2003-02-26 � A is for Andrea

You can ring my bell

As some of you may already know, I'm fairly ancient. Y'know, decidedly long of the tooth, white of beard, bent of back and just plain old. Practically geriatric, really. I'm (deep breath)....35.

But nothing can make me feel less grown-up than talking to someone's parent. You'll understand what I mean by the time this tale is complete.


Andrea's little mop of a dog, Branflake, pictured up there looking all innocent and stuff, decided to have himself a little adventure on Monday night. With nary a word to Andrea, he disappeared into the frosty winter's night for fun and frolick. No one really knows where he went, or what he got up to, but I suspect it involved ancient canine rituals performed deep in the woods round a fire like howling at the moon, the roasting of weenies, the eating of s'mores, the swilling of moonshine and the peeing on shrubs. I imagine there was a complicated handshake and some sniffing of bums involved also. But we'll never know for sure, 'cuz Bran ain't talking.

After forcing his human to spend a frigid Edmonton night seized with gut-wrenching terror and guilt, the Branflake reappeared on Andrea's back doorstep with newly discovered doorbell-ringing skills, reeking of eau de campfire and outdoor adventure.

Little did he know that the Wolf and I were engaged in frantic sleuthing activities three provinces and many, many miles East.

At the height of her terror, Andrea had sent me a panicked e-mail relating the tale of the Branflake's disappearance. I read it on Tuesday morning and my heart leapt into my throat. Faithful readers will know that I am frighteningly obsessed with my darling doggie and many others besides, and am especially freaked by doggies in peril. But being on the other side of this vast and frequently snowy country known to one and all as Canada, and furthermore, being too empty of pocket to be able to board a plane, scoot across the skies to Edmonton to participate in a search, I thought the least i could do is call and try to offer Andrea some comfort.

The thing is, I didn't know her phone number. After scouring the internet and Canada 411, I found three phone numbers listed under A. Adumbration. There were many other Adumbrations listed, but only three with the first initial A.

The first number I called was an elderly, possibly russian and toothless, lady who did not sound at all impressed with me. I think I woke her up actually and I suspect she thought I was a greedy telemarketer or something.

Undaunted, I dialed the second number, but got no answer. So then i tried third number .

me: "Hello. May I speak to Andrea please?"

some Irish lady: " Who is calling?"

me (flustered and flabbergasted...realizing for the first time that I had not prepared anything to say) "Um, uh...uh... my name is Melanie. I'm looking for my friend Andrea."

Irish lady: (sounding slightly cross) "Well, she doesn't live here, you know. She's at home."

me: oh...um...uh, well... (By this time i have figured out that she knows Andrea, maybe not the Andrea I'm looking for but an Andrea all the same, and that my diaryland friendship with Andrea might be a little difficult to explain to those not in the know, to those more ancient than myself. ).... uh, um...I know Andrea's little dog is missing, so i was just wondering if she found him or not."

Irish lady (utterly astonished and very animated): How did you know about that?!!! She was so worried about him. She just found him. Just now. Just turned up at the door.The doorbell rang and she checked the front door and she checked the back door and there he was. I just go off the phone with her. And he reeks of campfire smoke. She was so worried. Just beside herself you know.But how did you know? How did you know he was missing? how do you know Andrea?"

me: oh - um... (at this point, I'm a bit panicked, flapping my hands and shuffling from foot to foot in my kitchen trying to decide how to handle this appropriately) well, she and I are friends on the internet. We e-mail back and forth. You know, the internet? on the computer? um....um...I have a dog too (as if this explains everything) and when Andrea e-mailed and told me Brandon was lost i knew how upset she would be.......... I ...uh...um....I live in Toronto. (as if this too explains everything and makes me all legitimate and not an ax murderer and stuff. I am also vaguely aware at this point that I'm beginning to sound like ralph wiggum. My cat's breath smells like cat food!).....

Irish lady: oh yes! and I have a lovely little dog too....blah, blah..... I'll tell her you called. I'm her mother."

It's approximate (the conversation above) , but all very breathless and confusing.

I felt suddenly hugely relieved and suddenly six.

I felt like I had chocolate and mud smeared on me from head to toe, that I might possibly be wearing too-tight pigtails and a demeanor that belies the secret desire to tarnish her one and only daughter's immaculate reputation by teaching her how to swear and smoke and how to apply hickeys to the necks and bare chests of smouldering, dangerous and therefore, entirely unsuitable boys.

Talking to parents does that to me.

Talking to parents of Irish descent will do that to anyone, I think.

I had barely hung up the phone, when it rang again and Andrea was on the other end. And she sounded just like I expected she would, all warm and friendly and honey-toned, as if I'd known her for ages and ages.As if we had, in fact, once played hooky and smooched unsuitable boys and smoked cigarettes together.

I felt like I'd known her since I was six.

I felt like I had stood on a table in a smoky bar, surrounded by scottish boys, drunkenly crooning Abba tunes into a celery stick stolen from her Bloody Mary while she doo wopped in the background, egging me on.

I felt like I had read her diary and shared her secret thoughts. And it wasn't until later that I realized that I had, indeed, done just that.

... and suddenly the world seemed smaller and friendlier than it has in a long, long while.

you know what? I've been studying that little picture of Brandon up there and I was wrong. He doesn't look all innoccent and stuff. He definitely looks like he's plotting something. I think, as Andrea's ever-so wise Irish mommy said once, that he is in fact, a hellion. But an adorably fluffy hellion.

And I just realized I left out the part where I tell you that the second call I made? The one that rang and rang and rang and no one answered? That was actually Andrea's number. She was reuniting with Brandon at that very moment! Really! How wild is that? It's all kismet, I tell you. Kismet.


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