Life With A Werewolf

Squeaky Bone War

          It’s been a while, hasn’t it? These longer expeditions do take it out of me somewhat. Digging into information from my roommates, most of whom were understandably tight lipped. Zack’s description of events were, in a word: short. “I was tied to a chair and fed cold soup.” He said, and wouldn’t talk any more about things. It was a bit easier getting information out of Rodriguez pack however, which I was grateful for.

          The tension in the house felt like a windup toy wound too tight. If you keep cranking on that key, something or someone is likely to snap sooner or later. You must find a way to let that tension out. In the service a perfect way to let off a little bit of steam was with a prank war. After all, if they don’t prank you once in a while, are they really your friends? I, of course, have a couple of memories I could access for this. But, due to legal reasons, I won’t talk about it. In other words: “No sir, I still don’t know how your vehicle ended up parked like that. Or how the shaving cream got there.”

          Things started innocently enough. A little grocery run for a few necessities in the local dollar store. Shampoo, frozen pizza a couple of other things. I was just wandering through the store, glancing at this or that the way you do sometimes. That’s when I came across it: squeaky toys. Dog squeaky toys. All of them quite cheap. The dog food incident came up in my mind just then as I stared at it, and remembered something else he said when I discussed the possibility of getting a canine companion. “We already have a dog of sorts.” I suppose a werewolf could count in its own way as a family pet. And I did owe him for that dogfood thing after all.

          Luckily, he was at work that night, chasing down whatever it is that he was chasing for that week, so I had plenty of time. I attached a squeaky toy the arm inside the tank of his toilet, so whenever he flushed, a loud squeak would be heard. His seat, which he perpetually leaves down, I attached another small dowl rod to a squeaky bone. Then, I went into my room, giggling. Luckily, Zack was at work too, doing a late shift, so I was able to put a squeaky toy on his door.

          That was when Kris caught me. He didn’t say anything. Just giggled a bit, then grabbed the bag of squeaky toys from me and started going nuts. One attached to the trash can. One under the cushions of the couch. One under the gas pedal of Crash’s car. After all, when Crash is out “in uniform” as he calls it, he tends to not take his precious, beat-up Caddy. One under each tire of the Caddy. In every cabinet in the house, rigged so when you opened it, they squeaked and when you closed it, they squeaked. I’m still not sure how he did that one.

          Every surface, every angle, every possible thing in the house was booby trapped. It required two more trips to said store, which luckily the store manager was closing, and found it so funny she was even nice enough to dig out a huge box of the things from the back so we could outfit more. So, there you go Crash, that’s the other culprit. Our house looked as if the Home Alone kid did an eight ball and then went to town on the entire house.

          All of these tricks and traps are hard work, so I got about two hours of sleep before I heard the front door open and then the first victim, Crash, opened a cabinet door. Squeak! He grumbled. Closed the door. Squeak! Turned on the coffee maker. Squeak! Sat in his favorite chair in the kitchen. Squeak! With a screaming curse, he stood up, stomped to his bedroom, and slammed the door shut. Squeak!

          It grew quiet for a while. I was just about to drift off to sleep, until through my bedroom wall I heard another squeak and the roar of one, now slightly annoyed werewolf.

          I laid in bed, trying to silently giggle to myself. I knew that Kris was upstairs with Shawn trying to do the same. Then Zack came home. Squeak went the cabinet door. Squeak! Crash exited his room. A few stomps later, and it grew quiet. Finally, I stood and began walking to the kitchen with trepidation. And was pelted with a high-speed squeaky bone.

          Kris and Shawn upstairs cried out as Crash invaded, throwing Squeaky bones and other dog toys at them. Then it was on.

          Turning, I saw a giggling Zack, who reared back and threw another bone, which smacked me in the face. I threw it back at him and dove for cover behind a recliner. Zack is a great gamer, but a bad throw thankfully, and in his attempts to pelt me with the squeaking balls and bones of death and destruction just gave me more ammunition.

          I was tossing the balls and bones back at Zack who was hiding behind the couch. I heard a tumble downstairs followed by loud squeaks. “Eww! You don’t have to lick them,” Kris cried as he ran for cover to the bathroom. Shawn followed close behind, with Crash tumbling after like an over grown dog. Unfortunately, Shawn got locked out of Kris’ sanctuary, who with a shout of “not cool dude!” began to run for his life wearing nothing but board shorts and a terrified grin of one who had no idea of what he was just dragged into.

          An armload of ammunition. A target in front of me and turmoil behind me. I knew when it was time to get moving. Popping up, I threw two hard throws at Zack, forcing his head down. Then running, I began to make my way towards the front door. Splat! A squeaky ball splashed off my face and landed on the floor. Turning, Crash was grinning behind me still in werewolf form. “Eww dude! That’s like being licked by you,” I cried. He only replied by turning his head like a silly over grown dog, grinning with his tongue lolling out of his mouth. I jumped back and threw a bone at him as hard as I could.

          With speed he rarely demonstrated to me, he dove forward, caught the bone in his mouth, spit it into his hand then pitched it back at me, splatting me in the chest. My jaw must have been open, because he splatted a bone against my forehead next. And Zack, seeing an opportunity, threw a wet one at my back. I don’t know if he picked one of the wet ones Crash was throwing up, or if he started licking them himself. I don’t really want to think about it.

          “Aah,” I shouted, diving for the doorway to the dining room. “Help, Kris!”

          “Save yourself,” He shouted back from behind the door of the bathroom.

Crash was quick enough to cut off my escape. Zack was behind me now at a distance even he couldn’t miss me from. It was over. I curled up into a ball as I was peppered with squeaky toys. “Alright! I shouted, “Alright! I give! You win! Enough! Cease! Desist! Uncle! Uncle fuzzies bunny numpkins!”

          Crash and Zack paused at that one. “What?” They asked each other in unison.

          “Did get you to stop,” I said from the floor. Then I was pelted once more by each of them. Crash broke into the bathroom next. I didn’t see, but I heard Kris shout “Eww! Don’t lick them!” Then cried an unholy high-pitched scream as Crash began to pelt him with squeaky toys.

          “Now we’re even,” he said.

          Zack laughed behind me. “That backfired,” he said.

          I gave him a grin and shrugged. Crash grinned back. He didn’t have to wink or nod, but I knew he knew what I was doing with all of those squeaky toys. For less than seventy bucks me and Kris did what hours of therapy wouldn’t have been able to. We found a way to let off some of that stress and steam. To unwind the spring a bit, so to speak. Not every major issue needs to be discussed on a comfy couch with a Doctor Phil. Sometimes the best therapy is to grab a water gun, hand your spouse one, and tell them they have a ten second head start. To hide squeaky balls around the bedroom of your best friend. To do the funny things to each other that for some might seem mean spirited at a glance. And to get those funny things in return. As long as everyone knows when to quit, it’s the best therapy.

          Shawn entered a few minutes after the fire stopped. “Is it safe to come back in, dude,” he asked, looking at me.

          “Come here,” Kris shouted, picking up some squeaky toys, “You were supposed to defend me,” and began chasing him around the house and up the stairs, throwing squeaky toys at him, shouting “come back here you coward!”

          Crash patted me on the back afterwards. “That was fun,” he said. “No more squeaky toys.”

          I nodded. “No more.”

          “Disarm the house, please.” He replied. To which I nodded. After all, it was the least I could do, so that’s what I did. But he never did say anything about disarming the garage.

          Hey, I could always blame his car on Kheid. After all, that lawn gnome loves messing with vehicles for some reason.