all was lost for our fine heroes. Suddenly, in
a deus-ex-machina-like maneuver, a groundskeeper arrived pushing a
wheelbarrow wherein lay an extremely long and potentially lethal
pitchfork. Upon explaining their quandary, cynsa was proffered the
tool of their salvation! with alacrity, cynsa jumped and poked the
flippy frisbee to freedom! Amidst the cheers of the local
populace, Stella lunged upon the frisbee and promptly shook it to
death. A grateful cynsa thanked the mysterious groundskeeper, who
disappeared with a wave. cynsa and Stella continued their "game"
until Stella was appropriately tuckered, after which they retired
to the local cafe for a much-needed latte and scone for cynsa and a
cup of water for Stella-bo.
Part the Second: Where's the Ball?
Our heroines, sated by their feast and glowing with the
righteousness of recently-moved bowels, returned to the Homestead,
pausing only for a couple last throws of the frisbee. Between
tosses, they were fortunate enough to encounter Mark from the
laundromat, who commented that jeffrey (st. jeffums) had "gone to
Chicago for a couple of days." When cynsa confirmed this rumor, he
noted that he, himself, was from Chicago originally. They parted
Upon their return to the Homestead, cynsa, thinking to accomplish
something with her morning, sat down at the 'pooter to read her
email. She was not prepared, however, for Stella's miraculous and
almost immediate recovery from her recent tuckeredness. When
Stella prepared to drop the spit-soaked Frisbee on her lap, Cynsa
responded with a resounding "nay!" and entreated Stella to fetch
the dog ball instead. Stella once again lifted the frisbee
plaintively, but cynsa stood firm in her resolve. Stella
investigated the usual spots--behind the keyboard, under the table,
behind the door--until cynsa helpfully called out "kitchen, it's in
the kitchen," upon which Stella leaped out into the afore-mentioned
area and returned with her prize! And cynsa rejoiced, for now she
needn't respond to her email, but rather would throw the dog ball
until it, too, was slimy in its turn. And it was Good. And so, having
exhausted all ball-throwing possibilities, cynsa sat to set down
this Chronicle as is her wont, pausing to pull a chair next to her
so that Stella could continue to delay her with underarm sniffings
and elbow jostlings, as is her wont. And with the exception that
st. jeffums is not in his proper place, all is right and good.
Tomorrow: in which our heroines hike to the peaks of Mount Alamo
and view the splendors that await.
Part the Third: A Reluctant Daisy-May
As you might recall from the first part of our story, cynsa and
Stella-Bo-dog, left to their own devices in the cold, cruel City,
had planned to embark on a perilous journey to the mountainous
peaks of the Alamo; however, when cynsa arrived at Stella's house
in the late afternoon, she was greeted by eyes of flashing fire and
a dog-tongue of ice. No sooner had cynsa snapped on Stella's magic
lasso when she was pulled, as if by a strong magnetic dog force,
entirely in the wrong direction and back towards the bowels of the
Panhandle. cynsa, our fearless heroine, had no choice but to accede
to the pupper's demands.
Along the treacherous path they were
drawn, encountering on the way a strange and vile beast. This
"boxer" seemed intent on shredding the very flesh from their bones;
although the valiant Stella was prepared to return the challenge in
toothy kind, cynsa very
cowardly wisely chose to avoid
confrontation, and the two continued to the very verge of the
utopian green that is Panhandle Park.
But who should be there to greet them with many festive dog
slobberings and butt-sniffings but their old comrade Daphne
(princess daphne) and her kind human friend! many joyous frisbee
flippings and toy-snatchings did ensue.
It was at this point that a very strange fate befell Stella the
Brave. During a particularly difficult retrieval maneuver, Stella
found herself tumbling ass over teakettle in the newly-cut grass.
And there, wedged in the clasp of her collar, appeared one perfect
flower, budding and bright. Seemingly unaware of her fine
acquisition, Stella the Fleet returned the flippy frisbee without
But what ho?! As if the blossom signified a blooming romance, who
should suddenly appear but the Mighty Speedo, with his human
accomplice Vicky? Delightful and chaotic were the dog greetings
that resulted. As if by signal, the park filled with all manner of
fun pupper dogs, and they romped with glad abandon. And not a one
of them made fun of Stella-bo's flowery mien or many grass-stains.
And thus, it was Good.
Part the Fourth: Nap-time
In what seemed like an instant, but was really more like 45
minutes, it was time for our heroines to make their fond farewells
and return to the carpeted landscape of their banal daily
existence. Though Stella the Wily did strive to delay their
arrival upon that dreaded threshold, yet did they return at last to
the iron gate. Stella, perhaps a bit fatigued by her long and
stress-filled day, yet showed a remarkable reserve of hidden
endurance, for cynsa the Scribe had not sat but a moment to
collect her thoughts before she commenced to feel a small spherical
object dropped repeatedly on her right foot. And so, here our two
protagonists remain, locked in a strenuous battle of wills, the
outcome of which, I am sure, is impossible to foretell.
Still to come: The Search for the Missing Toughie
Part the Fifth:
Act I, scene i
cynsa: O! Toughie!
Oh thou rubbery round red thing
Dreamlike sylph of curvéd form:
Though I have sought thee in
the depths, behind splintered
rough wood, and in darkest pile,
Yet you elude me.
Why? Oh why.
Stella: Ball. Ball.
cynsa: Toughie, strong and eloquent in
thy near-silent rebounds,
You hide quiescent in some secret space
and tho the mountains move
to the tune of my lament
Still you heed not my cry
Why? Oh why.
cynsa: Beneath your smooth exterior
Does lie a furtive heart
Crunchy and sweet.
Again, I cry
why? Oh why.
Stella: Get with the program, toots.
[Exeunt cynsa with dog-slimed shoe]
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