by local columnist, Billy K. Baker --
The hero of this tale is a man named Yehudi Jones, “hero” used in its broadest sense, as a protagonist—no, make that a figure—a figure unremarkable: an inch shorter than average, with blah-brown hair, sloping shoulders, lackluster eyes, flaccid cheeks, an indolent looseness about his lips. He stood slightly bent over, suggesting defeat, suggesting submission, his gait half-hesitant with a hint of shuffle.
Yehudi was born the third of five boys, a middling, mediocre placement. Mediocrity, in fact, marked his life. He won no awards, gained no acclaim, achieved no accomplishments. In any gathering, no one paid attention to him, no one asked his advice.
Even Yehudi’s failures were disappointing: In a brief stint as a waiter, the boss didn’t fire him for something exciting like dropping a tray of dishes, but because Yehudi kept bringing plates to the wrong table. He lost his job as a night watchman not because of a spectacular robbery but because he was caught napping.
As middle age approached, Yehudi had no career, no vocation and, in truth, no aspirations. He merely existed; never contemplated life; never wondered about his role in it. And, unless something changed—a story for another time—he deserved a grave marker reading, “Here lies Yehudi Jones: a man who merely took up space.”
Yehudi had many letdowns, few friends. One friend (really, just an acquaintance) was pet shop owner Claude Bowles. In a way, Claude was everybody’s friend. Even the rent collector received a warm handshake, a broad smile and cheerful banter.
Fascinated by animals of all sorts, Claude was as much a collector as a seller. If there’d been room, he’d have kept elephants and giraffes, but Claude’s Pet Shop only grudgingly made room for customers, being crammed floor-to-ceiling with cages, perches, fish tanks, plus the feed and paraphernalia needed to support its squeaking, squawking, tweeting, chirping, growling, howling residents.
Yehudi had taken on a new job as a door-to-door salesman, or more aptly, door-to-door flop. Discouraged, he dropped in on Claude, hoping for encouragement and advice.
“You look lower than a gopher’s nest,” said Claude. “What’s the trouble?”
“I just finished my first day as a salesman … without making a single sale,” bemoaned Yehudi.
“What are you selling?”
“It’s called a Peerless Pet Protector,” said Yehudi, setting his sample by the store’s cash register. “It keeps small pets from being hurt by hostile animals.”
“That’s an interesting contraption … but quite lackluster,” said Claude. “You need a gimmick, something to catch people’s attention.”
“Can you suggest something?”
“Perhaps I can; I’ll lend you my favorite hamster, Horace.”
“How does that help?”
“Horace is intelligent. He can talk. Put him in your pet protector, and have him give your customers a sales pitch.”
So, Yehudi took Horace home that evening and taught him what to say.
The next day, Yehudi demonstrated the pet protector at several homes. He placed Horace inside his sample, and the hamster dutifully presented his spiel: “Hello! I am enjoying the Peerless Pet Protector. That’s because I feel perfectly safe in here. Your favorite cat or dog or bunny would feel equally safe. And, if you buy our product today, you’ll get a generous discount.”
Yehudi returned to the pet shop later, where Claude asked, “How‘d it go?”
“Not so good. The only thing people wanted to buy was the talking hamster.”
“Hmm,” responded Claude, “I must’ve overlooked something. … I know! Your sales demonstration isn’t convincing enough.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you don’t show your product in action. You need to have a menacing animal with you to threaten Horace. Tell you what I’ll do. I’ll lend you a German Shepherd, and we’ll see how that turns out.”
It didn’t turn out very well. The German Shepherd was a friendly pooch—no threat at all to a house pet. The hamster, trying to be helpful, attempted to goad the dog: “C’mon fur ball. Show me wha’chya got. Here, chick-chick-chickee. Br-r-rk! Br-r-rk, br-r-rk!”
Nothing. The dog just explored the room, sniffing out new aromas.
Yehudi returned to the pet shop and explained his difficulty. “Well,” said Claude, “I guess dogs are too tame. Let’s try that coyote over there.”
That didn’t work any better; the coyote showed no interest at all in the hamster. Instead, it cowered in a corner, warily eyeing the humans, intimidated by their size.
When Yehudi discussed his continuing failure with Claude, the pet shop owner shook his head. “I think we’re making a couple of mistakes. First, Horace isn’t a credible victim. Forget having him make a sales pitch. Instead, have him make pitiful, frightened sounds. Second, we need a scarier animal. I keep a wolf in a pen out back. Return here at closing time, and I’ll muzzle him and put a leash on him for you.”
Yehudi took the wolf home that evening, and, judging by the way the animal glowered at him, was sure he had a winner. Also, he instructed Horace to stop giving a sales pitch and make frightened hamster noises instead.
The next day, at a house on the edge of town, Yehudi met a lady, a kindly, gray-haired woman, who welcomed him and let him set up the Peerless Pet Protector on her oak coffee table. When Yehudi put Horace in his sample, she cooed at the cuddly, little animal. “How cute!”
Next, Yehudi went back to his car and dragged the wolf into the house, struggling to pull him through the doorway. As instructed, Horace took one look at the ferocious wolf and obediently squeaked-squeaked-squeaked with fright. The lady, too, squeaked nervously, but Yehudi’s stout leash, together with the animal’s muzzle, gave her some assurance. Yehudi then commenced his usual sales pitch … but the lady wasn’t swayed.
“Perhaps,” thought Yehudi, “the wolf doesn’t look threatening enough.”
So, he removed the wolf’s muzzle, and the beast obligingly growled, wrinkled up its snout, and bared its fangs. Yehudi could see that the lady was impressed, actually fearful. He knew a sale was imminent and in the flush of triumph relaxed his grip on the leash.
The wolf tore loose from Yehudi, upset an end table and knocked a crystal lamp to the floor, shattering it. Snarling menacingly, the beast advanced toward the lady, who shrieked in fear, bolted into an adjoining room, and slammed its door behind her.
Turning toward Yehudi, the wolf attacked. Evil in its eyes, saliva drooling from gaping, fearsome jaws, the animal lunged, aiming for the throat.
Yehudi managed to protect himself by raising his arms swifter than a cobra strike. Even so, the wolf got a grip on one forearm. Yehudi, with a mighty adrenaline rush, shook the beast off, flinging it so forcefully the wolf flew halfway across the room, knocking over and half-flattening a floor lamp.
Having no escape, no time to lose, Yehudi dropped to the floor, and curled his body into a tight ball. The wolf mauled that ball for a time, then sank its sharp teeth into an exposed rump and savagely gashed out a chunk of trousers and flesh. Bored with its sport, the beast tore across the room, jumped through a window—glass flying to smithereens—and raced from the house, disappearing into nearby woods.
The wolf out of sight, Yehudi painfully uncoiled himself and stood up, using the coffee table for support. As he came level with the Peerless Pet Protector, little Horace shakily asked. “Sh-sh-should I have hollered for help?” In spite of his discomfort, Yehudi smiled and said no.
Rubbing a bloodied, sore backside distractedly, he surveyed the chaotic scene: the ruined furniture, the frightened hamster, the broken window. Rising fully erect, Yehudi Jones took a deep breath, firmed his jaw, tightened his lips, narrowed his eyes, and for the first time in his life … but that’s a story for another time.
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